The Baseball Hall of Fame. Of Awesomeness

March 25, 2011

I’m going to build my own Baseball Hall of Fame. It’s going to be awesome, in fact it’s going to be a Hall of Fame of Awesomeness. Maybe if I could extend the name a little more, add words like “Badassedness” or “and Also Being Totally Cool”. That second one is a bit long, but anyhow, I’m tired of the yearly argument of who’s getting into the Hall and the valuing of straight numbers and character while overlooking a key factor in baseball, being totally awesome. For instance, Adam Dunn is never going to get into the Hall of Fame. His numbers won’t add up, and even if he ends up hitting 500 homers , by then the number will be so diluted, and he’s so one-dimensional it just won’t matter. Unless they start valuing on-base percentage to a degree of unfathomable height. And if that’s the case, the Big Donkey won’t even be recognized for that in my Hall, simply for the assaults he laid upon opposing pitching and outfield walls. That and what I assume is his propensity for downing 30-packs of Bud Ice after games, just to relaxing and barbecuing a side of beef or two.

Guys like Derek Jeter wouldn’t get in to my Hall. Sure, he’s a great player, one of the best shortstops in the history of baseball. But the thing about El Capitan is, he never really was the thing to see in New York. He had a couple great moments, and those moments would be enshrined, but more like in a montage of awesomeness. For his career, Jeter has been consistent at slapping the ball the opposite way, getting on base, and scoring a ton of runs. But he’s so slick, so bland. His efforts to be awesome have become a joke because his patented jump throw just makes routine plays harder. On the other hand, Juan Uribe is an almost instant selection. The guy plays some pretty good defense wherever he might be placed that day, and he just keeps backing into championships. The last two teams that totally snuck up on everyone to win a World Series, the White Sox and the Giants, Uribe was a fixture. He’s clutch as all hell, even if clutchness doesn’t exist, and he’s got a unique swagger you can’t hate, even if you hate his team.

Obviously, a bunch of actual Hall of Famers would get in. Manny Ramirez for instance, I love that guy. He burned a lot of bridges in Boston, but who cares because the Red Sox and their fans think too much of themselves and couldn’t appreciate Manny for who he was. Whatever “Being Manny” is, it must include hitting like it’s going out of style. Flat out, the dude can rake. Not just that, he plays mind games in the most mind game-filled sport in the business. Pitchers NEVER know what the guy is thinking, and he gets them to fall into his trap time and again. I read an article about him a while back, about his “genius” and how, as an example, Manny would purposely strike out in spring training or early in the season against a pitcher he figured he’d face in a crunch time situation in September or October. The guy would see that he made Manny look silly and then when the game was on the line later in the season, he’d try the same thing and Manny would rip it for a double, or win the game on a walk-off homer, whatever. I don’t know for sure if this is true, but after watching the guy for his whole career now, I wouldn’t put it past him. On the numbers alone Manny’s the man. Combine the skill it took to pile them up with his carefree, almost boyish approach to the game and it’s just, well, awesome.

As probably seems totally obvious, the main quality you’d need to get in my Hall would be awesomeness. What’s that, you ask? That’s a tough one, because it’s such a nebulous concept. Perhaps I could come up with a formula that could express it in a number. How about this, I take the average distance of his home run, subtract the league average, add to that the number of ninth inning RBI’s driven in, maybe add something involving fines for missing team curfew. You get the idea, basically awesomeness lies in a guy’s ability to achieve at the highest of levels, however briefly, and do it with panache. Uribe will have a place in the hearts of Giants fans forever, even if he now he plays for the Dodgers. When Roy Halladay threw a no-hitter in his first post-season start, that was pretty cool. But when Lincecum threw that 14 strikeout 1-hitter, that was awesome. This little guy, looks like that kid in the Dagwood cartoons, mowing these guys down. Came out of nowhere, especially after the rough end to the season he had, and mowed them down. Say what you will about Halladay, it was masterful. But he just got guys out, Timmy straight knocked the bats out the hands of the Braves. You get a casual fan to watch the two and pick which they enjoyed more, the little guy would beat the good doctor 10 times out of nine.

Perhaps it ignores the little things in baseball that makes it such a great game, but my Hall is more about the fun of the game than the intricate minutiae. Almost an argument against Sabermetrics if you will, the constant breaking down the numbers of the game that sometimes saps the life from it. But sometimes the numbers do miss something; like David Ortiz’s value in the middle this past decade – if there was one man you wanted at the plate to win it, he was the guy. To Sabermetricians, a homer is a homer, but a Carl Crawford liner that dips over the fence by inches is much different than a third deck shot by Ryan Howard. You know when a pitcher gives up a tape measure blast, it weighs on him much heavier than the 400-footer. I love the new view Sabermetrics have given us in the game, it’s opened up a new understanding fans 20 years ago had no idea of. But I watch baseball because of the awesome things as well as the little things. In these days where guts is giving way to math and the big slugger is marginalized in favor of run-scoring doubles hitters, my Hall of Fame of Awesomeness is necessary to save the soul of baseball. Maybe that’s a little heavy-handed, but hey, we watch the game because it’s fun, so why not salute it.