Baseball Hall of Fame reflections
Why team Hall of Fames are sometimes better than national Hall of Fames
My theory about who belongs in the Baseball Hall of Fame starts with opening a pack of baseball cards. Does a card make you smile, chuckle, or quickly bypass? Or does your heart race with adrenaline upon seeing the name and face of a player?
For most people, pulling a card of any player on their favorite team makes you happy. But I’m talking about players from other teams. I was an 80s kid, so hang with me, as I give you examples.
I know that Eric Davis does not belong in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Too short of a career plagued with injuries. But my goodness, my heart raced with excitement if “Eric the Red” was inside a pack I opened.
On the other hand, sure, I was happy when the A’s acquired Harold Baines and respect his lengthy career. But I barely paused if I saw his card in a pack and still can’t fathom he’s actually in the Hall of Fame.
I don’t have a vote, and if I did, believe me, I would not vote strictly based on my teenage fan crushes.
But I do know this. If we were trading baseball cards, I’d offer you Harold Baines, Don Sutton, Rich Gossage, Bruce Sutter and Bert Blyleven – all Hall of Famers – for one Dave Parker or one Don Mattingly (neither of whom are Hall of Famers).
Objectively, I get it. Mattingly got hurt and didn’t play long enough. Parker didn’t … uhh, I still don’t know what Parker’s career is lacking, besides, I guess, more walks?
This is why I’m relieved that team Hall of Fames exist and why I’ll argue that often times, they are more meaningful because it’s players who elicited greater emotions for fans — and that’s the whole point of sports.
The New York Mets announced last week that Dwight “Dr. K” Gooden and Darryl Strawberry will be inducted into their Hall of Fame. I’m thrilled. You can’t tell the story of baseball in the 1980s without including Doc and Darryl. They were larger than life. If you opened a pack and got Doc and Darryl, your entire week was made.
Doc and Darryl appeared destined for Cooperstown after the 1986 season. Instead, they became cautionary tales of careers shortened and unfulfilled due to alcohol and drugs. Their comebacks and relapses are inspiring and tragic. They don’t belong in Cooperstown. But they are Hall of Famers. They are Mets Hall of Famers.
Doc Gooden was a player who literally inspired thousands of fans in visiting cities to buy a ticket to a game because he was the starting pitcher. I’ll never forget the morning my Dad burst into my bedroom and said, basically, “Doc Gooden is pitching at Candlestick this afternoon. You’re not going to school and I’m not going to work. Get dressed.”
I remember the Giants actually beat Doc that day. Here’s the boxscore. The attendance was 27,442 that day, about 9,000 above the season average.
The next day at score I learned that I wasn’t the only kid whose Dad made the executive decision that watching Doc mattered more than school or work.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Cooperstown. I visited as a teenager with my Dad. I’ve gone back twice with friends. I’m planning a trip this Fall with more friends, and mentally preparing to finally attend during an Induction Weekend when Dusty Baker is enshrined.
It’s just that standards are different. The National HOF is, usually, about longevity. A Team HOF is about shorter bouts of brilliance.
The more I stare at Dave Parker’s Baseball-Reference page, the more I get annoyed he’s not in the Hall of Fame.
Nicknamed “The Cobra,” he played 19 years, was an All-Star seven times, won two batting titles when those really mattered, won three Gold Gloves, and an All-Star Game MVP when he threw out two runners at home.
Parker received MVP votes nine times in career, starting with a third-place finish at age 24, winning it at age 27, and still got MVP votes at ages 38 and 39. He played all 162 games, at age 35, on the brutal artificial turf in Cincinnati, and finished fifth in MVP voting.
Fortunately, Parker is enshrined in both the Pirates and Reds team Hall of Fames.
It made me think how many other players are enshrined in two team HOFs, yet not in the National HOF.
When it became decision time for my career -- continue as a baseball writer vs try this broadcasting thing -- it was an easy choice. Broadcasting is what I always wanted to do with my life. I have no regrets. I wish I’d made the switch sooner.
One thing was tempting about continuing as a baseball writer: voting for the Baseball Hall of Fame. The qualification is 10 consecutive years as a member of the Baseball Writers Association of America. I’d completed seven years. Three more and I could vote for the highest honor. In college, I even wrote somewhere that my career goal was to vote for the Hall of Fame.
