I like that the minimum requirements mean that Bobby Higginson and Lenny Harris get on the ballot. Cool.

I remember the tongue-in-cheek “One man, one vote” campaign that Jim Deshaies waged in “support” of his 2001 candidacy.  He got his one vote.

My thoughts are below on who SHOULD/SHOULDN’T and who WILL/WONT get in in 2010.

Further posts on this to follow, with some explanations and a bit more analysis…

Roberto Alomar, SHOULD, WILL
Carlos Baerga, SHOULDNT, WONT
Jeff Bagwell, SHOULD, WILL
Harold Baines, SHOULDNT, WONT
Bert Blyleven, SHOULD, WONT
Bret Boone, SHOULDNT, WONT
Kevin Brown, SHOULDNT, WONT
John Franco, SHOULDNT, WONT
Juan Gonzalez, SHOULDNT, WONT
Marquis Grissom, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Lenny Harris, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Bobby Higginson, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Charles Johnson, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Barry Larkin, SHOULD, WILL
Al Leiter, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Edgar Martinez, SHOULD, WONT
Tino Martinez, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Don Mattingly, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Fred McGriff, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Mark McGwire, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Raul Mondesi, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Jack Morris, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Dale Murphy, SHOULDNT, WONT
John Olerud, SHOULDNT, WONT
Rafael Palmeiro, SHOULD’NT, WONT
Dave Parker, SHOULD’NT, WONT
Tim Raines, SHOULD, WONT
Kirk Rueter, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Benito Santiago, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Lee Smith, SHOULDN’T, WONT
B.J. Surhoff, SHOULDN’T, WONT
Alan Trammell, SHOULD, WONT
Larry Walker. SHOULDN’T, WONT

Baseball Think Factory has been tallying Hall of Fame voting among 89 full ballots.   Their numbers to date:

Alomar 88.8%
Blyleven 82.0%
Dawson 79.8%
Larkin 57.0%
Morris 51.7%
Raines 42.7%
Martinez 41.6%
Smith 38.2%
McGwire 32.6%
Trammell 25.8%

SB Nation ran a poll of its own bloggers, with the following top 12:

Blyleven 92.3%
Alomar 73.1%
Larkin 63.5%
Raines 53.8%
McGwire 51.9%
Martinez 48.1%
Trammell 40.4%
Dawson 32.7%
Smith 26.9%
McGriff 25.0%
Murphy 17.3%
Morris 13.5%

It’s interesting that Andre Dawson and Jack Morris get so much more support from writers, and Tim Raines and Alan Trammell are pushed more by the bloggers.  But the Dawson/Morris disparities are huge: Dawson get in on the writers’ exit poll, while earning less than 1/3 of the bloggers vote.  And Morris doesn’t even make the bloggers’ top 10.

Why the huge variance? I think the positives for Dawson (438 home runs, great all-around player) and Morris (most wins in the 80s, ‘big game pitcher’) resonate better with the writers, who tend to have been involved in the game longer and are more set in their criteria.  The bloggers, less experienced in covering the game, have tended to latch onto newer stats and newer thinking – and Dawson’s low OBP and Morris’ high ERA have counted against them.

I’m not surprised that a selection of bloggers, even if loosely associated through SB Nation, would only agree on one candidate, since they come from a wider background and more varied experience level than the BBWAA members.

Poz has some interesting thoughts on Jim Rice vs. Roy White – the point being that you wouldn’t think of White as being as near a good a player as Rice, but when you look deeper, the case can be made… I’m interested to see if Raines garners more support this year, without an absolute slam-dunk on the ballot.

My interest in Shoeless Joe perks up around Hall of Fame selection time, or whenever I research through deadball era stats or photos, or if I see that Field of Dreams or Eight Men Out is being shown on TV.

There have been some good books, articles and full websites devoted to Joe and/or the 1919 Sox.  Most portray him in a positive light, arguing that his .375 average and errorless play prove he wasn’t throwing the World Series.  Others note the fact that he took money from the gamblers, which lumped him in with the others who are generally believed to have fixed the games.

It was a different era, with numerous other scandals rumored involving star players such as Ty Cobb, Tris Speaker and Hal Chase.  The thought of a player being influenced by a gambler’s cash in that time is much more viable than in today’s multi-million dollar salary environment.  I lean towards the sentiment that Jackson may have been less culpable than his contemporaries who went largely unpunished, but didn’t have the clout to keep the authorities at bay.

I’ve always been interested in the tie between Jackson’s situation and that of Pete Rose.  People arguing for — or against — Rose’s Hall of Fame candidacy often bring Jackson into the discussion, the common reference being gambling.   Both are on Major League Baseball’s “Permanently Ineligible” list.

I’ve found this connection to be dubious.  Rose has never liked the comparison, since Jackson was involved, even tangentially, in the fixing of games, while Rose maintains that he never bet against the Reds; indeed, the idea of not playing to win is anathema to a man who lived to win.  I have always felt that unless Rose bet on every single game, the same amount, this still leaves open the possibility of player usage (particularly pitchers) and other decisions that affect other games, being applied differently based on these bets rather than what is best for the overall team.  Thus I see both bans as valid.

But the point here is that they are quite different circumstances.  More court documents and info from the famed “Black Sox” trials have surfaced recenty, and it is hardly in dispute that Jackson took and spent the money.  Rose, after many years of denying he bet on the game, admitted that he wagered on the Reds to win.

