The Hell With It

I had a sudden realization today while driving to work and thinking about the Hall of Fame voting. My flash of insight? Why do I even care any more who gets voted into the Hall and who doesn't? There is no rational thought process behind it; never has been, really. When I look at the balloting and see that Jim Rice was named on 72% of the ballots and Andre Dawson on 65% while Tim Raines, a far greater player than either, was only named by 24% of the voters, I should stop and realize that I'm just howling into the wind; that reason and objectivity are no match for baseball writers and HOF voters who know that Rice and Dawson were great players because they saw them up close and they just were, dammit! When I see that some idiot gave a vote to Todd Stottlemyre and another one decided to vote for Shawon Dunston, I think maybe it's time to declare the whole thing a total loss and move on.

Because if the voters want to decide that Jim Rice and Andre Dawson and Jack Morris belong in the same room, with the same honors, as Hank Aaron and Ted Williams and Tom Seaver, then who am I to say otherwise? If next year voters decide to pass again on Mark McGwire but cast votes (and they will) for Mark Grace and Mo Vaughn, well, bless their hearts.

Baseball writers are no longer any kind of objective reporters. They are a pack of ass-kissing, jock-sniffing front runners who would rather prove to athletes that they are part of the little clique than do any kind of honest, detailed journalism.