Once again, we travel 40 years back in our baseball-card time machine...

Chico Salmon was never more than a utility infielder for those great Orioles championship teams of the late 1960s and early 1970s, but he was one of the game's genuinely colorful characters. (He also had a funny name that kids in the 1970s butchered with regularity. I used to say his name like SAH-Mun, as in the fish, but it was actually pronounced Sahl-MAWN. Little did I know about Spanish accents and pronunciations back then.) Born Ruthford Eduardo Salmon, the native Panamanian forged a nine-year career as a utilityman in the sixties and early seventies, but earned most of his notoriety for his rather extreme fear of ghosts. Salmon was so fearful of otherworldly spirits that he refused to sleep in the dark. Salmon's trepidation apparently stemmed from his childhood, when his mother and other adults warned him that ghosts could enter rooms at night if the windows were left open or keyholes in the door were left unplugged. Salmon maintained his extreme fear of ghosts well into his adult years. It wasn't until 1964 that Salmon overcame his fear of sleeping in the dark. A stint in the military will do that; the Army wouldn't let Salmon sleep with the lights on in his barracks.

Having conquered his sleeping "phobia," Salmon experienced his first major league tour of duty that same year. As a part-time player with the lowly Indians from 1964 to 1968, Salmon earned the nickname "Super Sub," a tribute to his ability to play seven positions--the four infield spots and all three outfield locations. Here he is seen in his 1968 Topps card, his final as an Indian. Doesn't he appear to be looking around the corner, perhaps out of fear that a ghost might be coming down the third base line?

After the 1968 season, Salmon was drafted by the expansion Seattle Pilots, but he never did suit up for the Pilots' team made famous by Jim Bouton in Ball Four. Tommy Harper won the Pilots' second-base battle during spring training, making Salmon expendable and leading to a trade with the Orioles, who acquired him in exchange for journeyman pitcher Gene Brabender. Although Salmon had lost out on a chance to play regularly (what with Boog Powell, Dave Johnson, Mark Belanger, and Brooks Robinson ahead of him), he did become the primary utility infielder on those Orioles' teams that won three straight American League pennants from 1969 to 1971, including a World Championship in 1970.

Unlike most utility infielders, Salmon posed more of a threat with his bat and his legs than he did with his glove. As one of his Baltimore teammates said in 1970: "If Chico's hands get any worse, we'll have to amputate."

Although Salmon's fielding and his worries about ghosts often made him a prime target of clubhouse barbs, he did earn respect for his baseball intellect and his commitment toward youth baseball. After his playing days ended in 1972, Salmon worked as a scout and served as a manager of the Panamanian team in the World Amateur Baseball Series. He continued to guide and help amateur teams in his homeland right up until his unexpected death from a heart attack in the year 2000. Not only did that Chico Salmon have a good name; he was a good man, too.

For today's installment of "Card Corner," we turn back the clock forty years...

There must have been something about baseball in the 1960s that encouraged players to don the "jack of all trades" label for a day. The first two players in major league history to play all nine positions in a game performed the feat during the course of the rebellious and radical decade. On September 8, 1965, Kansas City A's rookie Bert "Campy" Campaneris, usually a shortstop and occasionally an outfielder, became the first man to accomplish the positional merry go-round, doing so in a 13-inning loss to the Los Angeles Angels. Three years later, a lesser known, but more versatile player, joined Campaneris as one of the game's unusual record holders.

Cesar "Pepi" Tovar started his professional career with the Reds' organization before being traded to the Twins in a 1965 deal. Almost immediately, Tovar's "happy-go-lucky" personality made him popular with three of the game's most important constituencies: the players, the media, and the fans. Tovar insisted that everyone call him "Pepi" or "Pepito," Spanish nicknames that exemplified his upbeat, energetic manner. As with most Latin American players of the era, Tovar faced limitations with the English language, but overcame them with his free spirit and his eagerness to communicate with the writers who covered his teams. "He was very articulate," says Bob Fowler, formerly a beat writer for the Twins. "Very good to talk to."