I thought about the connection again today when I read a blog post about a new Jackson baseball card Upper Deck will issue for 2010.  The author, Sports Collectibiles Digest editor T.S. O’Connell, wonders if a “modern” Rose card should also be created.

Rose has done well for himself with memorabilia and collectibles, and more power to him.  Jackson, of course, never had that chance, passing away in 1951, decades before the explosion of the business.

He never really had the chance to defend himself, either.

The category is “Executives and Pioneers.”  Who is a more important pioneer in changing the business of baseball, the core relations between players and owners, than Miller?  For 100 years, owners and management held all the cards, and Miller was the man, the pioneer, most responsible for the fundamental shift that forever changed the bargaining structure.

And the committee, stacked with too many former and current baseball executives to overcome the former players and media members who pushed and voted for Miller’s inclusion, came up short again.

Insight into this oversight comes quite accidentally from the veteran baseball writer Tracy Ringolsby, now of FoxSports.com.  He concluded today’s article, which was uncharacteristically replete with typos and misspellings, by listing Ewing Kauffman, Gene Autry, Sam Breadon and Bob Howsam as among the committee members, rather than candidates.

Which would explain a lot, as all of those gentlemen are, of course, dead at the present time.

For a lot of us who grew up in the 1980s, those two players made indelible marks on the game as a whole. I still have (after my dad gave it back to me from its decades in a storage closet) one of my first baseball gloves that bears Murphy’s signature, and I’m surely not the only one who had a Dale Murphy outfielder’s glove – you know, from when pretty much every kid had an outfielder’s glove. McGwire, on the other hand, was one of the first megastars that I remember paying attention to in the late 80s, as he slugged his way to a Rookie of the Year season in 1987, clubbing 49 homers. You know, the season that caused all of us baseball card collectors to save the 1987 Topps cards with the wood grain borders?

As I recollected watching games and those early days of looking at the box scores in the newspaper, what jumped out at me was how my perception of these two was probably driven by the amount of play that they got on the national scene at the time. McGwire was part of a team in Oakland that won a championship, and was on the national stage on a nightly basis for his home run exploits. Murphy, on the other hand, played on some not-so-great Atlanta Braves teams, and only made the postseason in 1982. One was solid and consistent, while the other was like a flash-bang grenade for color commentators covering games across the country for more than a decade.

The fun part of Monday morning quarterbacking this particular debate is that we can play the “if you were starting a team today” game with these two, and go from there. If I said to you that you’d get an absolutely consistent player who’d be a seven-time All-Star, two-time MVP who’d play 6-10 years of really solid ball, or a twelve-time All-Star who’d be a sometimes devastating power threat until the day he hung up his spikes but left something to be desired in the ethics column, who would you pick? I dare say that the wannabe-GM in most of us would take McGwire in a heartbeat. Similarly, that’s probably how you’d evaluate their shots at the Hall of Fame before they ever stepped on a Major League field.

So if Murphy finished his career in the late 90s, or had won a title or two and his stats stayed the same, would we look at him differently? Would it turn into one of those discussions like the one about fan favorite Sandy Koufax, whose 165 regular season wins come nowhere near the “unofficial” bar of 300 wins that many think set HOFers apart from those not going to Cooperstown from the pitching ranks, but never stopped him from being elected to the Hall?

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m in no way comparing the way that Koufax hammered the league to how Murphy did, but Koufax had five or six absolutely devastating years, where he was an All-Star six times and won three Cy Young awards. He was also NL MVP for one of those three years, and came in second the other two years he won the Cy. Over those six years, he won 129 games, or 78% of his total wins. He was, by all accounts I’ve ever heard from Brooklyn/LA Dodger fans, the best player at his position for that entire chunk of his career. This is where Neyer’s pro-Murphy argument comes into play — from the ‘82-’87 period he flags, Murphy hit 218 home runs, or about 55% of all the home runs he would hit over his 18-year career. Neyer’s analysis also puts him third or better in home runs (where he was first), games played, runs, RBI, and runs created during those six years. Was he the “best player” at his position or in the league during that timeframe? No, he wasn’t. Was he a damn good one? Absolutely.

So are voters for the HOF able to discern a deserving player from another by more than the unofficial benchmarks of 300 wins, 500 home runs, or a number of hits or games played? You know they are. Has that helped Murphy? Doesn’t look like it.

The reason I flagged these two and dragged them together was that I’m wondering if, going forward, public perception in our everthing-makes-it-on-the-Internet age is going to have more of a bearing on Hall of Fame voting than it might have in the past. Star players tainted with performance enhancing drugs on their resumes alongside seemingly solid players who might not have the same stats columns might get a different look, if only because of the lack of no-brainer choices. Remember, there’s no asterisks next to those four seasons when Mac led the league in home runs, so “blind taste-test”-like voting would probably put McGwire in the Hall without a question. Not wanting to “talk about the past” most definitely plays a part in why he isn’t in it already. As for Murphy, perhaps timing is critical, and how he left the diamond put his Hall hopes in that old storage closet like the baseball gloves that a lot of us wore in the mid-80s.

That said, I’m most certainly keeping the old baseball glove with the replica signature, but the sealed-in-plastic Wheaties box commemorating McGwire’s 70 home run season of 1998 might not survive the next closet purge. Unfortunately, sentimental value doesn’t count for Hall of Fame votes, otherwise there might be a generation of baseball fans whose tattered outfielder’s gloves would be getting sent to baseball writers in Major League cities everywhere in a pro-Murphy campaign.