Great Names in Mets History is a look at several noteworthy names in team history, accompanied by some random ruminations. These names are noteworthy not because of the player’s accomplishments, but because of some quality of the name itself. Previous installments can be found here and here.

Herman Son Winningham

Herm Winningham is a good name for a ballplayer to begin with. The fact that his middle name is Son? Priceless. I wonder what his parents were thinking when they picked the name. Maybe it was a family name. Maybe his parents, desperate for a child who could carry the Winningham name into the future, had borne a long string of daughters first, and when Herman arrived they triumphantly declared him “Son.” Or maybe they thought the newborn Herman looked a little effeminate, and they needed to affirm that he was, in fact, male. Whatever the answer, it’s a story I want to hear.

The first World Series I remember watching was 1990, Reds over Oakland. I don’t know how, exactly, but I have vivid memories of Winningham despite his only appearing in two of the four games. More to the point, I have vivid memories of his incredible speed. In the eighth inning of Game 4, down 1-0 with an 0-2 count, Winningham dropped a perfect sacrifice bunt and flew down the line to first, beating the throw from the catcher easily. Winningham eventually scored the run that secured the Reds a championship.

Winningham’s greatest contribution to the Mets came as trade bait. On December 10th, 1984, Winningham was traded, along with Hubie Brooks, Mike Fitzgerald, and Floyd Youmans, for Gary Carter. According to Frank Cashen in Peter Golenbock’s Amazin’, the Expos were given a choice of Mookie Wilson and Winningham, and they preferred Winningham, much to Cashen’s delight. In hindsight, it looks like a terrible decision, but was it that bad at the time?

In 1985, Mookie was 29 years old, Winningham was 23. Mookie was fresh off the best season of his career, and, considering his age, it’s not unreasonable to believe he had hit the high-water mark. He was a fast player with decent contact skills, but he had little power and didn’t take many pitches. His numbers superficially improved after 1984, but much of that was a result of the team platooning him with Lenny Dykstra.

Winningham really didn’t project to be much different; he had no power to speak of, but he could put his bat on the ball, and he could run. He didn’t steal a ton of bases in the minors, but he wasn’t any slouch either, and everyone knew he had the legs. And as a bonus, his minor league record demonstrated some ability to draw a walk.

Given their similar skillsets and the difference in age, I certainly don’t blame the Expos for preferring Winningham.

Finally, the highest career batting averages as a Met, 15 plate appearances or more:

                           AVG       PA
1    Herm Winningham      .407       28
2    Bob Johnson          .348      246
3    Shawon Dunston       .344       97
4    Jim Marshall         .344       35
5    Moises Alou          .341      360
6    Tom Veryzer          .333       58
7    Lance Johnson        .326     1023
8    John Olerud          .315     2018
9    David Wright         .311     2312
10   Brett Butler         .311      418

Edgardo Antonio Alfonzo

If you ask me, Alfonzo has one of the most musical names in Mets history, to go along with such modern legends as Alvaro Espinoza, Bartolome Fortunato, and Armando Reynoso. The names just roll off your tongue, and I will, on occasion, go into fits where I’ll repeat the name over and over, just to listen to the sound of it.

Second base has, in my opinion, been the team’s strangest position over the years. It’s been particularly unstable—Baseball-Reference counts 22 different starters there since 1962, only two fewer than the team’s total at third base, a position the Mets are infamous for being unable to fill. The biggest difference between the two positions is that the guys the Mets have scrounged up at second have been consistently able to hit.

Even when they didn’t have an obvious player to put at the position, the team has been extremely creative, trying youngsters and questionable veterans alike. They’ve been willing to sacrifice glovework for better bats, they’ve utilized some platoons, and they’ve often adapted after the season started and Plan A didn’t work out.

The Mets’ first second baseman was Charlie Neal, who at one time had been a pretty good hitter. He was past his prime in 1962, but he still managed to hit .260/.330/.380. That isn’t good, even for a second basemen in 1962—the positional average was .260/.325/.346, and when you factor in the Polo Grounds, Neal finds himself a tick below the average NL second sacker. Below the league average, maybe, but he was a star on those 1962 Mets—he was the second-best hitter relative to his position on the team, behind only Richie Ashburn.

Neal was followed by Ron Hunt, who didn’t stick around long but was the team’s best positional player until Cleon Jones came along. After a couple terrible years, the Mets came up with Kenny Boswell, who had an underrated bat—he was an above average hitter for the position in three of his four seasons, particularly shining in 1969 and 1971. He was never a true full-timer, thanks to a sub-par glove, but his bat kept him useful.

Felix Millan followed Boswell, and he’s the only player to hold the position for five consecutive years. There were a lot of things the Cat didn’t do well—hit for power or draw walks, for example—but he had excellent contact skills and held the team record for hits for a long time. Doug Flynn, the worst second baseman in franchise history, followed him from 1978 to 1981 before being replaced by Wally Backman, who could be inconsistent but when he was on, few second basemen got on base at a better clip.

Backman struggled in 1987, but luckily the team had Tim Teufel, who hit a phenomenal .308/.399/.545 on the days he played. The position was handed to Gregg Jefferies in 1989, who had an iron glove but a potent bat for the position. By 1991 the team had discovered that Jefferies was no second baseman and shifted him to third. Fortunately, Keith Miller was waiting, and he hit .280/.345/.411. In 1992, an aging Willie Randolph provided league-average production for the position before the team acquired Jeff Kent in the David Cone trade. Kent had a bit of an attitude, but he also gave the team something they’d never had from a second baseman (except Teufel) before: power. Unfortunately, the Mets tried to upgrade when they traded Kent for the more established and younger Carlos Baerga in 1996. Baerga rapidly collapsed, and Kent eventually won an MVP for San Francisco.

And then the team developed Edgardo Alfonzo.