MUSINGS ON THE 2015 BASEBALL HALL OF FAME INDUCTIONS

Puh-lease!  Make it stop.  Lou Gorman is rolling over in his grave!  The Baseball Hall of Fame balloting is completely out of control.  I returned home tonight, made myself dinner, and sat down in front of the television where I listened to Sean Casey telling me that Craig Biggio is a deserving Hall of Fame candidate.  What?  Sean Casey should be walking off the set in protest, and although it is clearly not part of his nature, he must privately be thinking, “Why aren’t I being inducted into the Hall of Fame?” 

This is now out of control.  Yes.  Craig Biggio was a good player, sometimes a great player.  But he was not a Hall of Fame player!  True.  He amassed 3,000 hits.  Sadly, that statistic used to mean a lot more.  I remember Carl Yastrzemski taking what seemed like months attempting to reach hit number 3,000, and when he finally grounded that ball into right field off of Jim Beattie and the dreaded Yankees, it meant something.  And 400 home runs?  Who among us hasn’t hit 400 home runs?  Okay, I haven’t, but Rafael Palmiero has and so has Alfonso Soriano which now makes that milestone a hell of a lot more meaningless than it used to be. 

Here’s the real problem.  Why is it that John Smoltz is in the Hall of Fame and Jack Morris is not?  Morris was perhaps the most dominating starting pitcher of the 1980s, had more wins than Smoltz, pitched at least 120 more complete games than Smoltz, won more World Series than Smoltz (not to mention the epic battle that Morris won against, you guessed it, John Smoltz in 1991), and had way more intestinal fortitude than Smoltz otherwise known as balls.  And don’t give me that closer baloney, either.  Dennis Eckersley reinvented the closer role thanks to Tony LaRussa, came back from being a washed up ace who had suffered the perils of alcohol, and famously redefined himself as a strike throwing fiend.  Eck’s story is far more worthy of being passed down through the ages as opposed to Smoltz merely coming back from an injury and volunteering to pitch out of the bullpen for Bobby Cox for a magnificently underachieving team. 

Members of the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame must have a certain aura to them.  The Hall of Fame must elicit stories of bloody socks and 10 inning post-season pitching performances.  The Hall of Fame must bring back special memories of balls careening off of foul poles in October, players who hit .444 down the stretch in 1967, and even designated hitters who came through in the clutch again and again and again.  When David Ortiz beat Detroit in 2013 with yet another game winning post season home run, I literally said to myself, “He did it again, and after all these years?  Really?”  I remember watching the first game that Roger Clemens pitched in the big leagues after being called up by the Red Sox in 1984.  I was in a department store watching the game being played at old Municipal Stadium in Cleveland on probably 25 television sets all showing the game like they used to in the (yikes) old days.  You could tell that you were watching greatness when the young Clemens pitched.  He had the stuff, he had the make-up, and he had the bravado - even as a youngster.  Former Red Sox reliever Stan Belinda once told me that he and I had more in common as baseball players than he did with Clemens – even though he was pitching with Roger Clemens and the Red Sox that summer.  He told me that players like Clemens were a whole different animal. Belinda said, “I’m just lucky that I got to keep playing after high school.”   Pedro Martinez is a Hall of Famer just like Sandy Koufax is a Hall of Famer.  Ken Griffey Jr. will be a Hall of Famer just like Willie Mays is a Hall of Famer.  Gary Sheffield is not a Hall of Famer, nor should Craig Biggio or John Smoltz be Hall of Famers. 

In looking at the ballot this morning, I was laughing to myself when I saw the names Brian Giles and Eddie Guardado.  I mean, come on.  I honestly do not think that writers should be given a list of candidates.  In fact, if they need a list of names to choose from, they are probably not knowledgeable enough about the game to be voting.  I once read an interview with Keith Richards who said that if a potential song came into his head at night but he could not remember it the next day, it must not be good enough.  The same holds true with regard to the candidates for the Baseball Hall of Fame.  If, as a writer, you are unable to recall names that you think should be on the ballot, they must not have been good enough.  I think the writers should have an opportunity to submit three or fewer potential names on a blank ballot.  All steroid talk aside, if it were me I would have submitted the names Martinez, Johnson, and Clemens.  I would not volunteer the name Barry Bonds because I really didn’t see the man play much.  I saw him in a screaming match with Jim Leyland when he was with the Pirates, and watched him break a series of, what were then, bogus records late in his career.  And while we are on that subject I would never vote for Mark McGwire for the following reason:  He was essentially the more modern and enhanced version of Dave Kingman.  McGwire miraculously found the equivalent of baseball’s fountain of youth in being able to catch up to high fastballs after hitting around the Mendoza line and eventually finding his way out of Oakland.  Please consult Hall of Famer Jim Rice.  When you lose your ability to stay on top of the fastball IT DOES NOT COME BACK, and you certainly don’t come back to break the record of Roger Maris – TWICE.  That is, unless you are cheating. 

If I was a baseball writer and I was eligible to cast a ballot, my vote for next year’s election to the Hall of Fame would go to Stan Papi.  I’m going to the Eliot Lounge.