Tovar's outgoing personality may have contributed to his rather unusual personal life. According to the book, Seasons in Hell, rumors swirled that Tovar had three different wives in three different countries by the time he joined the Rangers in 1973. Three wives--and the ability to play every position on the baseball diamond.

Another one of Tovar's eccentric but less scandalous habits exemplified his caring nature. At the end of each season, Tovar gathered up all of his equipment rather than turn it in to the team. Collecting dozens of bats and balls and a myriad of gloves, Tovar shipped the items to his hometown in Caracas, Venezuela. Tovar usually told others that he wanted the equipment for his winter workouts, but in reality, he gave the equipment to underprivileged children in Caracas. If not for Tovar's generosity, many of the youngsters would have been left without the equipment needed to play.

In his first major league season, Tovar played sparingly with the Twins. He then moved into a kind of "super utility" role, playing almost every day, but usually at different positions. He might play second base one day; on another day he moved to shortstop; at times, he would patrol the outfield. Tovar quickly gained a reputation as a hard-nosed "play-me-anywhere" foot solider who approached the game with boundless enthusiasm and determination. (Although he was not a great defensive player, he was not as bad as his 1970 Topps card might indicate; the glove that Tovar is wearing in that photograph appears to have a major hole in the webbing!)

The undersized Venezuelan also impressed the Twins' brass with his speed, aggressive bat, and willingness to sacrifice his 155-pound body. Although he weighed relatively little, he had a strong, muscular build, with little body fat. He seemed to enjoy getting hit by pitches, which provided him with another way to reach first base. His willingness to cradle fastballs in his ribs reminded some of rough-and-tumble players like Ron Hunt and Don Baylor, who were also known for being frequently hit with pitches. "It was a proud thing with Tovar to get hit," says Fowler, "and not flinch. Even if Nolan Ryan drilled him, he refused to flinch. He'd run to first base and say, 'You can't intimidate me. You can't hurt me.' "

In 1967, Tovar enjoyed a breakthrough at the plate, scoring 98 runs while leading the American League in at-bats. The following season, with Tovar enjoying another solid season but the Twins well out of contention in the AL pennant race, team owner Calvin Griffith decided to use advantage Tovar's versatility for his own promotional purposes. Griffith outlined a plan that would have Tovar play one inning at each of the nine positions, including pitcher and catcher. Griffith decided that the Tovar "experiment" would take place on September 22 in a game against the Oakland A's.

Tovar began the game as the Twins' starting pitcher. Coincidentally, the first batter that he faced was Campy Campaneris, the pioneer of playing nine positions in a game. In his one inning on the mound, Tovar allowed a walk and committed a balk, but permitted no hits or runs. He also struck out Reggie Jackson, Oakland's top left-handed slugger.

In the second inning, Tovar became the Twins' catcher. Donning oversized catching gear that made him look like a Little League player, Tovar drew laughs from fans--the few that showed up--and fellow players as he took his position behind the plate. "It was absolutely hysterical," says Fowler, "because he came out in the catcher's garb, and the bottom of his chest protector almost dangled on the ground. The place was just howling with delight at the sight of Cesar coming out of the Twins first base dugout in that catching garb. It was just hysterical." Although he didn't look the part of a catcher, Tovar handled the job flawlessly, committing no errors or passed balls while recording a putout.

Having handled the two toughest positions on the field, Tovar then proceeded to make his way around the infield, starting at first base. He played each infield spot from the third through sixth innings, then moved to the outfield in the final three innings, playing left, center, and right in succession. Tovar played brilliantly in displaying his versatility; he completed the game with five putouts, one assist, and no errors--his only miscue being the first-inning balk. As a bonus, Tovar had a productive game at the plate, collecting a hit, a run, and a stolen base in three at-bats.

