After Tuesday, baseball's Hall of Fame will be a little more crowded. Probably. According to the baseball internet's most popular January locale -- Ryan Thibodaux's Hall tracker -- Mariano Rivera continues to race toward Cooperstown with a 100 percent success rate on known ballots. Less than half the ballots are accounted for, but for Rivera to drop from 100 percent this far into the process to suddenly below the required 75 percent when results are announced, well, that would be one impressive statistical anomaly.
Rivera is getting in. And Edgar Martinez, the late Roy Halladay and, likely, Mike Mussina seem like good bets as well. Still on the outside, but not entirely without hope, are Curt Schilling, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens and Larry Walker. If all of those players got in, thus joining veterans committee selections Lee Smith and Harold Baines, it would make for one long afternoon of speeches next July, when the hordes gather in that little picturesque pocket of upstate New York for the induction ceremony. But they won't all get in.
There was a lot of consternation over the selection of Baines, and I didn't agree with the pick, either. Nevertheless, Baines probably won't be the worst player with a plaque hanging at the Hall of Fame. And even if he was, it's hardly a defect in his life story -- he'd merely be the least best among the greatest of his vocation. It's still rarefied air. Any reading of the Hall's history will quickly tell you that there have been some awfully questionable picks over the decades, most of them the result of the ever-changing amoeba known generally as the veterans committee. The floor for Hall membership is indeed low and if we put in every player who fit in between the floor (we can argue which player represents that) and the ceiling (probably Babe Ruth), the plaque room would be more crowded than Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras.
There is no real consensus on a very fundamental question about the Hall of Fame, that being just how many people ought to be immortalized there. Some people are still arguing whether it should be a players-only institution, even though there are already 68 non-players enshrined. Big Hall, small Hall -- these are very imprecise terms affixed to a very imprecise process. That process has been tweaked numerous times since the first class was selected in 1936, and it's likely to evolve many times in the future. For now, though, the bottom line is cut and dried: If you're in, you're in, and if you're not, you're not.
The black-and-white nature of this is fine, but it does mean that in the reverential corridor known as the Plaque Gallery, Ruth, Aaron, Mantle and Mays -- legends so legendary that first names are optional -- are on even footing with Lloyd Waner, Freddie Lindstrom and Tommy McCarthy. I always wonder how that looks for the casual Hall visitor. How many realize there was a big difference between High Pockets Kelly and Johnny Mize? Between Charlie Gehringer and Bill Mazeroski? Would it be worth it to understand that even the immortals exist in some sort of hierarchy?
Intuitively, most history-conscious fans are well aware of this, but what if the Hall of Fame were arranged in tiers? That is, what if the Plaque Gallery were arranged less democratically? It's in chronological order now, according to date of induction, which does mean that when you get to the back, where the inaugural class was placed, you end up with the likes of Ruth and Ty Cobb and Honus Wagner. That's fitting, but it also freezes the status of those players for all time. What if instead, there were a series of rooms? As you passed from one room to the next, the players would become better and better until, at last, you arrived in something like a pantheon -- a space reserved for only those deemed to be the best of the best.
This will almost certainly never happen in the physical world, but we can at least consider these metaphorical rooms and who might reside in them. Doing so would serve a couple of purposes, one of a more lasting impact, the other which helps us right now, as the Hall prepares to expand its membership just a little bit further. The larger goal would be to help us make sense of all those who are already there. Who, in the Hall of Fame, deserves to be just a little more famous than the others with plaques hanging in Cooperstown? And, after Tuesday, where will the new members fit into this hierarchy?
Methodology
Over the past year, I've fallen into using a process that I've come to call my Awards Index, which uses existing metrics combined through the use of standard scores to rate players. I've began to expand that method into other uses, such as addressing the question of what a Hall of Fame reliever looks like.
I've followed a similar path today to create these seven tiers of the Hall of Fame, using what I'll call the Hall of Fame Index (HFI). Why seven? There isn't a rigorous explanation for that. Basically, once I organized the data and saw how players were clustered and where the cutoff points in standard deviation were, seven is what made the most sense. The top tiers are more sparsely populated than those in the middle, which dovetails with how talent is actually distributed in baseball. However, it's important to bear in mind that these are all Hall of Famers, and their numbers here are being compared only to the other Hall of Famers. This is not an exercise in determining who should be in and who should not. It's about slotting those who are already there.
This system uses career data from Baseball-Reference.com and TheBaseballGauge.com. Metrics considered were WAR, win shares, win probability added and championship probability added. I also created an All-Star percentage that looks at awards support similar to what's in the reliever rating system linked to above. Adjustments were introduced to enhance positional value and to boost the impact of defensive excellence. Extrapolated numbers were created for eras where data is missing, as it is for the probability-based metrics, and for seasons before MVP and Cy Young awards were given, and before the All-Star Game era began.