Now? I’m relieved that I don’t have a vote. It’s been messy for over a decade, determining who cheated with steroids, who really cheated with steroids, and how much that enhanced their career; and now, morality choices about who cheated with electronic sign-stealing.
The annual hand wringing debate over steroids and the Hall of Fame, thankfully, is almost over.
It’s clear that Alex Rodriguez and Manny Ramirez, who both were busted for PEDs after testing began and the rules were clear, are not close to enough votes and aren’t making progress. Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens came off the ballot last year.
Gary Sheffield’s association to PEDs was always flimsy, rubbing a cream on his knee without knowing it contained steroids, and he just fell short in his last chance on this year’s ballot. No other legitimate candidates with steroid baggage will become eligible in the future. Thank goodness.
I’m a believer in transparency in voting, yet the trend of writers releasing their votes in advance has led to unintended consequences.
It starts with voters getting mocked (some deservedly) and massive online bullying. That leads to some voters not releasing their ballots. It leads to other voters filling up their ballots with the maximum 10 choices to appease the masses and garner social media likes.
That leads to a collective Group Think amongst voters, led by those with the loudest megaphones. I don’t know the solution. Transparency matters. But we still need more independent thinking.
I have this theory about Hall of Fame voting: the more teams you played for, the more it’s held against you.
I know, it’s not that simple. Voters consider a lot of factors. Psychologically, though, I’m wondering if a player moving around so frequently (via trades or free agency) becomes a negative.
Let’s subtract obvious candidates, like Rickey Henderson.
Let’s also subtract relief pitchers from this discussion because their inclusion is a different debate: Lee Smith, Bruce Sutter, Rich Gossage.
Let’s think about borderline candidates.
Playing for one team their entire careers aided Joe Mauer, Todd Helton and Don Drysdale. Playing for two teams (and overwhelmingly one) helped Lou Brock and Billy Williams.
On the other hand, Orlando Cepeda (6 teams) finally was voted into the HOF in his 15th and final year on the ballot. Bert Blyleven (5 teams) needed 14 years to make it. Now players only get 10 years. Tim Raines (6 teams) reached in his final chance.
Fred McGriff (6 teams) didn’t get elected by voters, but the Veterans Committee got him enshrined.
Is it possible wearing so many different jerseys hurt Gary Sheffield (8 teams), Jeff Kent (6), Tommy John (6), Dave Parker (5), Dick Allen (5) or Kenny Lofton (11 teams)? Going forward, will that impact Carlos Beltran (7 teams, but his role in the Astros sign-stealing scandal is the bigger issue) and Bobby Abreu (6 teams)?
Maybe it just delays the inevitable. Plenty of legitimate reasons exists to not vote for all those players for the HOF. Maybe it’s just the difference between going off the ballot after one season, sticking around for multiple years before falling short, and eventually making it near the end.
But I do know this, if I’m opening a pack of baseball cards, I want Dave Parker in any uniform; I’ll always read stories about Doc and Darryl; and if I go to a batting cage, I’m mimicking Gary Sheffield’s stance. Every. Single. Time.
There are a bunch of teams without individual Halls of Fame, and there are others with LOTS of members in theirs. It makes for a bit of a weird list.
Among non-MLB Hall of Famers — and excluding Rose and Schilling and others of their ilk, as well as non-players — here are a few:
Rusty Staub is in both the Mets and Expos Halls of Fame.
Tug McGraw is in both the Phillies and Mets Halls of Fame.
Bobby Grich is in both the Orioles and Angels Halls of Fame.
J.J. Hardy and B.J. Surhoff are both in the Orioles Hall of Fame and on the Brewers Wall of Honor.
Sal Bando is in both in the A's Hall of Fame and on the Brewers Wall of Honor.
Stu Miller is in both the Giants and Orioles Halls of Fame.
What about players who were cordial and accessible to writers during their careers versus the Jeff Kents of the world? For a writer, when the day of ultimate reckoning day arrives at last, it’d be tough to put aside your unconscious bias against a supreme jerk. This piece agrees that stats alone are not the determinative factor to induction (whyyyyyy is Gary Carter in there?). I think payback is a factor that deserves further analysis.