With Larkin and Santo going into the hall this summer, I've got to ask what everyone's definition of a hall of famer is. I personally feel that the hall's getting way too dilluted (not to say that undercredentialed players haven't been getting elected for years. Look at Red Ruffing)! Where do you draw the cutoff for election into the hall? I'll post my opinion below. It's an old blog post that I wrote when Roberto Alomar and Bert Blyleven were enshrined:
A trip to Cooperstown, New York is a pilgrimage that any die hard baseball fan must make, and I often fantasize about going there one day. In my dreams I walk into that room with the burnished plaques, the smiling faces of all-time greats looking back at me; some of their noses are rubbed into a golden polish by previous visitors. Unfortunately, my dream usually transitions to a jumbled invasion of unfamiliar faces.
Babe Ruth’s round mug is suddenly shoved aside by a plaque featuring a face I don’t recognize. Aren’t I in Cooperstown? Shouldn’t every name be as recognizable as the back of my own hand? After some reading I discover that it’s Red Ruffing. In my dream I read on to discover that he posted twenty or more wins in four consecutive years. That sounds pretty good, but I never thought four great years was enough to be called an immortal. The nightmare worsens as I learn more. A career ERA of 3.80! A win percentage of only .542 while playing most of his career with the Yankees of the 30s and 40s! At that point I fall from my bed in a bundle of sheets and cold sweat. As I sit on the floor in my Spongebob pajamas, I ask myself “what happened to the giants?”
I’m not talking about the boys from the bay; I’m talking about the Paul Bunyans of baseball, the guys who were so good that they wouldn’t even need the Hall of Fame to be remembered. I thought those were supposed to be the guys straddling the Mt. Olympus of baseball. Instead, it seems that these days it’s getting a little too crowded in Cooperstown. The 2011 election wasn’t as bad as recent years, but I can’t help but wonder when the Hall of Fame became the Hall of Above Average.
Actually, it’s not recent history. The problem of giving stars the same treatment as all-time greats has been present in Cooperstown for a long time. There hasn’t been a year without an inductee since 1960. That seems like a lot of guys going into a hall that’s designated for “once in a generation” ballplayers. That trend should come as no surprise to us since it’s so easy to whip up some media mania around a player just before voting.
In addition to the old game of letting in above average players, a new concept has wormed its way into the Hall of Fame dialogue: the ‘first ballot’ discussion. Is Tom Glavine a “first ballot” Hall of Famer? Cy Young wasn’t a first ballot hall of famer. Neither were Rube Waddell, Lefty Grove, and Rogers Hornsby. What does that say about them? Is there a difference between a third and a fourth ballot Hall of Famer? Where can we draw the line?
We can draw the line at “their accomplishments will be discussed for generations.” Is the player someone whose accomplishments will be remembered for more than one generation? Thirty years from now, will a fan from a different town recognize their name (can anyone from California fill me in on Enos Slaughter’s enormous contributions to the game)? Did they perform so far above their peers that they can be talked about in the same conversations as “second ballot” inductees like Tris Speaker, or- gasp- third balloters like Eddie Collins?
The fact is that a vote, regardless of what year it is cast, is a vote recognizing a particular player as one of the greatest to ever set foot on a baseball diamond. There shouldn’t have to be a distinction between first ballot hall of famers, all-time great hall of famers, and average hall of famers (hello, Joe Tinker). Greatness should be mandatory for induction at all, and whether a player is voted in on their first year of eligibility or their last is pointless.
Before the backlash begins, I understand that there is room for discussion on what makes an all-time great, and I understand that a cut-off has to be established somewhere in every fan’s heart. That’s what makes it so fun to follow. But I also think that to be voted into the hall, a player’s credentials should speak loudly enough that there is little room for such debate. Is Burt Blyleven one of the greatest of all time? Since I have to ponder, discuss, analyze, and evaluate my answer for more than five minutes, I’d say the answer is no. Not this year, not next year, not ever. Stats don’t change from one year of eligibility to another, so unless some game-changing info is brought to light, I don’t understand why on-the-fence candidates are even considered.
Let’s make room for the folks who changed the game, the real once-in-a-generation ballplayers. If voters stay true to those standards, there will be no ‘inner circle’ Hall of Famers. The Hall itself would be the inner circle. Serious fans shouldn’t walk around and have to ask “is that my uncle Phil?” (The answer is no, it’s Andre Dawson). Let’s keep the Hall of Fame a place of enshrinement for the behemoths of baseball, because I’m tired of having my dreams invaded by Hall of Fame relief pitchers.
