Murph Mum on Hall Chance
Deseret News (Sunday, December 13, 1998)
By Brad Rock
On the other end of the phone line, it sounded like a gulp, gasp or
maybe someone quietly choking on a chicken wing. He halted. He
stammered. He struggled like an 11-year-old who just learned Becky Sue Applegate has a crush on him. Ask Dale Murphy about being a candidate for the baseball Hall of Fame and he gets speechless. Deion Sanders he's not. It's safe to say he has never referred to himself in the third person. He doesn't even like referring to himself at all.
"Hmmmm. Ahhh. I don't even know what to say. I don't know," said Murphy. "It's very . . . challenging . . . I'm looking for the right word . . . It's such an honor to even be considered. Any kind of thing . . . uh . . . um . . . it's not any sort of thing I even thought
about. People ask, and I say I never even thought about it when I was
playing, so I feel kind of funny talking about it now.
"All I can say is to be considered as a potential candidate is
something I'm very grateful for. If something were to happen sooner rather than later, it would just be . . . I don't know what to say."
Murphy never knew what to say about himself. He was always
mystified why people thought he was a big deal. He was a jeans-and-golf-shirt kind of guy in a silk shirt and gold chain business. He spent a career being unfailingly polite. He was
possibly the most popular player in the major leagues, as far as media members were concerned. He didn't chew tobacco, curse, kick lockers or feud with reporters. He signed autographs for hours, before and after games. He even signed autographs for strangers who knocked on his door. He chided himself for spitting while at the plate, because it was a poor example for kids. He was Roy Hobbs, minus the slug in his side.
Murphy spent 18 years in the major leagues, virtually all of it
with the Atlanta Braves. After retiring, he moved his family to Alpine, Utah, where he planned to settle permanently. But in 1997 he was called as an LDS mission president in Boston.
The news that he was among 11 first-time candidates for the Hall
caught him off balance, like a wicked change-up. He was flattered, shocked and, naturally, embarrassed. He wasn't expecting it, just like he wasn't expecting to hit 398 career home runs. But there's a chance he'll make the Hall on his first try. He had some great years. And he
certainly was popular among the voters -- members of the Baseball
Writers' Association of America. On the other hand, there's a lot of competition. Three candidates -- Nolan Ryan, George Brett and Robin Yount -- are shoo-ins. Murphy and Carlton Fisk are on the bubble. Tony Perez is back after barely missing the call last year. Then there are the long-shot first-timers: George Bell, Mike Boddicker, John Candelaria, Charlie Leibrandt, Frank Tanana and Mike Witt. The only time five players were elected at the same time was in 1936, the first year the voting was held.
Murphy came along too late for the game's golden era and too early
for the $10 million-per-year contracts. He never demanded a trade, and when he did finally leave for Philadelphia, at the end of his career, it was at the Braves' suggestion. He left Atlanta the biggest sports star in town, because nice guy or not, there was no stammering and blushing at the plate. In 1982 and 1983 he was arguably the best player in the majors, winning the National League MVP award both seasons. He holds the major league mark for seasons leading the league in games by an outfielder (six) and ranks 29th on the all-time home run list. He won five straight Gold Gloves and hit 20 or more homers 12 times. He hit 30 or more homers six times and in 1987 connected for 44. Unless you were a pitcher, it was hard not to like Murph. At the end of his career, though, his game faded. He hit a combined .153 with just two home runs in his last two years, dropping his career average to .265. He retired 26 games into his 18th season, bothered by injuries. Only six players have struck out more than Murphy -- though strikeouts are an accepted byproduct of power hitting. Still, the
tapering off late in his career could hurt his chances to get in the
Hall on the first ballot.
Not surprisingly, Murphy agrees. It's not hard to get him to
explain why he shouldn't be elected. But ask if he should be there and he stammers again. "Oh boy, it's hard for me to say. That's a hard one to answer. I don't know if I can answer it. I did some things in my career that could be considered, but also, realistically, I had some statistics that put me in the debatable range. So I don't know." He added, "It's just weird. Kind of surreal, I guess."
Enough to make you want to gasp.
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