No one takes Catcher ERA seriously. This is wise.
I'm going to talk about it anyway.
I was actually thinking a little bit about the state of commentary on the game of baseball. In the beginning, there was reporting the game, and very little else. The prose could get a little purple, but the reporting itself was generally quite straightforward, honest and - quite often - unflinching to the point of a harshness we seldom see. Players who failed on the field were criticized harshly. This began to change in the 1950s, when Dick Young led the charge into the clubhouse, to get the opinions of the principals on the events of the game. A taste for the insider's perspective was developed and cultivated. The explosion of player salaries a generation later greatly increased the distance between the players and the fans and media, which only served to further whet the appetite for the insider's perspective. This inevitably took the edge off the commentary - the baseball commenter was now dependent on his access to the players, and unlikely to do anything to seriously jeopardize it. One Steve Carlton was enough.
Bill James based much of his early work, and built much of his reputation, by deliberately rejecting the insider's perspective. Having no alternative, he consciously set himself up as an outsider and asserted that while this meant that there were many, many things he could not know, there would be things he could see from his perspective that insiders, closer to the scene, could not. As he wrote at the time, someone standing outside the forest has a much better view of the forest as a whole than someone inside the forest.
It took some time, but the outsider's perspective has been taken up by many who have run with it happily. Most of us are outsiders when it comes to this game, after all.
I would only suggest that we might want to be careful that we don't run so far that with it that we come to think that our perspective, the outsider's perspective, is the only one that matters, the only one that is true. There are things about the forest that the trees can not possibly see. But there are many, many things that no one else sees so clearly.
It's universally agreed that catcher is one of the game's key defensive positions. Just ask a former catcher. Seriously, though, almost everyone who's actually close to the game will tell you that what a catcher does on defense is much more important than what he does with the bat. Now a great many managers have always been former catchers, from Connie Mack and Branch Rickey to Al Lopez and Ralph Houk, a trend that continues into the present day with former catchers holding 10 of the 30 jobs (Leyland, Maddon, Scioscia, Bochy, Wedge, Girardi, Melvin, Yost, McKeon, and Gonzalez.) More precisely, these managers have generally been a certain type of former catcher. The catchers who went on to careers as managers were, almost without exception, catchers who carved out careers as players because of their defense. The catchers who could hit - Piazza, Bench, Fisk, Simmons, Carter - generally didn't become managers. (And I would suggest that none of these men were inadequate defensive players, and that Bench and Carter were both about as good it gets behind the plate. Obviously.)
(The famous exception is Joe Torre, who was a defensively challenged catcher but a guy who could really hit. Interestingly, Torre managed several championship teams that featured - wait for it - a defensively challenged catcher who could really hit. And shortly after Torre was replaced in New York by a more traditional former catcher turned manager, it became a matter of some urgency to find a replacement for Posada behind the plate.)
But Torre is the exception, of course, It is entirely possible that all the former catchers turned managers, who built their careers on handling a pitcher and playing defense, may exaggerate the importance of that particular thing that they themselves did well. But But it's not just the former catchers who say so. Casey Stengel once commented that the key ingredient of his success in New York was that he never went into a big game without "my man," the great Yogi Berra. Whitey Herzog said the real secret of his St.Louis teams wasn't all those stolen bases, but rather the big slow guy he brought with him from Kansas City to be his catcher, Darrell Porter. Here in Toronto, Cito Gaston would put up with questionable defensive performance in the infield (Ed Sprague!) and outfield (George Bell!) if he had to. But not behind the plate. And if that meant sitting a proven veteran and playing a kid out of AA who couldn't even hit... that's what Gaston would do.
Much of what we know about a catcher's defense seems fairly trivial. There are things we can see with our own eyes: how determined (or foolhardy) a catcher is when it comes to blocking home plate`how mobile and active they are, the better to distinguish someone like Rick Dempsey from Lance Parrish. In the grand scheme of team defense, this does seem somewhat trivial. Catchers do throw out runners attempting to steal, and this is one of their few defensive contributions that we can actually track with some confidence. We can count how many bases are stolen, how many runners are cut down. But even here, we had better be recognizing that a great deal of what we`re counting reflects just as much (and often much more) on the pitcher, rather than the catcher. Furthermore, the catcher's opportunity is determined entirely by a strategic decision made by someone on the other team. And while a catcher who can eliminate opposing base runners is a fine, fine thing - the other teams catch on pretty quickly and refrain from giving him the opportunity. You don't tug on Superman's cape,, you don't run on Johnny Bench. Furthermore, the catchers who can't throw - Mike Piazza, Brian Harper - don't really seem to be hurting their teams all that much.
