Hit or Error? Baseball Digest's 1987 Rookie Edition Reexamined

In our twenty-fifth installment of Hit or Error, we continue our deep dive into the promising landscape of Mets prospects as highlighted by Baseball Digest in March 1987. Now that the 2025 season is underway, we are resuming this feature on a weekly basis.

The Mets' farm system had finally hit its stride, producing a steady stream of talent that would led to the Championship in the fall of 1986. The publication spotlighted nine young players who were seen as the team's bright future: Terry Blocker, Dave Magadan, and Randy Myers, were all returning names from past editions. They were joined by John Mitchell, Keith Miller, Kevin Elster, Gregg Jefferies, Mark Carreon, and Al Pedrique.

For this edition, we will focus on three infielders from the 1987 prospect class: Keith Miller, Kevin Elster, and Gregg Jefferies.

Miller, Elster, and Jefferies each took different paths in their major league careers. Miller, a versatile infielder, carved out a role as a dependable utility player. Elster became a defensive stalwart at shortstop, known for his glove and occasional power. Jefferies, long heralded as a future star, found success as a pure hitter, though his career trajectory was marked by high expectations and fluctuating results. Their journeys underscore the unpredictability of baseball prospects and how talent, opportunity, and adaptability shape a player's legacy.

To better understand their individual impacts, we'll start by taking a closer look at Kevin Elster, whose defensive prowess made him a mainstay in the Mets' infield during the late 1980s.

Elster's scouting report read as follows: Played in Playoff and World Series and was not fazed by magnitude of assignment. Offense must catch up to defense. Sure shot.

Kevin Elster: Steady Hands, Steadier Presence

Scouts pegged Kevin Elster as a sure thing: a slick-fielding shortstop who wouldn’t flinch under the pressure of October baseball. While the glove was never in doubt, the question was whether his bat would ever catch up. Turns out, he made a career out of proving just how far a good glove and a little pop can take you.

Elster first turned heads in the Mets' system in the mid-'80s, rising quickly through the ranks. Born in San Pedro, California, he sharpened his skills at Golden West College before the Mets snagged him in the second round of the 1984 draft. By September 1986, with the Mets steamrolling their way to a division title, Elster got the call to the big leagues.

In that legendary postseason run, Elster found himself thrust into the action, playing in four NLCS games and even making a cameo in the World Series. While his bat didn’t exactly light up the box score, his smooth fielding made an impression. So much so that by 1988, the Mets handed him the starting shortstop job, trading Rafael Santana to clear the way.

Elster’s rookie season was a mixed bag—he hit just .214 but made only 13 errors all season, including setting a then-record 88-game errorless streak at shortstop. His defense was his calling card, but in time, he flashed some unexpected power. Over seven seasons with the Mets, he played in 537 games, hit 34 home runs, and drove in 174 runs while maintaining a .224 batting average. While his bat never fully blossomed, he was a reliable presence in the lineup and a defensive asset.

His best offensive season came later in his career with the Texas Rangers in 1996, when he shocked everyone by belting 24 home runs and driving in 99 runs—earning AL Comeback Player of the Year honors. Injuries, particularly to his shoulder, plagued Elster’s later years. He bounced around, donning uniforms for the Yankees, Phillies, Pirates, Dodgers, and even making a brief return to the Mets. Along the way, he carved out a career that lasted 13 seasons—pretty good for a guy whose offensive upside was once described as "pending."

One of Elster’s final big-league moments came in 2000 with the Dodgers, when he hit three home runs in the first-ever game at San Francisco’s then-new Pacific Bell Park. A fitting way to cap a career that, while not Cooperstown-bound, left an undeniable mark on the game.

Up next, we take a look at Keith Miller, the ultimate utility man who found ways to stick around in the majors with hustle, versatility, and just enough bat to keep managers interested.

Keith Miller: The Ultimate Utility Man

The scouting report on Keith Miller read like something out of a suspense novel: "Mets infielders are already aware he is lurking in the shadows." It also praised his "super makeup," which made up for his merely good playing skills. If that sounds ominous, don’t worry—Miller wasn’t a ghost, just a guy with enough versatility to keep showing up where you least expected him.

Hailing from Bay City, Michigan, Miller had options coming out of high school—one of them being the Cleveland Indians, who drafted him in the 24th round in 1981. But instead of heading straight to pro ball, he opted for Oral Roberts University. The Yankees later took him in the second round of the 1984 draft, offering a cool $75,000, but then had second thoughts when they discovered a knee injury. That deal was voided, and Miller eventually landed with the Mets for a slightly less cool $50,000.

When he arrived in the majors in 1987, Miller was a second baseman who had dabbled at third. He wasted no time making an impression, hitting safely in his first seven games and posting a .373 average in limited action. That kind of start earns you a second look, though he was promptly sent back to Triple-A Tidewater.

Over the next few years, Miller bounced between the minors and Queens, picking up a little outfield work along the way. By 1990, he was the team’s starting center fielder—at least until the Mets changed their minds and brought in Daryl Boston. Miller never had a full-time position, but he had just enough bat, speed, and hustle to keep getting plugged into the lineup somewhere.

His best year as a Met came in 1991 when he hit .280 with four home runs and 23 RBIs. Then came the blockbuster trade in December 1991, when he, Gregg Jefferies, and Kevin McReynolds were shipped to Kansas City for Bret Saberhagen and Bill Pecota. Not a bad career move when you consider he landed in a starting role with the Royals.

