So I had a really good time monitoring, and participating in, the comments to the debate Gene and I did over at ATH Baseball yesterday. It became a debate that was less about Albert Belle and more about Ron Santo, of all people (and honestly, I had no idea before yesterday that there were still people outside the Veterans' Committee itself who didn't think Santo was a Hall of Famer, but they're out there), and about the nature of the Hall of Fame generally.

A sentiment that emerged from the crowd was that there were too many not-really-great players in the Hall of Fame. Some said what we really needed was a way to separate the wheat from the chaff. One wing for your Babe Ruths and Willie Mayses, and another for your Bill Mazeroskis and Andre Dawsons. Sal said something that I suspect encapsulates what a lot of the commenters were thinking:

The HOF started out as being for a certain class of player and the fact that they seem to feel they have to put someone in every year takes away from it's importance. Getting elected to the HOF is not what it once was.

To which I say...well, a few things. First, I agree generally that there are too many generally uninspiring players in the Hall, but my complaint is with the quality of players selected, not the quantity (though we could do with just a couple fewer Chick Hafeys and Freddy Lindstroms). Substitute Tim Raines for Jim Rice, Bert Blyleven for Bruce Sutter, Lou Whitaker for Tony Perez, etc., and I'm happy.

But my main point is this: getting elected to the HOF is exactly what it once, and always, was. People tend to have this vision of the Hall as a place that was intended for legends, the very best of the very best, a place that's downright sullied by the inclusion of guys like Dawson or (God willing) Santo.
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But if it was ever that place, that's been over for more than sixty years now, and I'm pretty sure that it was never intended to be that place. Sure, it started out strong in 1936, with that famous class of Wagner, Ruth, Johnson, Mathewson and Cobb. In 1937 they add Speaker, Lajoie, Young, McGraw, Mack and Ban Johnson -- hard to complain about that -- but it already gets a little shaky, with "pioneer" Morgan Bulkeley, one of the charter members of the National League board who served one year as the league president. In 1939, they inducted Candy Cummings, who pitched for six years and for six different teams and whose career ended two years into the life of the NL, based mostly on the myth that he invented the curveball.

In the 1940s, Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers and Frank Chance, three very good players, were elected for being featured in a poem they didn't have anything to do with. Jack Chesbro was elected for having a really good year that, because it was 1904, looked like a great year (41 wins, sub-2 ERA).Tommy McCarthy was picked for the Hall of Fame by the Old Timers' Committee. As far as I can tell, nobody knows why. He had essentially nine years in the Majors, two good and a bunch bad, and managed for parts of two years. It would make more sense to put, say, Rusty Greer in the Hall.

In the 1950s, Rabbit Maranville went in (and it was the writers' fault!). Great glove, no bat. At least Mazeroski has (a) a claim as the greatest fielder at his position in history and (b) that one really big home run. Joining him was Ray Schalk, a respected but totally mediocre catcher whose big claim to fame was being one of the two or three members of the 1919 Black Sox who seemed like he was probably clean.

The 1960s was around the time that the Veterans' Committee started going completely insane. Burleigh Grimes was an awfully durable, slightly better than average pitcher, and the last spitballer. Lloyd Waner was...well, his brother was in, and they had matching nicknames, so obviously. Waite Hoyt was the best pitcher on some great teams that weren't by any means great because of their pitching.

In the early seventies, Frankie Frisch was nearing the end of his life, and he used the Veterans' Committee like his secret back entrance to sneak his buddies in to the club. Dave Bancroft, Chick Hafey, Jake Beckley, George Kelly, and Jesse Haines? Then Freddie Lindstrom (post-Frisch), and the writers' contribution, Bob Lemon? Why not? Those guys were all baseball players!

1980s? Rick Ferrell, because Ray Schalk was tired of being the only just-okay catcher in the Hall. (With Ferrell finally getting his due, they felt like then it was finally okay to induct Arky Vaughan, probably the second-greatest shortstop ever to play the game.) The writers tabbed Catfish Hunter, who had three good years and a whole bunch of average-ish ones, but mostly for good teams.

In the nineties, of course, the vets inducted Phil Rizzuto -- and not as a broadcaster, as a "player." Rollie Fingers was the second relief pitcher ever inducted, because he piled up a lot of saves before it was cool to pile up a lot of saves.

So now we're back to the 2000s. Maz, Rice, Sutter, Dawson, whatever. Hard to see how it's any worse than what came before, and it's a whole lot better than what they did between the sixties and eighties.

My point isn't that it's okay that Rice and Sutter are in the Hall (if you've read anything else I've ever written here, you probably know that's not it). My point is that this isn't anything new. The Hall of Fame has never been exclusively for the legends -- at least not since 1938 or so. It would've been fine without Andre Dawson, but Dawson doesn't do anything to cheapen it, either.

And Ron Santo certainly wouldn't do anything to cheapen it. In fact, I'd say Santo would raise the bar just a tiny bit. Regardless, there's no sensible argument that Ron Santo doesn't belong in this Hall of Fame. You can argue that he doesn't belong in your Hall of Fame -- but just know that that's what it is. If your Hall of Fame doesn't have room for Ron Santo in it, then you're dealing with an entirely different sort of institution than the one located in Cooperstown, NY.