It's probable all of these things pale in importance to what every catcher, without exception, will tell you is the most important part of the job: handling the pitching staff, calling the pitches. Running the game.
We want to know everything. We`d like to be able to measure everything. But just because we want to doesn't mean we can. We can't measure this, and as a result we can't really assess and compare the abilities of different catchers in this absolutely crucial part of the game.
Veteran catchers almost always end up with good defensive reputations. There`s a Darwinian process at work here. If a catcher's value is mostly offensive, he will get moved off the position, before it compromises his offensive value (Dale Murphy, Carlos Delgado, Craig Biggio), or before what defensive skills he does have are completely lost to the aging process (Joe Torre.) Backup catchers especially acquire reputations for their defense, and this brings us to Jose Molina.
Molina has been a career backup. Only once in his career has he caught more than half his team's innings, and that one time was because of a major injury to the starter (Jorge Posada in 2008.) He's not much of a hitter, but this is his twelfth season in the majors. He's still around because of his defensive reputation. This reputation, such as it is, has to be based on something a little more substantial than Mike Scioscia's good opinion of him, although the fact that he played six seasons for a manager who was himself a good defensive catcher, and a man who clearly puts an extremely high premium on a catcher's defense (Jeff Mathis, people!) certainly didn't hurt. Still - the reputation needs to actually refer to something, some set of skills and abilities.
It's certainly not going to refer to Molina being... oh, a mobile and active defender. He was born a Molina, after all. (In fact, Jose and his brother Bengie are the only players I have ever seen - wait for it - clog the bases. It doesn't happen very often, but I have actually seen innings where the team really would have scored more runs if Molina had led off by making an out rather than getting on base. I wouldn't have thought it possible.) Anyway, Molina`s basic immobility once he gets in the catcher`s crouch, and his sometimes casual approach to balls in the dirt, have left two things for his defensive reputation to rest on: his ability to defend against the running game, which the statistics generally support (he`s thrown out 40% of opposing runners trying to steal in his career), and his ability to work with pitchers. And how can we hope to measure that? With Catcher ERA?
I think it's safe to say that most people regard Catcher ERA as mostly meaningless. With good reason.
But still... a vitally important part of the game is out there, somewhere.
It's obscured by fog, and you must always respect the fog. But it's out
there....
Now it is true that the Blue Jays pitchers had a considerably better ERA with Jose Molina behind the plate than they did with the team's other catchers in 2010. That could easily have been random and coincidental, I agree. And so could the Yankees pitchers having a better ERA working with Molina in 2009. Just as they had done in 2008. Now that I think of it, the Angels pitchers had a better ERA pitching to Jose Molina in 2006, and in 2005. Granted, this didn't happen in 2004 (4.31 ERA with Jose, 4.27 with the team`s other catchers). But in the seasons before that, the Angels pitchers had a better ERA working with Jose Molina in 2003... and 2002... and 2001. Even the Cubs, in Molina`s first cup of coffee in the majors back in 1999, did better working with Molina.
The year I left out was 2007; which Molina split between two organizations, and neither pitching staff did well with him. Otherwise, the pattern runs, with admirable persistence, through his entire career.
Data Table Time!
