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