Forty years later, Tovar's position-per-inning stunt remains his legacy, obscuring the reality that he was a legitimately versatile player--and a good one, too. During a 12-year career that included stints with the Phillies, Rangers, Yankees, and A's (the same team that he played nine positions against, only now relocated to Oakland), Tovar played over 200 games apiece in the outfield, at third base, and at second base. He also made 77 appearances at shortstop, the most demanding of the infield positions.

Just as significantly, Tovar set the table as the Twins' leadoff man in the late sixties and early seventies, hitting in front of Hall of Famers Rod Carew and Harmon Killebrew and 1960s standout Tony Oliva. Playing in nearly 1500 games overall, Tovar batted .278, scored 834 runs, and stole 226 bases. He also gained a reputation as a late-inning killer of no-hitters, breaking up five potential pitching gems over his career.

On the night that Tovar died from pancreatic cancer in 1994, the Twins did not forget him; they announced his passing and a held a moment of silence for him at the Metrodome. Although their former player was never a star, he succeeded in making plenty of friends in the Twin Cities from the mid-sixties through the 1972 season. And for one day in 1968, Cesar Tovar assumed an intriguing place in baseball history.

Just how vulnerable are the Yankees to left-handed pitching? Well, let's consider the lineup that Joe Girardi made out on Sunday, a lineup that featured Derek Jeter as the cleanup hitter. With only one home run this season, that coming after a long drought, Jeter has to be one of the unlikeliest cleanup men used by any team in 2008. Jeter's presence in the four-hole is also an indictment of Shelley Duncan, who has hit poorly in spot duty after giving the Yankees a second-half booster shot in 2007. Thankfully for the Yankees, Sunday's game in Detroit was rained out, thereby avoiding the necessity of Jeter batting cleanup for only the second time in his career...

Cincinnati's Jeff Keppinger will never become a darling of scouts (because of his lack of power and speed) or Sabermetricians (because of his inability to draw walks), but he has emerged as one of the few bright spots for the disappointing Reds. Keppinger garnered headlines on Saturday night, when he went 5-for-5, with all of his hits being singles, in a win over the Mets. With his average well over .300 and Alex Gonzalez still on the disabled list, the surehanded Keppinger has staked claim to the Reds' starting shortstop job. Keppinger's success really shouldn't surprise too many folks, given that he has hit at almost every level of minor league ball. The Pirates, Mets, and Royals, three organizations that previously unloaded Keppinger at low prices, are probably regretting their miscalculations on the versatile and valuable middle infielder...

Goose Gossage is currently in the midst of a visit to Cooperstown, as part of his orientation for this summer's Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Gossage, who played golf at the Otesaga Resort Hotel on Sunday, will tour the Hall of Fame later today as he learns about the Hall's preparations for his induction in late July. The outspoken Gossage will be a refreshing addition to the Hall of Fame's membership rolls. In contrast to recent inductees, most of whom are conservative and politically correct in what they have to say, Gossage prefers a "shoot-from-the-hip" style with the media. And if need be, the Goose won't be afraid to ruffle the feathers of his fellow Hall of Famers, a trait that could make Hall of Fame Weekend a livelier and more colorful occasion.

Over the years, I've seen some questionable instances of "charging the mound" by overly offended hitters, but none as jaw-dropping as Richie Sexson's decision to attack the Rangers' Kason Gabbard on Thursday night. Gabbard's pitch, while high, didn't come within a yard of hitting Sexson. But it nonetheless caught the attention of Sexson, who was obviously thinking about some batters who had been hit earlier in the night. MLB responded quickly by announcing a six-game suspension for Sexson, which he will appeal. I hope that the six-game ban is upheld; Sexson deserves to sit out every one of those half dozen games, if not more...

Kei Igawa looked simply awful in his return to the big leagues tonight. The Yankee left-hander left most of his pitches up and in the middle of the strike zone, allowing the Tigers to batter him for 11 hits in three-plus innings. Given his performance tonight, it appears that Igawa learned little about the importance of keeping the ball down during his early-season stint in the minor leagues. It's hard to believe that Igawa was as successful as he was in Japan; are the Japanese hitters so incompetent that they can't handle high curve balls and change-ups?...

