Hall voting a complicated process that works out in the end
Of all things too often criticized, none is more unfairly treated than the initial balloting process for the Baseball Hall of Fame. Everything in sports should be as efficient.
Trusted to the baseball writers, for that’s the only way that it could work without becoming a repugnant concession to politics or passion, the procedure is necessarily complex. But that complexity is why, in the end, the right people are enshrined in Cooperstown.
The process is not only functional. It’s brilliant. It allows for fluidity. And that fluidity breeds the necessary level of context.
The ballot for the Hall of Fame changes each year. New players are added, and those who had not received sufficient support in the past, are scratched. To boot, the electorate changes, too, with new voters becoming eligible and others moving on. In that way, the look at each candidate is comprehensive and measured, allowing for voters of multiple generations to have input.
The most intriguing part of the process is that a voter can approve no more than 10 players. It’s why certain voters, myself included, can approve a player one year but not the next. No, of course the candidate’s achievements didn’t change. But the context did. In one year, a former player might have been among the 10 most qualified on the ballot. The next, he may be deemed to be the 11th and be dismissed. But if the writers, who watched the game without bias, couldn’t find room for a candidate in a 10-year cycle, then only politics and friendships can worm the guy into the Hall.
All of which could be a long way of explaining my ballot for the 2018 election, and in particular, how Larry Walker and Curt Schilling were among those I approved, even though I have rejected them in the past. The reason: From this particular slate, they were among the 10 most qualified candidates.
Every voter has his or her own selection process. That, too, is healthy, for there is more than one way to view a career. My process is to scan the ballot and select the obvious, legendary, era-defining, sport-changing, superstarof-superstar options. In recent years, that has meant an instant check mark next to Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. Their onfield accomplishments are not in debate. Some voters, and it is their right, reject them as symbols of baseball’s steroid era. I never minded players trying to become stronger in order to win games and entertain customers.
Next, I will scratch players who, their achievements aside, cannot be considered Hall of Famers for any reason. Gary Sheffield, who once threatened to deliberately commit an error, should have been banned from baseball for life. Manny Ramirez quit on the Red Sox. Sammy Sosa was found with cork in his bat, which is substantially more disturbing than vitamins in his bloodstream.
From there, I will check the first-year candidates for obvious choices. This year, there were two: Jim Thome and Chipper Jones. Since no player has ever been a unanimous selection, some voters insist on keeping that tradition. So surely some stubborn voters will reject Thome and Jones. Both, though, deserve instant election.
After that, I will return to my previous ballots and re-select players who, for some reason, were just a few votes from recent selection. This year, that included Vlad Guerrero, a Hall of Fame player by any definition, and Trevor Hoffman, once the all-time leader in saves. So Bonds and Clemens, Thome and Jones, and Guerrero and Hoffman made it a simple first six. Technically, I could have stopped there. There is no requirement to vote for 10 players. Typically, though, I will check off the maximum, for one reason: It’s not a decision on the head of a hospital’s surgery team. It’s a vote for a guy who played a game at the highest level. So I figure I can salute 10. In this particular year, there were more than enough worthy candidates. By my count, there were 14. Alphabetically, the remaining eight worthy of consideration were Andruw Jones, Jeff Kent, Edgar Martinez, Fred McGriff, Mike Mussina, Schilling, Omar Vizquel and Walker.
At that point, I went to Schilling and Walker, as both have received my vote in other elections, depending on the depth of the ballot. If they were qualified then, they are still qualified. Indeed, the lack of support for Walker, a three-time batting champion with a .313 lifetime average and five gold gloves, is an ongoing mystery.
That left six worthy candidates for two spots. So begin to eliminate: Kent had Hall of Fame numbers, but had too many ordinary years. Martinez had just 309 home runs, a touch low for a designated hitter who spent most of his career sitting on the bench while his team was playing defense. Mussina has a strong resume and could receive my vote in a less-crowded field.
That left Vizquel, McGriff and Andruw Jones. Since precedent holds that the premier shortstops from any generation gain Hall entrance, Vizquel, an 11-time Gold Glove winner, easily passed that eye test. So he was Vote No. 9.
That left the 10th vote between Andruw Jones and McGriff. McGriff’s 493 home runs and .284 average topped Jones’ 434 and .254. In addition, McGriff is in his ninth year of eligibility, Jones his first. That should be a deep, deep tiebreaker. In this particular case, that’s what it took. What will happen? Hoffman, Guerrero, Thome and Chipper Jones should be elected. If some voters believe that a delay of Hall of Fame entry was enough punishment for alleged performance-enhancing abusers Clemens and Bonds, they will come close.
Whatever happens, though, the system will work.
It always does, no matter how much it is criticized.