Let’s play Jeopardy. “Sports Organizations” for $200.
Answer: “Founded in 1908, this collection of sportswriters is known for its arrogance, self-importance and its refusal to stop living in the past.”
Question: “What is the Baseball Writers’ Association of America?”
That’s the way some people see it. As if the bad clothes and bulging waistlines aren’t enough, the baseball writers get croaked for raising their “Protectors of the Game” shields any time you dare to disagree with them.
The reality is that baseball writers are a special group. The good ones do a wonderful job covering the modern game while understanding and respecting the game’s rich history, all while working seven weeks of spring training, a 162-game regular season and a postseason that now sneaks into November.
But it’s the Hall of Fame election that always gets the BBWAA into trouble. Never was this more true than last year, when the writers somehow found a way to keep Roberto Alomar out of the Hall of Fame.
It was one of the biggest injustices in sports history. Alomar, a second baseman, played 17 seasons in the bigs, including two World Series-winning editions of the Toronto Blue Jays. He was a .300 lifetime hitter, had a .371 on-base percentage, stole 474 bases and played in 12 consecutive All-Star Games. He won four Silver Slugger Awards. In 58 postseason games, he hit .313.
But it was on defense that Alomar solidified his credentials as one of the greats. And to simply throw it out there that he won 10 consecutive Gold Gloves doesn’t come close to shining a spotlight on the man’s defensive wizardry. He routinely moved well past the second-base bag, gobbled up would-be hits and made strong throws to first. Going to his left, he stopped grounders that were already being recorded as hits. He made the pivot as well as anyone.
While it’s not really a Hall of Fame credential, there was this: For most (but not all) of his career, Alomar played the game with a joy and passion that separated him from virtually everyone else. Save for Ozzie Smith, nobody else looked so happy just running out to his position.
And then, on Sept. 27, 1996, everything changed when Alomar spit into the face of umpire John Hirschbeck. No reason to get bogged down with what Hirschbeck may have said that upset Alomar. No reason to discuss the angst suffered by Hirschbeck, who had lost a young son to a rare disease called adrenoleukodystrophy, or ALDS.
All that matters is that what Alomar did was a cheap, despicable stunt.
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