Consider this a beta version of the HFI system. The ratings were created using career numbers; the next iteration of this will use season-by-season Awards Index results, which can be calibrated against the final standings in each campaign. (That project is in medias res.) This version of the system seems to shortchange short-career players, like Sandy Koufax and Jackie Robinson, even though peak value was given extra weight. It also doesn't seem to address relievers in an ideal way, a problem I think will be addressed when the season-by-season results are calculated.
The crucial thing to bear in mind is that these are ratings based strictly on statistics. Numbers are not the bottom line in any discussion of this nature. They are where the discussion begins, not ends. There are players here that I would judge to be a tier or two higher or lower than the numbers suggest. A perfect example is Roy Campanella, whose 10-year career was clipped at the beginning by the color line, and at the end by his tragic car accident in 1958. He ends up in Tier VI here. Subjectively, I would probably put him in III or IV. No statistical system is or will ever be perfect.
Finally, only players who were inducted based on their major league careers were included because of data limitations. That omits the non-players, obviously, but unfortunately, it also means that the great Negro Leaguers enshrined in Cooperstown are not included. It goes without saying that Satchel Paige, Cool Papa Bell, Oscar Charleston and Josh Gibson, just to name a few, should rate in the upper tiers of this system. Right now, I just don't know how that to do that systematically. They are absent from HFI at present, but not from my mind or my memory.
There are 228 Hall of Famers being rated, including Baines and Smith, who were announced as Hall of Famers last month at the winter meetings in Las Vegas. In addition to placing the existing Hall of Famers into tiers, I've listed players on the current ballot with the tier they'd reside on if they were to be elected. According to Thibodaux's tracker, 23 players have drawn at least some support in the balloting. Those 23 are included here.
Please address your complaints and critiques to a Mr. Doubleday, in Cooperstown, New York. It's a small town, so you won't need a street address.
Tier I: Willie, Mickey & the Babe
These players would comprise my aforementioned pantheon of big league baseball.
Possible new members from the 2019 ballot: Barry Bonds (2.57), Roger Clemens (1.60).
The most recent player in the pantheon, according to retirement date, is Hank Aaron, who called it quits after the 1976 season. Barring something unforeseen, Mike Trout will end up here someday as well. However, if Bonds and/or Clemens slip in over the 75 percent barrier that they keep edging up on, the pantheon will grow by two. I guess my feelings on the subject can be summed up by saying that I think it's a disgrace that they are not there already.
Tier II: Here You Are, Joe DiMaggio
On any dreamed-up list of players comprising an all-time roster, these players would be prime contenders. They are all Hall no-brainers.
Possible new members from 2019 ballot: None.
For me, the historically underrated player in this group is Vaughan, the great Pirates shortstop during the Great Depression who finished his career with the Dodgers. Bill James rated him as the second-best shortstop ever in "The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract." So it's not as though his career has gone unrecognized, but you don't hear that much about him. He was not voted into the Hall by the BBWAA, never climbing above 29 percent in the balloting, but was finally selected by a veterans committee in 1985 -- 33 years after he died. This is incredible to me but also reminiscent of other overlooked greats, like Minnie Minoso. The common thread there is that walks were a big part of Vaughn's game and that used to be a perversely underrated aspect of a hitter's arsenal. Three times, Vaughan led the National League in walks and on-base percentage. His career .406 OBP is the all-time best among career shortstops.
Tier III: Bob Gibson's 'Step In There' Club
These are what Hall of Famers look like. Pantheon? Probably not. But no one is arguing about the presence of these guys in the Plaque Gallery.
Possible new members from 2019 ballot: Mike Mussina (0.26).
Remember how long it took to get Blyleven into the Hall of Fame? Exercises like this show just why the effort was made to win over support. The Hall would not be complete without him. The same would hold true with Mussina, who now seems a cinch to get in, even if he ends up slipping below the threshold when the results are announced Tuesday. His is not a fringe case. His HFI is on the fringe of this tier, but he'll be a solid Hall member when he gets in.
Tier IV: Ozzie Smith's Back-Flipping Brigade
This is by design the largest tier in terms of membership. These are the working-class Hall of Famers. They are perennial All-Stars and all-time greats, but some of their cases required a bit of discussion. In the end, there is no one in this group whose presence in Cooperstown lowers the standards of the institution.
Possible new members from 2019 ballot: Roy Halladay (0.17), Curt Schilling (0.10), Manny Ramirez (0.03), Scott Rolen (-0.07), Gary Sheffield (-0.08), Andruw Jones (-0.13), Mariano Rivera (-0.14), Lance Berkman (-0.19), Larry Walker (-0.23).
Most of the relievers are rated in a narrow range by HFI, but Rivera stands well above the group as the all-time best and will be a proud new member of Tier IV. That seems appropriate, but where exactly in the system does he stand out? Why does he rate with the likes of Drysdale, Ryan, Koufax and Feller? The chief reason is his postseason performance, expressed in this system by championship probability added. He's the all-time postseason leader in that metric. That metric is also why Berkman, who has received almost no support in the early balloting, would sneak onto this tier if he were miraculously selected. The decision to include that championship added metric was carefully considered, as most Hall metrics are calibrated using only regular-season data. But I've never understood why postseason excellence should be a mere bullet point on a player's Hall résumé, and the championship probability metric gives us a framework to quantify that key contribution.