G IP ER ERA PA AB R H 2B 3B HR BB SO SO/BB BAVG OBP SLG OPS TB GDP HBP SB CS BAbip
Chicago 1999 Jose Molina 10 57 31 4.89 243 216 34 55 9 1 6 22 45 2.05 .255 .326 .389 .715 84 3 2 5 3 .301
Chicago 1999 Other Guys 186 1373.2 806 5.28 6116 5442 886 1564 268 40 215 507 935 1.84 .287 .347 .470 .817 2557 110 25 95 40 .319
Anaheim 2001 Jose Molina 15 103 47 4.11 435 391 52 102 23 2 15 37 74 2.00 .261 .328 .445 .773 174 9 3 11 8 .290
Anaheim 2001 Other Guys 180 1334.2 624 4.21 5759 5138 678 1350 262 17 153 488 873 1.79 .263 .332 .410 .741 2105 103 61 98 51 .294
Anaheim 2002 Jose Molina 29 210 70 3.00 847 754 77 162 21 1 22 69 154 2.23 .215 .285 .333 .618 251 18 8 15 9 .246
Anaheim 2002 Other Guys 157 1242.1 525 3.80 5250 4699 567 1183 227 18 147 440 845 1.92 .252 .318 .402 .720 1887 108 41 63 42 .283
Anaheim 2003 Jose Molina 53 332 149 4.04 1412 1269 166 312 52 6 41 107 221 2.07 .246 .316 .393 .709 499 30 24 18 7 .270
Anaheim 2003 Other Guys 148 1099.1 531 4.35 4749 4263 577 1132 208 21 149 379 759 2.00 .266 .330 .429 .759 1829 82 52 62 41 .296
Anaheim 2004 Jose Molina 70 524.1 251 4.31 2235 2021 265 522 120 7 77 169 431 2.55 .258 .320 .439 .759 887 28 20 23 22 .296
Anaheim 2004 Other Guys 126 930 441 4.27 4010 3596 469 954 178 16 93 333 733 2.20 .265 .329 .401 .730 1443 70 24 64 22 .315
LA Angels 2005 Jose Molina 65 480.1 195 3.65 2025 1858 210 485 87 11 56 135 408 3.02 .261 .315 .410 .725 762 32 14 19 20 .309
LA Angels 2005 Other Guys 137 984 403 3.69 4133 3735 433 934 198 20 102 308 718 2.33 .250 .311 .396 .707 1478 82 34 49 22 .288
LA Angels 2006 Jose Molina 76 603.1 267 3.98 2554 2299 296 585 123 7 61 193 499 2.59 .254 .317 .394 .711 905 44 27 27 20 .304
LA Angels 2006 Other Guys 114 852.1 385 4.07 3591 3242 436 825 177 16 97 278 665 2.39 .254 .315 .409 .724 1325 84 23 50 20 .297
LA Angels 2007 Jose Molina 40 323 165 4.60 1405 1241 178 338 64 9 37 120 281 2.34 .272 .344 .428 .772 531 41 20 18 7 .330
LA Angels 2007 Other Guys 67 513.1 224 3.93 2197 2000 243 539 109 15 38 159 420 2.64 .270 .326 .396 .722 792 46 16 40 9 .328
New York 2007 Jose Molina 29 169.1 87 4.62 728 644 93 162 41 4 22 63 149 2.37 .252 .326 .430 .756 277 13 11 13 6 .300
New York 2007 Other Guys 164 1281.1 637 4.47 5578 4942 684 1336 286 23 128 515 860 1.67 .270 .342 .415 .757 2052 138 49 123 38 .309
New York 2008 Jose Molina 97 737 302 3.69 3078 2782 325 709 143 10 58 226 617 2.73 .255 .314 .376 .690 1046 62 25 42 33 .313
New York 2008 Other Guys 98 704.2 383 4.89 3096 2765 402 769 145 15 85 263 524 1.99 .278 .344 .434 .777 1199 49 26 71 23 .321
New York 2009 Jose Molina 49 356.2 131 3.31 1479 1339 150 309 63 4 37 108 362 3.35 .231 .296 .367 .663 491 32 20 23 9 .292
New York 2009 Other Guys 150 1093.1 556 4.58 4766 4184 603 1077 211 20 144 466 898 1.93 .257 .336 .421 .757 1760 78 51 102 43 .301
Toronto 2010 Jose Molina 56 444.2 184 3.72 1870 1670 198 401 106 16 34 164 417 2.54 .240 .316 .384 .700 641 36 24 19 15 .303
Toronto 2010 Other Guys 120 996 492 4.45 4295 3838 530 1006 204 15 116 375 767 2.05 .262 .331 .414 .745 1588 112 36 50 20 .304
Toronto 2011 Jose Molina 41 351 176 4.51 1505 1329 188 336 77 7 40 137 313 2.28 .253 .328 .412 .739 547 32 18 24 9 .308
Toronto 2011 Other Guys 103 908.2 420 4.16 3933 3497 459 893 178 22 110 342 690 2.02 .255 .328 .413 .741 1445 79 49 72 23 .293
Career Jose Molina 630 4691.2 2055 3.94 19816 17813 2232 4478 929 85 506 1550 3971 2.56 .251 .317 .398 .715 7095 380 216 257 168 .301
Career Other Guys 1750 13313.2 6427 4.34 57473 51341 6967 13562 2651 258 1577 4853 9687 2.00 .264 .331 .418 .749 21460 1141 487 939 394 .303
https://www.battersbox.ca/article.php?story=20110903235835680