The Home of Henry Blair
Canton, Ohio
July 23, 1899
Henry Blair sat back in his armchair and sighed. He thought the 1898 season had been stressful, as he agonized over ways to help the Canton Watchmakers climb out of the Eastern Division basement. This year, the Watchmakers were in a tough fight for first place with the Youngstown Steelmen, defending champions of the Buckeye League. Blair was learning that the job of running a contending club caused just as many sleepless nights, if not more.
The Watchmakers weren’t playing badly, but they weren’t pulling away from the Steelmen, either. More significantly, the team seemed to be losing its focus. They were losing winnable games, and that worried Blair. If the Youngstown club got hot, they could steal the pennant before the Cantons knew what hit them.
At a small table on the other side of the room, Blair’s son, Henry Jr., was poring over a sheaf of papers. He gazed at the neat rows of figures he had meticulously entered there as carefully as an accountant would examine a ledger.
After several long moments, Blair finally spoke. “I think the club needs some shaking up.”
Most men in Blair’s position would never have a discussion like this with a fourteen-year-old boy, but Henry Blair, Jr. was no ordinary fourteen-year-old. His agile mind and love of base ball had led him to become as thorough an expert on the Buckeye League and its players as any man alive. Furthermore, young Henry’s constant tinkering with the raw numbers of the sport had led him to develop statistics that, as far as anyone knew, nobody else had ever discovered.
“You could bring Tim Farrell up from Canal Dover,” Henry Jr. offered. Farrell, a young catcher, had been the Watchmakers’ second-round choice in the 1898 draft.
Blair got up from his chair and joined his son at the table, bending over young Henry’s shoulder so he could read the statistics of the Canal Dover team. He shook his head. “Farrell’s batting average is fine, but he hasn’t hit a triple or a home run all year.”
Henry Jr. smiled. He was expecting his father to point out that fact. “That’s true, but look at this.” He pointed to a row of figures headed “OBP.”
“Farrell gets on base more than any player in the Township League. “
Blair nodded. His son had explained the value of on base percentage before, and it had made sense. After all, a player couldn’t score a run unless he got on base, and an inning could go on forever if batters kept getting on base.
Based on that conclusion, the Watchmakers had chosen a third baseman named John Blau in the league’s entry draft a month ago. Blau’s ability to draw walks set him apart from a number of other young hitters of similar promise.
“I think I might do that, but I also think a trade might invigorate the team a little bit, too.”
Young Henry grinned again, and produced a sheet of paper on which he had listed a number of players under a heading titled OPS. “You might want to think about acquiring these men.”
Blair furrowed his brow. “OPS? What’s this? These numbers look much too high for a batting average.”
“That’s because I’ve added their on base percentages to their slugging averages. I’ve identified the players who are best at both getting on base and hitting for power.”
“Then here’s the man I want,” Blair said, pointing to the name of Pedro Cruz, an outfielder with the Sandusky club. Cruz headed Henry Jr.’s list, with an OPS of .844.
“He’s young, too,” young Henry pointed out. “He’s only 24. He won’t come cheaply, but it might be worth a try.”
“I’ll do that, Son.” Blair rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Dad.”
By the next morning, Pedro Cruz, the king of OPS, was a Canton Watchmaker.
As Henry Jr. had predicted, the Sailors drove a tough bargain. Blair had to package outfielder Jose Villa, pitcher Lou Riley, and shortstop prospect Armando Ramos in order to persuade Sandusky to part with Pedro. The Canton rooters were disappointed at the loss of Riley, but the acquisition of Cruz quickly soothed their hurt feelings.
None of them knew it, but they had a fourteen-year-old boy to thank for their good fortune.
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I know; nobody in 1899 had ever heard of OPS, and I doubt if anyone had ever figured out an OBP or a slugging percentage, either. I wanted to be able to mention "modern" stats like those in my story, however, so I created precocious young Henry as the imaginary source of those sabermetric measurements. 