Blue Jays GM J.P. Ricciardi has taken his fair share of hits over his tenure in Toronto, but let's credit him for making two good moves on Friday. In adding veteran bats Brad Wilkerson and Kevin Mench at low cost, he acquired two players capable of contributing in a platoon role. Wilkerson is not the player he once was in Montreal, but he still has legitimate power against right-handed pitching and enough versatility to play the outfield corners and first base, while Mench has always been able to handle left-handers. The Jays still need more offense, but Wilkerson and Mench are two small steps in the right direction.

Elected to the Hall of Fame in 2003, Eddie Murray burst onto the baseball card scene some 30 years ago, when his rookie card came out as part of Topps' 1978 set (No. 36). While there's nothing grossly unusual about this card, it features a few subtleties. There's one of my old favorites, the classic Topps trophy cup, which is represented through a logo placed on one of the card's corners, honoring each player who earned selection to Topps' all-rookie team. By the way, I've always wondered, is that cup really yellow?

Murray's primary position on the card is listed as DH, while his secondary position on the card is first base. And that's no mistake, since Murray actually served as the Orioles' designated hitter 111 times in 1977, while surprisingly playing only 42 games at first base. (Quick now, who was the Orioles' regular first baseman in 1977? Boog Powell? Terry Crowley? Or perhaps Sabermetric whipping boy Tony Muser, the failed manager? No, it was actually slugging Lee May, who hit 27 home runs that season. May wasn't a favorite of Sabermetric types for his playing, largely because of his inability to draw walks, but he had legitimate power and was a much better player than either Crowley or Muser.) Murray even appeared three times in the outfield his rookie season, though that position isn't mentioned on the front of the card. In retrospect, this positional breakdown seems rather strange, since Murray ended up becoming a very competent first baseman, to the point that he won three straight Gold Gloves from 1982 to 1984.

The Topps card, while picturing a young Murray finishing a left-handed practice swing, also shows him wearing a cap underneath his helmet, a Murray trademark. Is it just me, or does no one in baseball do this anymore? It seems like more players used to wear both a cap and a helmet in the seventies and eighties--former Yankees Dion James and Bobby Murcer come to mind, along with 1970s icons Willie Davis, Al Oliver, and Willie Stargell--but the trend has become lost, perhaps because of the mandate that players use the ear-flapped helmet. Or maybe it's because major league rules no longer allow players to run the bases wearing only a soft cap. Or perhaps it's just not fashionable anymore.

In regards to Murray the player, few hitters were as consistent as the Orioles' first baseman was from the late 1970s through the early 1990s. From 1978 to 1993, Murray emerged as a lock to hit at least 20 home runs, draw 70-plus walks, and collect 90 RBIs each season. The nickname "Steady Eddie" didn't just occur because of his first name and the convenient rhyming pattern; it fit his even-handed level of production to perfection.

Some critics of Murray have knocked him for never achieving a level of superstardom; he never put together the kind of monster season that we have become accustomed to seeing from power-hitting Hall of Fame types. Murray never hit more than 33 home runs in a season, never drove in more than 124 runs, never slugged higher than .549. The criticism is legitimate to an extent, but it doesn't do enough to detract from his year-to-year excellence and his inspiring career totals: 504 home runs, 3255 hits, and 1,333 walks. Those, dear friends, are Hall of Fame numbers.

While few would debate Murray's Hall of Fame worthiness, many would argue about Steady Eddie's character. For years, baseball writers have lobbed insulting words at Murray, who refused to talk the media for most of his career. They've called him surly, uncooperative, and downright callous. Others have gone so far as to call him a clubhouse cancer, citing his negative effect on the New York Mets' clubhouse in the early 1990s.

