So this is how it goes, I guess. Every year, the Thrill of Christmas will be followed by the Agony of the Vote.
Deciding on another man’s right to immortality is, indeed, an agonizing exercise. Who deserves to be in the Baseball Hall of Fame? And who am I to choose?
I spent 30 years in this business debating with both my brethren and my conscience whether me and mine were best suited to enshrine them and theirs. After three decades of getting to know them and theirs I’ve decided that, generally speaking, yes: Me and mine are far better suited than them, or theirs.
Me and mine all have different parameters, which adds to the charm of the process, which is negligible, and vexation of those who disagree with the outcome, which is everyone. So it goes.
I more fully spelled out my personal guidelines last year, my first as a voter. Here’s an abridged version:
— Yes, I’m voting for players connected with the performance enhancers. Why? Because hundreds of players got away with it, so the playing field was nowhere near as skewed as purists will have you believe. Also, hundreds of players, managers, general managers, owners, and media members looked the other way during the Steroid Era because, simply, it benefited all of them. It made the sport money; some say it saved it. Baseball is rife with hypocrisy, but none in this age is as great as this hypocrisy.
— Second, I believe in the character clause. I call it the Schilling Line. I’m proud to have done my part to both deny the sport’s most famous religious bigot and treason cheerleader, Curt Schilling, access to the Hall as a writer and to inform the recent voters on the Contemporary Era Committee why they should rebuke him, too. Which they did.
— Third, I will vote for lost causes. This year, that’s probably Jimmy Rollins and Omar Vizquel, whose diminishing support underscores the absence of knowledge and appreciation of the electorate for defensive genius.
— I will always weight defense more heavily than most voters. After all, players spend half the game playing defense, only about 20 minutes hitting, and the rest sitting on their butts.
— I’ll vote for the maximum 10 players every year.
— No relievers. They’re failed starters who pitch about one inning twice a week. That goes for Mariano Rivera, who, thankfully, got in before I could vote. Apologies to my man Billy Wagner.
— No designated hitters. And no, I didn’t vote for David Ortiz last year.
— Timing matters. If two players are equal, and one is close to ending his 10-year candidacy on the writers’ ballot, then that guy gets the vote. My final choice this year was subjected to this guideline.
— My ballot not only will be public, I’ll rank my selections. The writers’ Hall of Fame votes will be announced on Jan. 24.
1. Alex Rodriguez: second year
Last year, Barry Bonds, a condescending jerk who used steroids, was my No. 1 choice, but he dropped off the ballot after a decade of rejection. He also failed to get elected by the Contemporary Era Committee earlier this year. A-Rod, a condescending jerk who admitted he used steroids, takes Bonds’ place on top. Juiced or not, Rodriguez was a Gold Glove shortstop with unreal power. He had no peer. (Roger Clemens and Sammy Sosa, who ranked third and eighth for me last year, also exhausted their 10-year eligibility window and were rejected by the Contemporary Era Committee.)
2. Manny Ramirez: seventh year
Remember the heart of the 2004 Red Sox how you will — Papi, Schilling, Gabe Kapler — but the franchise that broke the curse was built around Manny Ramirez, as were the great Indians teams of the late 1990s, along with Jim Thome. Manny was popped twice for PED use, and was suspended twice. He was not suspended for a lifetime. His Hall of Fame blackball shouldn’t last that long, either.
3. Scott Rolen: sixth year
Eight Gold Gloves, seven All-Star Games, World Series champion. 70.1 career WAR, ninth all-time among third basemen, and all seven who were Hall eligible are in. Early trends indicate that Rolen will join them this year.
4. Carlos Beltran: first year
This is where the arguments get shaky. Beltran isn’t a slam dunk, despite three Gold Gloves, nine All-Star Games, and his postseason feats — a .307 average and 16 homers over 65 games — but in his prime he was a beautiful player who reminded you of Beltran’s hero, Roberto Clemente. If you want to contend that he should be punished with non-inclusion because of his role in the Astros’ cheating scandal in 2017, well, there are going to be lots of angry Astros fans in about 15 years when the rest of the cheaters enter their candidacies.
5. Jimmy Rollins: second year
Five hundred doubles, 200 homers, 400 steals, MVP in 2007, four Gold Gloves, .983 fielding percentage, switch-hitter, and the unquestioned leader of a Phillies team that won five straight National League East titles and the 2008 World Series. J-Roll was unique.
6. Jeff Kent: 10th year
The 2000 MVP has 377 homers, most among second basemen, and a .500 slugging percentage, which is second. Then again, he wasn’t much of a second baseman.
7. Todd Helton: fifth year
An excellent defender who routinely loses votes because he “only” played first base, and a stupendous hitter who routinely loses votes because he had his best years in Coors Field pre-humidor. I think Helton gets in this year. While his home OPS of 1.048 was nearly 200 points higher than his road OPS, the reality is that he was a superior player on some very good teams.
8. Bobby Abreu: sixth year
Abreu was often an indifferent right fielder and he seldom reached his potential defensively. Evidence: He won a Gold Glove in 2005, the season he really cared, which also was the season he knew he might be traded from the Phillies. But from 1998-2009 he carried a .903 OPS and a .406 on-base percentage. His offensive WAR from 1998-2007, his 10 best consecutive seasons, was 49.0, which was better than David Ortiz’s from 2004-2013, his 10 best consecutive seasons, which was 38.8. And Abreu not only played in the field in that 10-year span, he played almost every single day: 157 of 162 games on average. You’d think he’d be a darling of the analytics cult. Alas.
9. Omar Vizquel: sixth year
Vizquel faced accusations of sexual abuse of an autistic batboy and domestic abuse of his estranged wife. He denied both and neither was proven. On the diamond, he’s the best defensive shortstop in baseball history behind Ozzie Smith, he won 11 Gold Gloves, and hit .282 over a 15-year period. For me, he’s in.
10. Gary Sheffield: ninth year
I left Sheff off my ballot last year, but the only first-year candidate I consider worthy this year is Beltran. Ryan Howard would have occupied this spot, but he fell off the ballot last year because he didn’t get the requisite 5% of the vote. (I didn’t vote for him either.) Andruw Jones was the other consideration for my No. 10, but he’s only in his sixth year, so Sheffield’s situation is more dire. So, Sheff it is.
