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

In our twenty-sixth installment of Hit or Error, we continue our deep dive into the promising landscape of Mets prospects as highlighted by Baseball Digest in its March 1988 season preview.

By then, the Mets’ farm system had firmly established itself as one of the most productive in baseball, having helped build the foundation for the 1986 championship team and continuing to churn out young talent for the years ahead. The publication spotlighted nine players viewed as the next wave of contributors: Keith Miller, Kevin Elster, Gregg Jefferies, and Mark Carreon were familiar names returning from past editions. They were joined by a new crop of hopefuls—Jeff Innis, Randy Milligan, Reggie Dobie, David West, and Jack Savage.

For this edition, we will focus on the four pitchers from the 1988 prospect class: Innis, Dobie, West, and Savage.

Defying the Reports, Defining a Role: The Jeff Innis Story

When Jeff Innis was first scouted, the report was brief but intriguing: he had a “submarine type delivery that gives right-handed hitters fits,” along with “good command and control.” The main challenge? Simply “finding a spot on the club.” That line—short, clinical, and cautious—neatly summed up the quiet uncertainty surrounding Innis as he entered pro ball. He wasn’t flashy, didn’t light up radar guns, and wasn’t seen as a future closer or a rotation piece. Instead, he was pegged as a potential bullpen specialist—if he could carve out a role for himself.

Fast forward a few years, and Innis did much more than just find a spot on a big-league roster—he became a reliable and durable presence in the New York Mets bullpen from 1987 through 1993. Armed with a low sidearm, almost submarine delivery, he served as a stylistic counterpunch to more conventional relievers. His sinker helped him keep the ball in the yard—he allowed just 22 home runs across 360 major-league innings—and his effectiveness against right-handed hitters (.227 batting average against, .314 slugging) bore out the promise that early scouts had seen.

He wasn’t a star, and he didn’t have the cartoonish antics of Tug McGraw or the outsized presence of Jesse Orosco. But Innis was steady, smart, and subtly funny, earning the nickname “I-Man” from teammates and praise from beat writers who described him as pensive, dry-witted, and even disarming—quite literally, thanks to a psychology degree from the University of Illinois. His impersonations of Mets personnel, especially GM Frank Cashen, became clubhouse favorites.

Though he started in pro ball with a more traditional pitching motion, Innis dropped his arm angle in college because, as he later put it simply, “I wasn’t getting guys out.” That adjustment led to standout seasons in college, dominance in the Cape Cod League, and ultimately a 13th-round selection by the Mets in 1983. He climbed the ladder slowly, refining his delivery under the guidance of coaches like Jim Bibby and Glenn Abbott, and developed a nasty sinker and occasional knuckleball to complement his deceptive motion.

He yo-yo’d between Triple-A and the majors in his early years, once being sent down and called back up 11 times in four seasons. But from 1991 to 1993, he became a workhorse for the Mets, appearing in 71, 76, and 67 games respectively—leading the team in appearances each year. He didn’t collect many wins or saves (just 10 and 5 over his career), but he provided consistency in the chaos of middle relief. In 1991, he became the first pitcher in MLB history to appear in 60 or more games without earning a win or a save—a trivia nugget that says more about his role than his value.

Throughout his career, Innis remained humble and self-aware, sometimes to a fault. “I used to think that being a big league player was a really big deal,” he once said. “But when I look around at some of the guys who are big leaguers, I realize it really isn’t that big a deal.” That kind of grounded perspective made him a favorite among beat writers, even as he toiled on some of the more dysfunctional Mets teams of the early ’90s. When things spiraled in the “Worst Team Money Could Buy” era, it was Innis who summed it up best: “I don’t care about anyone giving me credit anymore. I just don’t want the blame.”

Later in life, Innis reflected deeply on the mental aspect of the game. In a 2012 conversation, he emphasized how much of baseball is played between the ears—the mind games, the self-doubt, the challenge of staying confident when the numbers don’t flatter you. That insight stuck with me, especially given the quiet but impactful role he played in my own Mets journey. I was lucky enough to connect with Jeff at Mets Fantasy Camp, where he was generous with both his time and his stories. He appeared on my radio show with the same dry humor he showed in the clubhouse and kindly contributed to my book *You Never Forget Your First: A Collection of New York Mets Firsts*, offering memories and perspective with the grace of someone who understood what the game—and the fans—meant.