So it was with considerable trepidation that I prepared for an interview with Murray in 2003. As part of my duties at the Hall of Fame, I used to conduct an in-depth videotaped interview with each newly elected member of Cooperstown. Expecting the worst, I began to talk to Murray. Within a few seconds, Murray shunted aside all of my fears. He was thoughtful, polite, and to the best of my knowledge, sincere. Rather than answer each question with some cliché of immediacy, Murray took a few moments to ponder my words before providing a reflective, meditative answer. Though not particularly smooth in his delivery, Murray did his best to give me some insight as to his patterns of thought, his philosophies on baseball and life. I learned about he had overcome a childhood of poverty, as one of 12 brothers and sisters living in the ghetto. (One of his sisters had died only a week before the interview, yet Murray retained his composure throughout our talk.) After about 20 minutes of discussion, I concluded the interview, not only glad to have been spared Murray's supposed surliness but wholly impressed with the newest Hall of Famer.

Prior to our sit-down, I had never been a particular fan of Murray. In short, I believed the writers, without stopping to assess why Murray had chosen not to talk to them. (The running feud stemmed from a 1979 article, in which sportswriter Dick Young discussed members of Murray's family. Murray considered the article intrusive and unfair. ) I believed the stories that claimed Murray led the league in laziness, selfishness, and lack of hustle. Plus, he had made the mistake of never playing for my team, the Yankees.

Thankfully, our opinions of others can change. Now I look at that rookie card of Eddie Murray a little bit differently.

As much attention as Carlos Quentin and Cliff Lee have gained from the media for their surprising starts to 2008, it might surprise you to learn that Emil Brown of the A's is second in the American League in RBIs. It certainly surprised me; I just realized Brown's lofty standing this morning, after a visit to MLB.com's homepage. This is the same Emil Brown who was let go by the wretched Royals after slugging a cool .347 in 2007. When Oakland GM Billy Beane signed Brown during the winter, more than a few eyebrows raised up in the direction of the Bay Area. At 33, Brown didn't seem to fit in with Oakland's rebuilding plan, but his contributions in right field have moved the A's past the rebuilding phase and straight into contention. If nothing else, Beane might be able to peddle Brown to a contender for a prospect later this summer--assuming that the A's themselves fall out of contention...

If you're not an A's fan, you'd be hard-pressed to name Oakland's starting outfield, but such anonymity hasn't prevented the A's from playing .600 ball. Oakland's current day outfield hardly brings back memories of the Rickey Henderson-Dwayne Murphy-Tony Armas combination that once roamed the warning track at the Oakland Coliseum, but Brown and company are holding their own. Brown and Jack Cust, just named the American League Player of the Week, have given Bob Geren excellent production from the corners, while Ryan Sweeney has filled the bill defensively in center field. ..

Defenders of Scott Boras wonder some of us lose our patience with the super agent from time to time. Well, Boras gave us more ammunition this week when he talked about his client, Oliver Perez, and his upcoming free agency. Boras compared Perez to Johan Santana, saying that the former is similar to the latter at the same age. I'm sorry, but when someone tries to jam pabblum like this down our throats, it's aggravating at the least--and offensive at the most...

Former big league slugger Nate Colbert will be visiting Cooperstown in late June. Best known for hitting five home runs in a 1972 doubleheader, Colbert will be participating in a special program at the Hall of Fame, with times and details to be announced. Colbert was one of the few bright spots for the Padres during their early futility as an expansion franchise. Colbert won selection to three All-Star teams, but saw his career short-circuited by back problems, which ended his playing days by the time he was 30. 

...

For the most part, baseball players are not heroes. (They shouldn't be role models either, but they nonetheless are, given the widespread influence they have on the younger set.) The truly heroic figures in American society are the underpaid teachers, the studious doctors, the honest police officers, and the selfless members of the military. Yet, in some cases, baseball players can double as heroes. In 1978, a handsome veteran pitcher named George Medich (shown here in that season's Topps card) earned that distinction.

