And he knows it.
There are certain stigmas players can't get over when it comes to Hall of Fame enshrinement: gambling, drugs, cheating, and monumentally frosty relations with sportswriters. Oh, and a low batting average or a high ERA.
What about an alcohol problem? Next round's on me, Mickey. Were you a racist brawler? Hey, Ty Cobb is in there as an original member. Did you engage in folk-hero-esque cheating as a player? Get in here Gaylord, you lovable scamp.
Gambling is pretty cut-and-dry. Pete Rose? Never means never, man. Hal Chase? Not gonna happen. Shoeless Joe? I don't care if you have the IQ of a raisin, you just can't accept money or the promise of money from a known gambler. Of course, there are others who dodged the gambling bullet (John McGraw (he owned a poolhall, for pete's sake!), Tris Speaker, Ty Cobb), and don't forget that Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays were briefly, officially exiled by Bowie Kuhn for conduct detrimental to the spirit of the game because of their post-retirement associations with casinos (as greeters, no less).
Drugs is less cut-and-dry, but let's just say that when your drug nickname makes it onto the front of your 1989 Topps card, you better just enjoy the moment there, Rock Raines, because while the Hall opens its doors for drunks, it does so with less frequency for known drug users. In fact, I think it's safe to say that if you were somehow involved in the Pittsburgh Drug Trials or perjured yourself in front of Congress whilst denying steroid abuse, you're not going to make it to the Hall. And honestly, the double standard is a shame. Especially in light of the "character" issue Hall voters use to judge players. So what – alcohol is ok but not drugs? Seems a little hollow. I mean, what if society was big into social drug use and drinking was considered a breakdown in morals? I'm guessing it would be the other way around, no?
What's important here is that between these two events — Pittsburgh Drug Trials and the House Committee hearing after the Mitchell Report — we're talking about a lot of talented players who will have the drug albatross around their necks forever. Guys like Dave Parker, Keith Hernandez, and Tim Raines, Rafael Palmeiro, Jason Giambi, Andy Pettitte, Gary Sheffield, Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, and yes, Mark McGwire, to name but a very few. And in the end, it doesn't matter if drugs in any form were rampant or the accepted culture of the game: to make it to the hallowed Hall, you have to do it cleanly, on your own two legs.
So back to the original idea: Mark McGwire never making it into the Hall of Fame has nothing to do with statistics, though I think he's only a borderline Hall of Famer based solely on stats. And before that vein in your forehead pops, let me say this: being a prodigious home run hitter does not get you into the Hall of Fame by itself. You have to do lots of other things, too. Having a decent batting average helps, as does a relatively high hits total. McGwire was a career .263 hitter, with a total of 1,626 hits. Over a third of those were home runs.
Did you want McGwire in your lineup? Yes. Was it exciting to watch him break Maris's record? Of course. Did he take copious amounts of muscle-enhancing drugs? All signs point to yes. Were those drugs illegal at the time he took them? Ehhhh, no...
And this could be McGwire's saving grace: when he took them, the drugs he took weren't illegal in the eyes of baseball. But now, in this post-shit-hitting-fan period where we're debating his eternal baseball immortality, the drugs are illegal. And not only that, but the drugs association is a bad one to have. A very bad one.
Statistically, McGwire could make it. But it's going to take him a heck of a long time to garner enough support. For one thing, he denied, denied, and denied again. They he shunned the spotlight. And after a tearful admission, his case seems really weak. Weak like "I'm only saying this so I can work again" weak.
Sportswriters and Hall of Fame voters may have a tendency to worship the ground sports heroes walk on, but when it comes time to vote on enshrinement, the player's entire history comes into play — not just what they said recently.
One of the basic tenets of the Tao of McGriff... Be consistent. Example: Fred McGriff performed in post-season play the same way he did during the regular season: consistently well. Or, I consistently get my hopes up, only for it to result in heartbreak.
Staying up late to watch the Red Sox crush the will of the Anaheim of Los Angeles of Interstate 5 of California Angels has given me ample time to contemplate Vlad Guerrero and the importance of post-season performance in the eyes of Hall of Fame voters.