Tragically, Jeff Innis passed away on January 30, 2022, after a long and courageous battle with cancer that began in 2017. He was just 59. The Mets community lost not just a former pitcher, but one of the game’s genuine good guys—thoughtful, wry, and quietly impactful, both on and off the mound.

Ultimately, Innis pitched 288 games for the Mets, finishing with a career ERA of 3.05. He never made an All-Star team, never closed games consistently, and rarely received headlines—but he did exactly what that original scouting report had hoped for: he found a spot on the club and held onto it with brains, guts, and a little sidearm funk.

Absolutely — here’s how we can frame **Reggie Dobie**’s story in paragraph form, contrasting his scouting report with his actual career using the stats you provided. I’ve woven in some of the key data points and added your usual storytelling flair:

The Promise and the Path: Reggie Dobie

Reggie Dobie came into pro ball looking like a scout’s dream. His report read like a hopeful prophecy: “Prototypical pitcher’s body—extremely loose—and with his stuff, he’ll force his way onto the varsity roster.” The Mets figured he'd spend most of 1988 in Triple-A, but with that frame and arm, the majors would be calling soon enough. But as is often the case in baseball, the scouting report got the *frame* right—and missed the rest of the picture.

Dobie had moments that hinted at that potential. In 1985 at Lynchburg, he went 12–5 with a 2.63 ERA, holding hitters to just 6.3 hits per nine innings and striking out 144 in 167.2 innings. His WHIP was an impressive 1.163, and it looked like he was on the express track. He had back-to-back 170+ inning seasons in A-ball, showing both durability and flashes of dominance.

But the higher he climbed, the more hittable he became. His strikeout rates declined, his walks crept up, and by the time he reached AAA Tidewater in 1987–88, the shine had dulled. In 1987, he went 12–10 with a 4.36 ERA and a so-so 4.5 K/9. The next year, it was 8–5 with a 3.86 ERA—respectable, but not enough to force the Mets’ hand.

By 1989, Dobie had moved on to Calgary in the Mariners system, still trying to turn “projectable” into “productive.” Over 72.1 innings there, he posted a 4.60 ERA and struck out 41. Despite nearly 900 career minor league innings, he never got the call to the big leagues. His overall numbers—3.56 ERA, 1.34 WHIP, 6.5 K/9—paint the picture of a serviceable innings-eater, a guy you’d love to have in your system, but not quite what the scouts had dreamt of.

Dobie’s story is one of so many in baseball: long bus rides, flashes of brilliance, and the quiet fadeout of a once-bright projection. He had the body. He had the build. But the game, as always, had the final word.

David West :Harnessing His Assets... Eventually

Ah yes, David West. On paper—and, presumably, in the minds of every Mets scout from Flushing to Fresno—he was a southpaw savior with a golden arm and a limitless ceiling. Unfortunately, the ceiling turned out to be made of low-grade sheetrock.

The Mets were so high on him in the late '80s they probably considered changing the name of the minor league system to "Westworld." A fourth-round pick out of Memphis, he was tall, left-handed, and threw hard—three traits that automatically earned you at least one article in *Baseball America* and two years of job security.

He debuted for the Mets in 1988 with a tidy little six-inning, three-strikeout win. Then in 1989, he got hit harder than a buffet table at a sportswriter convention—posting a 7.40 ERA in Queens before getting traded to Minnesota in the deal for Frank Viola. (That trade ultimately worked out great—for the Twins. And Viola. And possibly the guy who sold moving boxes to the West family.)

In Minnesota, West was still trying to “harness his assets,” which by then seemed to be hiding in the witness protection program. He had moments—his 1991 ALCS was solid, and he technically became a World Series champion, although his Fall Classic ERA was ∞. That’s not hyperbole—he faced six batters, got zero outs, and gave up four runs. ERA? Infinity. Like Buzz Lightyear, but with more walks.