Coming up as a rookie with the New York Yankees in 1972, Medich went on to post a solid career as a starting pitcher. He won 124 games for the Yankees, Pittsburgh Pirates, Texas Rangers, Oakland A's, Seattle Mariners, New York Mets, and Milwaukee Brewers. As if the travels and demands of major league baseball didn't sap enough of his time, Medich also kept busy by attending medical school, eventually earning his degree from the University of Pittsburgh. While all of his Topps cards list him as George Medich, his procession through the rigors of medical school prompted most baseball people to refer to him as Doc Medich.

Although the demands of the long baseball season forced Medich to split his concentration between his athletic and healing passions, he did put his medical training to good use under the most dire of circumstances. During a 1976 game between the Pirates and Philadelphia Phillies, Medich made his way into the stands at Philadelphia's Veterans Stadium to perform CPR on a 74-year-old man who had suffered a heart attack. While awaiting the arrival of an ambulance, Medich performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Medich's efforts notwithstanding, the man died later in the day.

Two years later, Medich's heroic ventures paid off far more tangibly. On July 17, 1978, another man suffered a heart attack during a game at Memorial Stadium between Medich's Rangers and the hometown Baltimore Orioles. Medich once again rushed into the stands and performed CPR on the stricken 61-year-old man. An emergency medical services team soon arrived and rushed the man to a local hospital, where he received further treatment. This man recovered from the heart attack, surviving to live several more years. He likely would not have enjoyed those "extra" years if not for the quick and efficient reactions of a right-hander/doctor named George "Doc" Medich.

After his pitching days, Medich became a successful orthopedic surgeon. He opened up an orthopedic clinic in Beaver, Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, his story did not end up happily ever after. The onetime hero eventually ran intro trouble with the law. In 2001, the 53-year-old Medich was found guilty of illegally possessing pain killers and sentenced to nine years probation. Pleading guilty to 12 counts of possession of a controlled substance, Medich had written a dozen false prescriptions in the names of his patients so that he could obtain painkillers for himself. Explaining that Medich had struggled with drug addiction for years, his lawyer called his crime a "cry for help."

Sadly, even our heroes have their blemishes.

Ron Washington and John Gibbons are the two names mentioned most frequently when it comes to discussion of the first manager to be fired in 2008. With Washington's Rangers tied for the American League's worst record, and Gibbons' Blue Jays continuing to struggle despite superior starting pitching, it's only natural that the axe looms for both men. But when will Padres manager Bud Black fall under the same kind of scrutiny? With a record of 12-20, the Padres are not only underachieving, but have also matched the disappointing Reds for the worst record in either league. By all accounts, Black is well-liked by his players and respected for his knowledge of pitching, but the team's late-season collapse in 2007 coupled with the dismal start to 2008 should put the former big league left-hander on the spot. Black hasn't been able to settle the Padres' muddled outfield mess and has shown little interest in demoting Trevor Hoffman from his role as closer despite his awful start and the presence of premier set-up man Heath Bell...

Whether it's Black, Gibbons, or Washington who becomes the first managerial casualty of the season, it's possible that his successor could be Torey Lovullo. Currently in his third season as skipper of the Triple-A Buffalo Bisons, the top affiliate of the Indians, Lovullo is arguably the most heralded managerial prospect in the game. A minor league manager since 2002, Lovullo has already won two league championships while instilling a relentlessly positive and upbeat attitude with his teams...

Finally, I was saddened to hear of the passing of former Red Sox and Senators right-hander Walt Masterson, who died in April at the age of 87. Last fall, I had the pleasure of interviewing Masterson as part of a series of articles for the Major League Baseball Players Alumni Association. Although he was recovering from a stroke at the time, Masterson patiently answered my questions, maintaining a friendly and cordial tone throughout our conversation. That shouldn't come as much of a surprise to his friends, who remembered him as a gentleman--and as one of the pioneers who started the alumni association in 1982. At his peak, Masterson was also a pretty good pitcher. Though he won only 78 games in his career, he managed to earn selection to two All-Star Games, including a start in the 1948 classic.