In Kansas City, Miller had what could generously be called a "career year" in 1992, hitting .284 with a career-high four home runs. The Royals even tried him at third base in 1993, but after an 0-for-25 slump and a trip to the minors, the experiment didn’t quite stick. By 1995, injuries had taken their toll, and Miller hung up his cleats after a nine-year career spent playing everywhere but catcher and pitcher.

Miller’s career wasn’t flashy, but it was the kind that managers loved—plug him in, and he’d give you solid at-bats, a little speed, and the ability to not embarrass himself at multiple positions. Not bad for a guy who was once described as "lurking in the shadows."

And with that, we shift our focus to Gregg Jefferies, the most hyped Mets prospect of his era and the one who carried the weight of sky-high expectations.

Gregg Jefferies: The Most Hyped Met of His Time

Ah, Gregg Jefferies – the player who got more hype than a new iPhone release. In the mid-1980s, when the Mets were desperately seeking a new face to carry the torch after the '86 World Series win, there was Jefferies, the baseball version of a chosen one. Or at least that’s what the scouts had us believe.

A guy who hit .367 in Double-A with 20 homers, 48 doubles, and 101 RBIs? That kind of performance isn’t just good—it’s a statement. And Baseball America—those high priests of prospectdom—sang his praises so loudly you could almost hear it in Queens. Jefferies was the first two-time winner of the Baseball America Minor League Player of the Year award, which, let’s be honest, should come with a “Do Not Fail Us” sticker slapped on it. The only thing higher than his batting average was the expectations surrounding him.

Fast forward to 1987. The Mets, that juggernaut of a team, needed to make room for Jefferies, but there was one tiny issue: they weren’t exactly starving for talent. With a roster loaded with names like Strawberry, McReynolds, and Wilson, it was tough to figure out where Jefferies could play without accidentally tripping over a Hall of Famer. They shuffled him to AAA for a little more seasoning, and by the time the 1988 season rolled around, Jefferies was no longer a nice-to-have prospect but a legitimate piece of the puzzle.

He hit .321 to end the season, proving that even in a league where guys like Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry were strutting their stuff, Jefferies was making sure the Mets couldn’t ignore him. But, of course, this is where things took a little detour. A roster full of veterans meant that Jefferies was forced to play musical positions—third base, second base, shortstop—and I imagine by the end of the season, his glove was probably wondering which position it was supposed to go next.

By 1989, Jefferies was handed the keys to second base. He was now the future. Or at least that’s what they told him, though it was a bit like handing the keys to a Ferrari to someone who’s still figuring out how to parallel park. In a year where the Mets finished second in the division (for the second year in a row, thanks for that, by the way), Jefferies hit just .258. Not exactly the future we were promised. His rookie season was more “what did we do wrong?” than “here’s your MVP.” Still, he was the second baseman in waiting. Or at least, that’s what we kept telling ourselves.

Let’s not even get started on the Roger McDowell debacle in 1989, where Jefferies decided to charge the mound after some friendly heckling from his teammate. Was it a cry for attention? Was he a misunderstood genius who only needed a team of therapists and a bat to sort out his inner turmoil? Who knows? But the drama, as it often does with Mets prospects, was never too far behind.

Then came 1990. And 1991. A slight improvement. A little more power. A bit of hope. But the Mets, ever the ambitious underachievers, fell short both years. It became clear that Jefferies was no longer the wunderkind we’d been promised, and soon enough, he was on his way out, traded to Kansas City for Bret Saberhagen in 1992. A trade that felt like we were getting a pitcher who might actually help, and they were getting a guy who might actually show potential elsewhere. Classic Mets, right?

Fast forward to the St. Louis Cardinals, where Jefferies finally found his groove, hitting .342 in 1993 and .325 in 1994, making the All-Star team twice. By 1995, Jefferies was no longer the Mets’ problem. Now he was the Phillies' expensive headache, signing a massive contract that left Phillies fans wondering if the hype was finally going to turn into something substantial. He spent his last years bouncing from team to team, most notably with the Anaheim Angels and Detroit Tigers, before calling it quits in 2000, partly due to a severed hamstring.

But even with a career that spanned 14 seasons and included two All-Star appearances, Jefferies never fully lived up to the monster expectations that had been set for him in the late '80s. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the fact that a guy who was supposed to play everything and be everything never quite managed to do any of those things consistently. Or maybe he was just the Mets' most frustratingly brilliant what-if story.

So, how do we remember Gregg Jefferies? A kid who had everything, including a swing so smooth it could have been patented. A player who tantalized us with his potential, only to leave us wondering what could have been. He had flashes of brilliance, but in the end, he became a reminder that baseball, like the Mets themselves, is full of "close, but not quite." And honestly, for a team like the Mets, that’s probably the most fitting legacy of all.

If you ask me, though, I’ll always have a soft spot for Jefferies—if only because, much like every Mets fan, I’m still waiting for that next great promise to actually deliver.

And so, as we wrap up this week’s deep dive into the Mets' past prospects, we’re reminded that the road to the big leagues is anything but a straight line. Whether it’s the defensive steadiness of Kevin Elster, the versatility of Keith Miller, or the tantalizing potential of Gregg Jefferies, each of these players brought their own unique brand of promise—and sometimes frustration—to the Mets’ legacy. While not all of them met the sky-high expectations that the scouts set, they still managed to carve out careers that are remembered fondly (if not always with the same fervor as their once-hyped future selves). For Mets fans, this is just another chapter in our endless wait for the next “next big thing.” But hey, if there's one thing we’ve learned from the past, it’s that the future is never quite as predictable as we want it to be. Keep the faith, folks.