A trip to Cooperstown, New York is a pilgrimage that any die hard baseball fan must make, and I often fantasize about going there one day. In my dreams I walk into that room with the burnished plaques, the smiling faces of all-time greats looking back at me; some of their noses are rubbed into a golden polish by previous visitors. Unfortunately, my dream usually transitions to a jumbled invasion of unfamiliar faces.
Babe Ruth’s round mug is suddenly shoved aside by a plaque featuring a face I don’t recognize. Aren’t I in Cooperstown? Shouldn’t every name be as recognizable as the back of my own hand? After some reading I discover that it’s Red Ruffing. In my dream I read on to discover that he posted twenty or more wins in four consecutive years. That sounds pretty good, but I never thought four great years was enough to be called an immortal. The nightmare worsens as I learn more. A career ERA of 3.80! A win percentage of only .542 while playing most of his career with the Yankees of the 30s and 40s! At that point I fall from my bed in a bundle of sheets and cold sweat. As I sit on the floor in my Spongebob pajamas, I ask myself “what happened to the giants?”
I’m not talking about the boys from the bay; I’m talking about the Paul Bunyans of baseball, the guys who were so good that they wouldn’t even need the Hall of Fame to be remembered. I thought those were supposed to be the guys straddling the Mt. Olympus of baseball. Instead, it seems that these days it’s getting a little too crowded in Cooperstown. The 2011 election wasn’t as bad as recent years, but I can’t help but wonder when the Hall of Fame became the Hall of Above Average.
Actually, it’s not recent history. The problem of giving stars the same treatment as all-time greats has been present in Cooperstown for a long time. There hasn’t been a year without an inductee since 1960. That seems like a lot of guys going into a hall that’s designated for “once in a generation” ballplayers. That trend should come as no surprise to us since it’s so easy to whip up some media mania around a player just before voting.
In addition to the old game of letting in above average players, a new concept has wormed its way into the Hall of Fame dialogue: the ‘first ballot’ discussion. Is Tom Glavine a “first ballot” Hall of Famer? Cy Young wasn’t a first ballot hall of famer. Neither were Rube Waddell, Lefty Grove, and Rogers Hornsby. What does that say about them? Is there a difference between a third and a fourth ballot Hall of Famer? Where can we draw the line?
We can draw the line at “their accomplishments will be discussed for generations.” Is the player someone whose accomplishments will be remembered for more than one generation? Thirty years from now, will a fan from a different town recognize their name (can anyone from California fill me in on Enos Slaughter’s enormous contributions to the game)? Did they perform so far above their peers that they can be talked about in the same conversations as “second ballot” inductees like Tris Speaker, or- gasp- third balloters like Eddie Collins?
The fact is that a vote, regardless of what year it is cast, is a vote recognizing a particular player as one of the greatest to ever set foot on a baseball diamond. There shouldn’t have to be a distinction between first ballot hall of famers, all-time great hall of famers, and average hall of famers (hello, Joe Tinker). Greatness should be mandatory for induction at all, and whether a player is voted in on their first year of eligibility or their last is pointless.
Before the backlash begins, I understand that there is room for discussion on what makes an all-time great, and I understand that a cut-off has to be established somewhere in every fan’s heart. That’s what makes it so fun to follow. But I also think that to be voted into the hall, a player’s credentials should speak loudly enough that there is little room for such debate. Is Burt Blyleven one of the greatest of all time? Since I have to ponder, discuss, analyze, and evaluate my answer for more than five minutes, I’d say the answer is no. Not this year, not next year, not ever. Stats don’t change from one year of eligibility to another, so unless some game-changing info is brought to light, I don’t understand why on-the-fence candidates are even considered.
Let’s make room for the folks who changed the game, the real once-in-a-generation ballplayers. If voters stay true to those standards, there will be no ‘inner circle’ Hall of Famers. The Hall itself would be the inner circle. Serious fans shouldn’t walk around and have to ask “is that my uncle Phil?” (The answer is no, it’s Andre Dawson). Let’s keep the Hall of Fame a place of enshrinement for the behemoths of baseball, because I’m tired of having my dreams invaded by Hall of Fame relief pitchers.
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