Masterson was also a very close friend of Ted Williams. "He and I became friends in 1949," Masterson told me, referring to the season he was traded from Washington to Boston. "I lived across the street from him. We rode to the ballpark together for three years. Every week, he'd visit a hospital that had kids in it. He'd bring a package of baseball that he signed for the kids. He'd tell the nurse, 'If you tell anyone I was here, I won't come back.' " As Masterson explained to me, Williams simply didn't want publicity for his visits to ailing children. "He was just a wonderful, wonderful man. No one knew about the things that he did for other people." Few people knew about the good things that Masterson did, too, especially when it came to launching the alumni association. Rest in peace, Walter.

When Julio Franco first made his major league debut for the Phillies at the age of 23, Pete Rose was still playing first base, Gary "Sarge" Matthews and Garry Maddox were still patrolling the outfield at Veterans Stadium, and an aging Steve Carlton was still filling the role of ace in Philadelphia. When Franco became the starting shortstop for the Indians the following season, his double play partner was Manny Trillo and the rest of the Tribe infield consisted of Mike Hargrove and Toby Harrah. Those are names from a bygone era, players who have long since retired and become managers or minor league instructors, been elected to the Hall of Fame, or been banned from Cooperstown. That's how long ago Franco made his debut.

Franco announced his retirement over the weekend, bringing to an end an era that started in 1982, when he first wore the red stripes of the Phillies. Then it was on to Cleveland, as part of a massive five-player package the Phils sent to the Indians for Von Hayes. At the time, Hayes was considered the superstar-in-the-making, but it was Franco who would have the far better career. Let's consider that Hayes retired in 1992, 16 years before Franco called it quits over the weekend, after his latest stint in the Mexican League. At the age of 49, Franco decided that his body had simply endured enough of the baseball diamond.

Given Franco's advanced age, and his decision to hang on as a pinch-hitter and utility player in recent seasons with the Braves and the Mets, he had become the punch line of too many jokes. Franco's senior citizen status made it easy to forget just how good a ballplayer he was in his prime. During his hey day from 1986 to 1996, Franco was one of the game's hardest hitting second baseman, a line-drive machine featuring speed, above-average power, and the kind of athleticism rarely seen in the game. He did it all with one of baseball's most unusual stances, holding his bat so high that you wondered how he ever caught up to someone's good fastball. Yet, he did that so many times, to the point of accumulating over 2,500 hits by the time his major league career ended with the Mets and Braves in 2007.

Franco, as it goes with so many retired players, will be forgotten relatively quickly. He'll never make the Hall of Fame. Few observers will wax poetically about how they once saw Franco play, in part because he never played long enough with any one team to develop a real fan following. But his career was still significant, in the way that he provided a lasting link to another era--the era of the 1980s--and in the way that he showed how physical conditioning and hard work can help a career last far longer than it should.

Hopefully, for those reasons, at least a few fans will remember Julio Franco.

I had never really championed Buzzie Bavasi for the Hall of Fame, but after hearing about his passing on Thursday at age 93 and reading his lengthy obituary, I have to ask: why isn't he in the Hall of Fame? During his long tenure with the Brooklyn and Los Angeles Dodgers, eight of his teams went to the World Series, and four of those won world championships. That's a pretty good start to Bavasi's Hall of Fame argument right there.

Let's consider some of the specifics of what Bavasi achieved as the leader of Dodger Blue, which included 18 years as the team's general manager and more than a decade as a key minor league executive:

*In addition to the multiple pennants and World Series, Bavasi's teams finished second four times and third once. So in other words, Bavasi's Dodgers finished first, second, or third 13 times in 18 seasons, all within the context of an eight-team league. That's impressive consistency.

*Under Bavasi's watch as GM, the Dodgers developed pitching aces Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, and Johnny Podres, and a host of key contributors, from Johnny Roseboro and Junior Gilliam to Maury Wills and Tommy Davis. A later wave of talent brought in the likes of Frank Howard, Willie Davis and Ron Fairly, not to mention Don Sutton, Bill Singer, and Ron Perranoski.

