If you do more in baseball than Bernie Williams has done in his 13 years as a Yankee, you become not only a Hall of Famer, but one of its elite.

While of course he played in the era of expanded playoffs, he is the all-time leader in postseason games played, at bats, runs, total bases, doubles, home runs, RBI, and walks. He’s won four World Series, four Gold Gloves, and a batting title, and played in five All-Star games. For eight consecutive years, he hit .300 and posted on-base averages above .390. He has – and you could probably win a bar bet with this – actually played more games in center field than either Mickey Mantle or Joe DiMaggio did. As he grew into a great player, the Yankees became perhaps the greatest team in the history of the game, and he declined, they became merely very good. That was not coincidence.

Take it all together, and there’s a fair argument to be made that Williams is one of the ten greatest center fielders in major league history.

He isn’t, of course, in a class with Ty Cobb, Tris Speaker, Willie Mays, Mantle, or DiMaggio. (There’s no shame in that.) Among all the other center fielders to play in the majors, though, the only one who was clearly better is Ken Griffey, Jr. – and had Williams aged the way one would have thought he would, he would have had a fair shot at him, too.

Probably the closest player in terms of career value to Williams is another New York center fielder, Duke Snider, an awesome hitter who in about 200 more career games hit more than 125 more home runs than Williams and out slugged him .540 to .480. How can Williams, who has no advantage in batting or on-base average, be of equal value?

To start with, he was on the field more. Snider was done as a regular after 30,because he couldn’t hit lefties; Williams has declined early, but had a useful season as a regular last year at 35.He’s actually had more at-bats than Snider, and walked more as well. He’s hit 70 more doubles than Snider did, stolen 50 more bases, played much better defense, and done all this playing what is, in my opinion, a more difficult game. Snider was great in October; Williams has been, too. In all, I think Williams has had slightly the better of it.

This is heady company. Among the Hall of Fame center fielders to whom Williams is clearly superior are Earle Combs, Slidin’ Billy Hamilton, Kirby Puckett, Lloyd Waner, and Hack Wilson, holder of the single-season RBI record. Among those still active, Jim Edmonds – a similar player, but with more power – and Andruw Jones will probably, but not certainly, surpass Williams before they retire.

There are no intangible arguments to be made against Williams. Any Yankee fan can think of some among his innumerable game-winning home runs, or key walks, for that matter. If unusually reserved, Williams has nonetheless served as a center and something of a leader on a team that at times has needed its leadership to come not in the form of showy dramatics or demonstrative boasts, but in the form of steadiness and dignity. In a time when the Yankees – and baseball – have lacked grace, he’s always been its personification.

An obvious point to make, now that it’s time to think over Williams’s role in history, is that in a time when the game has been populated by drug-fueled behemoths and self-aggrandizing poseurs, Williams provided a model of a different sort of player, one who takes success in stride, plays for the team, and contents himself with quiet, diverse excellence rather than the specialized sort that brings recognition and accolades. Some might call him a throwback to another time.

That’s not true, though, and if anything it’s damning him with faint praise. There was never any time when star baseball players recorded jazz records, or when they were too shy to talk to the press, or when they became visibly embarrassed by the loss of their skills. Williams is, before he’s anything else, utterly unique, the sort of man baseball has all too rarely had, and may not have again for a very long time.

In truth, though I hope he retires, it won’t bother me a bit if he returns for another year. He doesn’t have the skills on defense or as a contact or power hitter to be an asset to the Yankees as a reserve, and it would be a terribly sad thing to see him in another uniform.

If he doesn’t, it will be all to the good, and will show those who doubted him that he really was as competitive as his more blustery peers, as prideful and conscious of his own place in history. If he comes back, it will only be so as not to go out on a low note – and if in this, he turns out to be like other players, it will be surprising, but not disappointing at all.

tmarchman@nysun.com