For all that has been said about Guerrero's post-season drought, I am completely convinced that, when he is first eligible for the Hall of Fame, he will be elected with one of the highest vote percentages in recent memory. I'm thinking in the neighborhood of 92-94% on the first ballot.
I'm not entirely convinced that post-season exploits should weigh that much in the mind of the voter. Sure, it will help McGriff's case that his career postseason batting average is over .300 and he's socked 10 post-season home runs. Post-season success will also help someone like Curt Schilling. His performance with the Diamondbacks in 2001 and with the Red Sox in 2004 and 2007 will bolster his resume in the eyes of the HOF voters.
But really if there's anything that should push Schilling into the Hall, it's his character; his playing through pain in clutch situations. I, for one, don't think I could walk around with a tendon stapled to my ankle, let alone pitch. (Well, I guess I could if I was allowed to bring a folding chair to the mound and pitch to Little Leaguers. And I was high on morphine.)
This afternoon I sat by the side of the road, waiting for the crosstown bus. I sat there for what seemed like forever, but was probably no longer than 20 minutes. I finally got so impatient that I crouched next to the bus stop sign, counting the seconds between a car appearing around the bend and it passing me. I also got to thinking... If I can't hardly wait 20 minutes for the bus, what's it like to wait six years from the time you retire to when you first become eligible for the Hall of Fame?
What's it like, the anticipation? Part of me thinks 'waiting for the bus' is a good analogy here. Sometimes it's on time, sometimes you have to wait a little longer, and sometimes it never comes at all.
A lot can happen in six years. Whole lives can change (but there's the Hall of Fame ballot announcement date, circled with permanent marker on the calendar in the back of your mind). For some guys, it's a given that the Hall will call (hey, that rhymes). Guys like Rickey Henderson, Greg Maddux, Craig Biggio--these guys don't have to worry.
But is too much emphasis placed on being an inductee in the first year of eligibility? It took Duke Snider eleven years of voting to make the Hall of Fame (first appeared in 1970, inducted in 1980), Joe Cronin ten years (1947-1956), Don Drysdale ten years (1975-1984), and Bob Lemon 13 years (1964-1976). And those players are just four examples. There are plenty of others.
It's guys like Jim Rice, David Concepcion, and Dale Murphy who get their hopes up, only to have them crushed year after year. And I guess I'll probably have to add Fred McGriff's name to that list in a few years. McGriff becomes eligible next year (for 2010 enshrinement), and while I'll be pulling for him, these days 493 career home runs don't seem to be enough to hang your legacy on.
It's Hall of Fame Weekend! Hooray!
And while it's exciting for Rich Gossage, Old Man Dick Williams, and the Ghost of Barney Dreyfuss, there is a green room full of guys who continue to check their voicemail in vain...
586 career stolen bases • 5-time All-Star • 2,134 career hits1962 NL All-Star Game & Regular Season MVP
3-time World Series Champion
1964 NL MVP • 281 career home runs • 7-time All-Star • 2,143 career hits1964 World Series Champion
NL MVP 1982, 1983 • 7-time All-Star • 398 career home runs(And no, I'm not talking about Ernie Whitt)
1977 NL Rookie of the Year • 1987 NL MVP • 8-time All-Star • 2,774 career hits • 438 career home runs • 1,591 career RBI
6-time All-Star • 374 career home runs • 3 top-5 AL MVP finishes
9-time All-Star • 374 career home runs • 2,254 career hits • 5 Gold Gloves
.304 career avg. • 8-time All-Star • 1964 AL Rookie of the Year • 3-time AL Batting Champion
8-time All-Star • 370 career home runs • Won 1969 World Series as NY Mets manager • Twice World Series Champion as player with Dodgers
3,701 career Ks • 287 career victories • 3.31 career ERA • 2-time All-Star • 2-time World Series Champion
1970 AL Rookie of the Year • 1976 AL MVP • 7-time All-Star • 3 Gold Gloves • .292 career avg.
.298 career avg. • 382 career home runs • 1978 AL MVP • 8-time All-Star Once snapped his bat on a check-swing
4 consecutive 20-win seasons • 4 top-5 AL Cy Young finishes • 1989 World Series Champion • 1989 World Series MVP • 1990, 1993 ALCS MVP