*Though never a wheeler and dealer--Bavasi preferred growing players from within the Dodgers' system--he did make some shrewd trades. He acquired lefty Claude Osteen from the Senators while giving up Howard, then watched Osteen become a mainstay in the Los Angeles rotation from 1965 until 1973. Bavasi stole Jim Brewer, an effective left-handed reliever, from the Cubs for the immortal Dick Scott, and also heisted Phil Regan, an important righty reliever, from the Tigers for Dick Tracewski. He managed to pry loose Wally Moon at the mere expense of Gino Cimoli, giving the Dodgers an important left-handed power bat in the early-1960s. He also acquired a vital role player in Sweet Lou Johnson, who became an outfield mainstay for three seasons and a World Series hero in 1965 against the Twins.

*As a bonus, Bavasi became somewhat of a racial pioneer at the minor league level. Asked by Branch Rickey to oversee the Dodgers' new minor league affiliate at Nashua, Bavasi helped make life easier for two of the organization's young African-American stars, Roy Campanella and Don Newcombe. Bavasi not only eased their difficult transition from the Negro Leagues to integrated baseball, but he challenged the manager of the opposition Lynn Red Sox to a fight when some of the Sox players hurled racial taunts at Campanella and Newcombe.

I feel bad not having argued for Bavasi prior to his passing. It shouldn't take someone's death to make us more aware of a person's accomplishments, but I guess that's an indictment of human nature. From the rear view mirror, Bavasi's Hall of Fame worthiness looks pretty clear to me. In response to my question about why Bavasi hasn't made it to Cooperstown, baseball historian extraordinaire Steve Treder offered a reply over at Baseball Think Factory, "[That's a] good question. He did a thoroughly brilliant job with the Dodgers, running an organization that was top-to-bottom excellent, for nearly 20 years." When you guide your franchise to the kind of success that Bavasi did over the span of almost two decades, that seems to me like the work of a Hall of Fame general manager.

Perhaps Bavasi has been overlooked because of those who worked with him--and before him--with the Dodgers. His predecessor as Dodgers GM was Branch Rickey, one of the game's clearest thinkers, the man who brought Jackie Robinson to the big leagues, and a certifiable baseball genius. That's a tough act to follow, though Bavasi did it very well. And then there was Bavasi's owner during his time with the Dodgers. Walter O'Malley, the National League's most influential owner for decades, cast a long shadow as a mover and shaker. O'Malley himself didn't earn election to the Hall of Fame until last December, so perhaps it's understandable that Bavasi has had to wait this long.

There's another factor at work here, too. In general, general managers are woefully underrepresented in the Hall of Fame. Unless they happened to have doubled as owners, their chances of making the grade in Cooperstown haven't been very strong. Look at some of the men who have been elected to the Hall of Fame at least in part for their work as de facto general managers. Rickey was, for a time, the Dodgers' owner, Lee MacPhail worked for a long time as the American League president, Ed Barrow was an owner, and Bill Veeck was an owner. As fellow historian Eric Enders has pointed out, only George Weiss has been elected to the Hall of Fame solely for his work as a GM. Weiss was never an owner, never a league president, and never a pioneer in the sense of Rickey.

Well, it's time to change that trend. General managers are vitally important to building championship ballclubs. The best ones should be represented in Cooperstown. Bob Howsam, the architect of the Big Red Machine who died earlier this year, should be in, as should Bavasi. Arguments could also be made for Harry Dalton (based on his work in Baltimore) and perhaps even Joe Brown (the architect of two championship teams in Pittsburgh). And perhaps one day John Schuerholz, the longtime general manager of the Braves, will receive his due in the form of a plaque in the Hall of Fame Gallery.

We can only hope that the same honor is given to Bavasi, even if it has to come after he can enjoy it.