It seems like big performances in the biggest games should be part of a systematic approach to looking at a player's career. Sure, recent players have an edge in opportunity because of the expanded playoff format. But that's kind of the point -- for the past quarter-century and for as long as baseball lasts into the future, a big part of player's career value will be derived by what he does in the postseason. Rivera went 8-1 with 42 saves and a 0.70 ERA over 96 playoff appearances. Berkman had a .949 OPS with nine homers and 41 RBIs in 52 postseason contests, with huge game-impacting hits in 2004, 2005 and 2011. If we can bake that into an analytical system, why wouldn't we?
Tier V: Dizzy Dean's 'He Slud Into Third' Club
Most of these players have stirred spirited debate, either before they went into the Hall or since they were selected. The consensus on almost all of them seems to have fallen in favor of their inclusion, but this group is where discussions about small Hall and big Hall begin.
Possible new members from 2019 ballot: Sammy Sosa (-0.27), Andy Pettitte (-0.33), Edgar Martinez (-0.34), Jeff Kent (-0.35), Todd Helton (-0.40), Miguel Tejada (-0.41), Roy Oswalt (-0.45), Fred McGriff (-0.52).
Zack Wheat was a Missourian, like myself. He played for the Brooklyn Dodgers, but retired in the Show-Me State and died in 1972 in Sedalia, the city I was born in. (Though that's all I ever did there.) He passed from this realm in the same hospital at which both my brother and I entered it. His services were held at a funeral home in tiny Versailles, where my mother lives, and where several deceased members of my family have had their funerals. He's buried in Forest Hill Cemetery in Kansas City, where Satchel Paige was laid to rest, and not far from where I lived when I was in that city.
Wheat spent his final decades at the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri, where he operated one of those little resorts where you used to be able to rent a cabin and go out fishing and such. It's the kind of place that slipped into obsolescence because of property values and air conditioning. My grandfather operated a similar little resort not too far from there at roughly the same time. It seems like they would have had to have known each other, but no one in my family now has any idea if that was the case. But my grandfather played baseball as a young man and eventually was key to getting me interested in the sport. Since I learned about Wheat, his name has always made me think of my grandfather.
Zack Wheat is a Hall of Famer, forever immortalized along with the player I have named this tier after, Dizzy Dean. Dean is my all-time favorite historical player, to the extent that the first time I saw his uniform hanging in the museum at the Hall of Fame, I very nearly became embarrassingly emotional about it. Why do I love baseball history so much? Why am I a big Hall guy? This is why. No sport and -- almost nothing else in American cultural writ large -- reaches so deeply into the pasts of so many of us. I want more people to discover these kinds of connections, not fewer.
Tier VI: Cross Your Rollie Fingers
These are Hall of Famers with holes in their résumés, whether it's career length or questions about analytical prowess. Most of the relievers in the Hall reside on this tier, or the next one, in the present version of the HFI system.
Possible new members from 2019 ballot: Omar Vizquel (-0.96), Michael Young (-1.06).
Campanella was just 15 when he first played in the Negro Leagues and was just 16 when he became the regular catcher for the Baltimore Elite Giants, replacing fellow Hall of Famer Biz Mackey in 1938. So even though he didn't break in with the Brooklyn Dodgers until 1948, Campanella was still only 26 years old when he took over behind the plate for the soon-to-be-replaced Leo Durocher, bumping Gil Hodges over to first base. From 1949 to the Dodgers' breakthrough season of 1955, Campy was one of the 10 best players in the National League and won three MVP awards during that span. In this system, his All-Star percentage ranks second among all catchers, just behind Yogi Berra. James ranked him as the third-best catcher in history in the Historical Abstract, behind Berra and Johnny Bench. His story epitomizes why you have to consider more than numbers when placing players in a historical hierarchy. You have to know a player's story as well, and how that story fits into the context of baseball history.
Tier VII: Friends of Frankie Frisch
Excuse me, sir, may I see your ticket?
Possible new members from 2019 ballot: Billy Wagner (-1.39).
OK, to reiterate, I think that relievers are unvalued by this version of the system, and Wagner's score here doesn't change my opinion that he fits squarely in the middle of the class of Hall-worthy relievers. The fact that other relievers join him in this group is actually a good thing for them, because it's obviously a systematic issue. One reason that I am confident that using season-by-season data will help fix this is that in the Awards Index results for 2018, the impact of elite relievers was properly recognized, with hurlers like Josh Hader and Blake Treinen, Edwin Diaz all ranking high on the leaderboards for pitchers.
None of that, however, explains away the presence of Ferrell, Hafey, Lindstrom, Kelly, McCarthy and Little Poison in this group. The committees have been randomly generous at times, from one incarnation to the next, and impossible stingy at other times. That cronyism might still play a big part in this is a real, tangible problem the Hall will eventually need to figure out.