His best year came in Philly in 1993, when he embraced life as a reliever and showed signs of the pitcher everyone thought he'd be: 76 games, a 2.92 ERA, and only one trip to the emergency room (probably). That Phillies team rode a tobacco-stained wave of mullets and magic to the World Series, where they lost to Toronto and Joe Carter’s walk-off trauma bomb.

West spent parts of ten MLB seasons zigzagging between starting and relieving, walking the occasional lineup, and reinventing himself more times than Madonna. In 1997, he even did a year in Japan, where the Fukuoka Daiei Hawks gave him a shot and presumably a translator who didn’t know how to say, “Ball four.”

He resurfaced with the Red Sox in 1998 for a brief cameo that went about as well as the movie Ishtar—six runs in two innings and a farewell tour that lasted slightly longer than a weather delay.

His final MLB numbers? A 31-38 record, a 4.66 ERA, and more what-could-have-beens than a high school reunion dance floor. But the man kept grinding. A career of 204 games, a World Series ring, and the admiration of those who understood just how hard the game can be.

David West passed away in 2022 after a battle with brain cancer, far too young at 57. And even if his career never quite matched the scouting hype, he did what very few can claim: he made it, he lasted, and he left a mark—even if it came with a few bruises along the way.

Striking Out Expectations: The Brief, Brilliant, and Bumpy Career of Jack Savage

Jack Savage was a right-handed pitcher with a big fastball and a lot of promise, but his MLB career didn’t quite match the expectations set during his minor league days. After a standout start with the Dodgers' farm system in 1985, he was quickly labeled a promising prospect with an eye-popping strikeout rate—averaging one strikeout per inning in both San Antonio and Albuquerque. In fact, he saved 10 games for San Antonio and seemed on the verge of something bigger.

In 1987, Savage's minor league stats were solid, with a 2.60 ERA and 67 strikeouts in 69 innings. He made his Major League debut with the Los Angeles Dodgers that same year, allowing just one hit in 3.1 innings of work and posting a respectable 2.70 ERA. Things seemed to be on track for a future with the Dodgers.

But as the old saying goes, the road to the majors is littered with wrecked dreams and occasional glimpses of glory—and Jack Savage’s career was no different. In 1990, after bouncing around a bit, he joined the Minnesota Twins. That’s when the wheels came off. His ERA ballooned to a staggering 8.31, and control issues crept in. Savage walked 11 batters in just 26 innings, and his strikeout rate plummeted.

It’s one thing to blow away hitters in the minors with a big fastball; it’s another thing entirely to consistently get those big league hitters out when they’re aiming for the fences. Savage was a hard-throwing right-hander with all the tools to succeed, but his career never truly took off, and his big-league days ended abruptly at the tender age of 25.

Savage’s career wasn’t what anyone would call a "success story," but he definitely had some flashes of brilliance, particularly in his minor league seasons. But as is so often the case with young talent in the big leagues, the transition proved more challenging than expected. His career would never surpass the hype, but for a brief moment, he was a player to watch.

To wrap up this installment of Hit or Error, we’ve taken a deep dive into the stories of four pitchers who were part of the Mets’ highly touted 1988 prospect class. Each had their own unique journey—some meeting, and others defying, expectations. From Jeff Innis, who carved out a solid niche in the bullpen with his quirky delivery and steady reliability, to Reggie Dobie, whose promising start slowly faded as he climbed the minor league ranks, the path to the majors is never a straight line. David West, the tantalizing lefty with the big arm, had his moments but was never able to harness the potential many had envisioned for him. And then there was Jack Savage, whose brief big-league career never quite matched the promise he showed in the minors.

These stories, filled with hope, struggle, and a touch of humor, serve as a reminder that the game of baseball isn’t just about the players who make it to the top—it’s also about those who come close, those who fight for their spot, and those who fade away too soon. The Mets’ farm system in 1988 was packed with talent, but as we’ve seen, talent alone doesn’t always guarantee success. Nonetheless, each of these players left a mark, whether big or small, on the Mets’ rich history. As we continue to explore the stories of past prospects, we’re reminded that sometimes, the journey itself is just as important as the destination.