In baseball, the game changes with time but its lessons, no matter how obscure, are etched in history.

Commissioner Rob Manfred’s recent decision to lift baseball’s permanent ban on deceased players including “Shoeless” Joe Jackson and Pete Rose also offers a moment to reflect on otherwise forgotten men who paid the ultimate professional price.

Fred McMullin stands as one of these cautionary tales in the annals of baseball history. Playing for the Chicago White Sox—now infamously known as the “Black Sox” —and unlike Jackson with his .356 lifetime average or the charismatic first baseman Chick Gandil, the chief ballplayer who orchestrated the “fix” of the World Series, McMullin was a utility infielder who appeared in just 60 games during the 1919 regular season.

In all or parts of six major league seasons, McMullin never appeared in more than 70 games. And while McMullin had a career year in 1919, batting .294, he only amassed a career average of .256. His role in baseball’s darkest scandal came not from star power but opportunistic eavesdropping.

The facts are plain. McMullin overheard teammates plotting to throw the World Series. Rather than report them, he leveraged the information.

McMullin demanded inclusion or threatened exposure. Though he barely played in the Series—a grand total of two plate appearances—he collected $5,000 for his silence.

When Commissioner Landis swung his gavel in 1920, McMullin’s punishment matched that of Jackson, Gandil, star pitcher Eddie Cicotte, and the others. For Landis, there was no distinction between architects and accessories.

The “eight men out” were all banned for life. Until last week, it was generally understood that “life” really meant eternity.

After baseball, McMullin worked various jobs—carpenter, office worker, and Los Angeles deputy marshal. He died of a stroke in 1952.

No movies were made about Fred McMullin, unless you consider Eight Men Out (1988) where he barely figured in. No debates ever raged over his Hall of Fame worthiness.

McMullin’s son Bill once showed promise on the diamond, but he could never escape his father’s shadow. When Fred died, his wife reportedly destroyed a letter explaining his role in the scandal, saying, “I won’t have anything in this house that tells of the games your dad threw. He ruined my life, your career, the game of baseball.”

The recent reinstatement of baseball’s banished dead changes nothing about their lives they may have lived in disgrace or embarrassment. For today’s players, McMullin’s story offers the hardest truth: Complicity carries the same punishment as conspiracy.

In baseball, as in life, being on the margins of wrongdoing still places you squarely outside the lines.

As always,
Brian

P.S. – McMullin wanted to get rich quick and wanted to do it without putting forth much effort.

Well, almost every single day I talk to people who want to fast-track their road to success. Some can do it and are doing it quite well. Others have trouble. This is life, of course.

The way I see it, however, is that it comes down to relentless consistency, not shortcuts. Of course, we would all like things to move a bit faster, but always speeding down the road in the “fast lane” is a path rarely available at all times.

As we wrote about here a couple weeks back regarding Scottie Scheffler’s record-setting performance at the Byron Nelson and yesterday, as he clinched his third career major, winning the PGA Championship at Quail Hollow, the 28-year-old Scheffler’s career is a testament to his relentless consistency.

Don’t ask me. Hear what Jim Murphy, bestselling author and elite mental skills coach to many of today’s sports stars, had to say the other day about Scottie and his team on the Brian D. O’Leary Show.