Boo-hoo

Ken Rosenthal wants you to know he’s suffering, that voting for the Hall of Fame is a pain, literally. Boo-hoo, Ken, boo-hoo. Check some form of identification that lists your age. If it says you’re over twenty-one, act like it. Rosenthal wrote a piece in today’s The Athletic about how he agonized over the ten candidates he picked to send to Cooperstown. “So many of my choices were people of questionable character, [at first] I called it my hold-my-nose ballot,” he wants you to know. “But the more I think about it, the sick-to-my-stomach ballot would be a more accurate description. I voted out of obligation and ended up feeling like I did the wrong thing, not knowing what the right thing was.” So says the ten-year old trying to work out whether or not to steal that candy bar. Rosenthal’s miseries are the product of steroids (Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Gary Sheffield); domestic abuse allegations (Bonds again, Omar Vizquel, Andruw Jones ); and questionable behavior, whether involving sex (Clemens), alcohol (Todd Helton) or a toxic mouth (Curt Schilling). Woe is Ken. The rules don’t require Rosenthal to vote for ten candidates, and he’s already pointed out the problems touching seven of his choices. What he needs to do next, but what he seems incapable of doing, is to decide that character counts. Yes, Ty Cobb was a racist and a garbage can of a human being. If Rosenthal is looking for consistency, he can lead a campaign to get Cobb and his ilk out of Cooperstown or cast an addendum in bronze noting that times have changed since the Georgia Peach’s 1936 induction. Next, because Rosenthal is so committed to a “guiding philosophy” of “pick the best players,” he should erase his vote for Bonds, Clemens and Sheffield; they were all cheats. If Shoeless Joe Jackson can’t get in the Hall, neither can they. Unless, of course, Rosenthal wants to lead a campaign on Jackson’s behalf. Most important of all, Rosenthal should find someone who actually knows the game of baseball; with luck, that person could show him why Helton and Schilling don’t belong. Hint: one guy played his entire career in Colorado, where altitude is Nature’s answer to PEDs, while the other guy is a figment of WAR and the ever-overheated imagination of East Coast sports’ types. Where was Mr. Bloody Sock when the White Sox came calling to Fenway in 2005? Cheats don’t get in the Hall, period. Everyone else gets a shot at redemption. If they can show contrition and convincing proof of a change in behavior over time, they can be voted in. There’s absolutely no rush Maybe an adult can impart this more-studied approach onto Rosenthal. Heaven knows he could use some help in growing up.