The statement, “The only way he’s getting into the Hall of Fame is to buy a ticket,” was invented for guys like me. Needless to say we journeymen aren’t taking up space in baseball’s hallowed halls. Except that recently, during my very first visit to Cooperstown, New York, I did get in without a ticket, courtesy of the Hall’s Executive Director, Jeff Idelson. It was truly a right place, right time kind of thing.
My family and I were back in the state for my daughter’s college graduation. I had a small window of time on Saturday evening to make the three-hour trek to Cooperstown, a remote and beautiful little town in the middle of the state. Everything there revolves around baseball.
When my youngest daughter and I arrived, less than 90 minutes from closing time, we were told by the man at the door that the evening had been reserved for a “members only” gathering, and that we’d have to come back another time. I pleaded my case, telling him there was not likely to be another time.
I’ve absolutely never been one to play the “do you know who I am?” card (not that it would do any good in most cases.) Really, I can’t stand that. But faced with a make-or-break situation, I opted for my own watered-down version. I pulled out my Major League Baseball Alumni Association membership card and asked again. This time the man at the door pondered things for a moment before signaling to a man across the room. “Hey Jeff, could you come here for a minute?”
When Mr. Idelson reached us, we exchanged introductions, and I began pleading my case once again. Idelson stopped me mid-sentence. He waved at the doorman and said, “Sure, come on in Mark. Look around, enjoy yourself.” I knew I liked baseball people for a reason.
Idelson’s kind gesture allowed me and my daughter to roam the hallowed halls with a small number of paying members who had come to a reception that featured a representative of every team. When we reached the third floor, there was Vinny Castilla smiling and shaking hands like a politician. Vinny was there along with guys like Alan Trammell and Roy Oswalt. They would participate in an old timers game two days later. It made for a nice walk down memory lane.
After searching the collection of plaques for guys I knew and played with or against – and taking selfies with the plaques, of course – I began searching sections of the museum for signs of relics to which I might have some attachment. I was in the dugout when Nolan Ryan became the game’s all-time strikeout king and when Robin Yount got this 2,500th hit. I was a Milwaukee Brewer when Paul Molitor crafted an amazing 39-game hitting streak. I gave up Kirby Puckett’s 100th career home run, and Frank Thomas’s very first major league hit. I pitched in relief when Ryan earned his 300th win. Alas, there was no mention of us bit players. None were necessary.
Searching for mementos of these timeless events gives you a true appreciation for just how special and how great a baseball player has to be in order to be enshrined in Cooperstown. While I’ve been critical of the selection process at times – it took them way too long to vote in Goose Gossage, for example – there is no doubting that baseball is the best at putting in only those who are worthy, the men and women (yes, the “League of Their Own” exhibit is prominent and impressive) who truly deserve it. You can be an outstanding player with a lengthy career and still not be worthy of enshrinement in Cooperstown. I think I saw that in Alan Trammell’s eyes while he was signing autographs.
If Trammell had been a basketball player, he’d have been voted in to that Hall of Fame several years ago. The criteria for enshrinement in other sports are far less stringent, bordering on lax in some cases. How else do you explain the basketball Hall taking in a player as mediocre as Dikembe Mutombo? When he was elected, what was most talked about was his humanitarian work off the court. It’s clear that Mutombo’s best achievements in life have nothing to do with basketball. He’s done magnificent work since he retired. But does anyone who watched him play in the NBA believe they were watching a Hall of Famer? Of course not.
That’s not the case in baseball. Larry Walker, for example, had tremendous talent and an excellent career, yet he’s not a Baseball Hall of Famer. And it will be a struggle for Todd Helton to get elected as well, even though most of those of us who watched him closely believe he is deserving.
The fact that baseball is so selective in protecting their ultimate house – including excluding players for things they did off the field, like gambling and steroids – gives you all the more appreciation for those who are enshrined. They not only had to be the greatest of the great players, but they had to avoid almost any sort of lasting controversy. The Baseball Hall of Fame is not a collection of choirboys, to be sure. There are skeletons in everyone’s closet. But these men were able to rise above everyday issues and imperfections to be placed with the best of the best of the great American pastime.
Even during a visit that took less than 90 minutes, it was easy to see why Cooperstown is such a special place. They don’t let just anyone in, with or without a ticket.
