Tomase: HoF ballot reveals why I’ve finally surrendered to the Steroid Era originally appeared on NBC Sports Boston
It’s the most wonderful time of the year! The Hall of Fame ballot reveal, which is *totally* not a way to fill space during the slowest month of the baseball calendar, how dare you.
Anyway, I’m a Small(ish) Hall guy, and therefore pretty much never use all 10 spots on the ballot. I’m also aware of my biases, which tend towards players I covered in person, as well as power hitters, even if chicks no longer dig the long ball in this era of exit velocities and 101 mph lefty specialists.
Anyway, I’ve made some additions to my ballot after a decade dominated by the three horsemen of misery in Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, and Curt Schilling, all of whom I’m happy to see become someone else’s problem.
I’ve also completed my transformation from righteous to agnostic to surrendered on the issue of performance-enhancing drugs. If MLB doesn’t want steroid users in the Hall, take them off the ballot. It’s your building, not mine. Playing morality policeman never really suited a bunch of hard-living sportswriters anyway.
So here’s my ballot. I used to care what people thought, if I’m being honest. It was a personal weakness, and it has been eliminated. To the ballot!
Gary Sheffield
Let’s start with my lone holdover. Every writer takes on a cause, and I guess Sheffield is mine. His stay on the ballot is winding down, and he has yet to crack 41 percent in eight years, but I will continue to check his name until I can’t anymore.
Sheffield is exhibit A in my bias towards power hitters, especially ones I covered. The number of players whose at-bats made me stop what I was doing to make sure I didn’t miss something special is small: David Ortiz, Shohei Ohtani, Sheffield.
A lot of it had to do with style — the menacing bat waggle is iconic — but also results. No one left Fenway faster, and if the Red Sox have any regrets from the early and mid-2000s, it’s that they never found a way to get Sheffield into Fenway Park for a full season. He might’ve knocked down the Cask.
Carlos Beltran
If you expect me to hold the Astros sign-stealing scandal against him, grow up. I refuse to perpetuate the myth that conveniently absolved every active member of the team while pinning the blame on the one player who had retired and the one coach who had left to manage somewhere else. Those revelations cost Beltran his managerial job with the Mets, so I consider that punishment meted.
There’s little debate in my mind about Beltran the player, a true five-tool superstar who remained a solid contributor throughout his 30s. Beltran suffers for spending his prime in the heartland, but after leaving Kansas City, he continuously showed up on the biggest stage.
In Beltran’s very first postseason, he homered eight times in 12 games while leading the Astros to the brink of the 2004 World Series (which was only going to end one way, regardless of opponent). He posted a 1.021 postseason OPS in 65 games.
He’s also just one of five players with over 400 homers and 300 steals — joining Bonds, Alex Rodriguez, Willie Mays, and Andre Dawson — and if that’s not a Hall of Famer, then we’ve lost our way.
Andruw Jones
This is my first vote for Jones after six years on the ballot. While it’s easy to get sucked into the vortex of WAR and JAWS when making a selection — why are all these acronyms so hostile? — sometimes it makes more sense to take a step back.
And if there’s a simple question that helps me determine a Hall of Famer, it’s this: did he do something better than pretty much anyone ever? It’s how I belatedly got to yes on Tim Raines, whose stolen-base prowess was unrivaled by everyone not named Ricky.
Tomase: Crazy how little remains from ’18 World Series champion Red Sox
And it’s why I’ve changed my opinion on Jones, who in addition to blasting over 400 career home runs, stands as one of the best defensive center fielders ever. His 10 straight Gold Gloves speak for themselves, and as leery as I remain of defensive metrics, particularly when they’re retroactively applied to the 1990s, Jones scores there, too.
He’s not a slam dunk, and his career petered out exactly when he could’ve been polishing his Hall of Fame resume, but a decade-plus of catching everything at a premium defensive position while hitting the ball out of the park is enough for me.
Manny Ramirez
Now things get interesting! I’ve been a no on Manny for six years because of his ham-handed ties to steroids. It’s one thing to get busted before the sport cared. Once rules were in place and congressional committees convened, it shouldn’t have been hard to stay clean, but Ramirez continuously flouted the rules, finally slinking away from the Rays under cover of darkness rather than face a 100-game suspension.
“If he didn’t care, then I don’t care,” I’ve written more than once, which remains a defensible position. I don’t begrudge anyone who skips his name, and since there’s no nice way to say this, let me make it clear: Manny is an all-time dumbass.
But he’s also one of the best right-handed hitters ever, and it’s a testament to his greatness that the lifetime .312 hitter fell within percentage points of that number pretty much everywhere: at home and on the road, in the first half and the second half, in April and September.
Add 29 postseason homers and a 2004 World Series MVP, and we’re talking about an absolute monster. Do I wish he could’ve kept needles out of his behind? Absolutely. But on this vote, my conscience is clear.
Alex Rodriguez
Well I can’t very well say yes to Manny and no to A-Rod unless I’m just straight trolling Yankees fans, and I’m too old for that. Everything I said about Manny applies to A-Rod, but times two: twice the player, twice the superstar, and yes, twice the dumbass.
Though Rodriguez has partially rehabilitated his image as a broadcaster, he’s still the face of the post-Bonds steroid era, the insecure superstar who clandestinely shot up in the hopes of maintaining his greatness. There’s something needy and tragic about his career, and there’s a reason he was one of the most hated players in the game.
But talent is talent, and his three MVPs easily could’ve been six. It’s easy to forget that especially early in his career, he could do everything. He won a batting title at 20, went 40-40 at 22, and averaged over 50 homers a year from 25 to 27 with a couple of Gold Gloves thrown in for good measure.
For all the great shortstops that just signed a billion dollars’ worth of contracts this winter, none of them belong in the same sentence as A-Rod. Give him two plaques — one for his accomplishments, and one for the many asterisks.