Nothing Can Deny Jim Palmer Rightful Place in Hall of Fame

The Baseball Hall of Fame ballot arrived Wednesday, and there was Jim Palmer’s name on it. Once I checked to make sure he hadn’t been nominated for the announcers’ wing, I put my X next to his name. He belongs the first year he’s eligible. He belongs on every ballot. His numbers (if not his play-by-play) speak for themselves.

Palmer will be the first Hall of Famer most of you have been privileged to see in his underwear, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Get to know your Hall of Famers. Sportswriters routinely see future Hall of Famers -- also Larry Sheets -- in their underwear. When we say we know the players, warts and all, we mean that literally.

Palmer is basically wartless. He won 20 games eight times. He won three Cy Youngs. He was 268-152 with a 2.86 earned run average. He gave Earl Weaver heartburn. He was never, ever, ever dull. He graces larger-than-life billboards.

Every player with his larger-than-life credentials is in the Hall of Fame, and Palmer, who played a role in nearly every great Orioles moment, will be, too. Make your reservations for Cooperstown now.

And yet he’s not the most obvious choice this go-round. I would rate Palmer among the top six or seven pitchers of his generation -- mid-’60s to mid-’80s -- along with Sandy Koufax, Tom Seaver, Bob Gibson, Juan Marichal, Steve Carlton and Nolan Ryan. But Joe Morgan, who also comes eligible this year, might be the best second baseman ever.

The sabremeticians and other baseball nuts who spend quality time alone in their one-room apartments, stocked only with a calculator, batteries and a dog-eared Baseball Encyclopedia, suggest that Morgan is even better than Rogers Hornsby.

The only Hornsby I ever saw was Bruce, and he couldn’t turn the double play. Morgan, I saw. On a team featuring Johnny Bench and Pete Rose and Tony Perez and George Foster, Morgan was, in his best years, without peer. In the other years, he was merely great. He was the heart of any team he ever played on. Numbers (a .271 lifetime batting average, 268 homers) don’t begin to describe Morgan’s value, but he did routinely walk 100 times a year, score 100 runs a year, hit as many as 27 homers a year, stole 50 to 60 bases a year. And he was even better than the sum of his parts.

OK, Morgan and Palmer. Seal the envelope and mail it in?

Last year, in my first as a voter, I wrestled with the concept of what constitutes a Hall of Famer. (Forget character. Babe Ruth drank too much; Ty Cobb was the most hated man in the game. So don’t tell me that Gaylord Perry doesn’t belong because he found creative uses for hair cream.) The strict constructionists argue that only those players who fit in comfortably with, say, Ted Williams and Willie Mays belong.

I tend to agree, and yet, as I did last year, I’ve decided to lengthen the list. Why? Because if Don Drysdale is in the Hall of Fame, then Perry should be in there, too. If Stan Coveleski belongs, so does Ferguson Jenkins. If Johnny Mize is in there, Orlando Cepeda belongs. In fact, in Cepeda’s case, you can make a decent argument that his statistics are comparable to Willie McCovey’s.

That’s my list -- Palmer, Morgan, Perry, Jenkins and Cepeda. You can vote for 10, but I’m stretching the point only so far. I left off Jim Bunning, a good pitcher who won 224 games and who has a lot of support among voters. I left off Ken Boyer and Ron Santo, both good third basemen who drove in a lot of runs. I left off Dick Allen and Vada Pinson, who each started fast but faded. I left off Bobby Bonds, who was Hall-of-Fame potential anyway. I left off Tony Oliva despite his three batting titles. I left off Maury Wills even though he probably helped change the face of the game. I left off Jim Kaat, who won 283 games over -- get this -- 25 years.

Perry won 314 games, with 300 being a reasonable benchmark for greatness. He won the Cy Young in both leagues. Over 22 years, Perry had an ERA of 3.10. He wasn’t Koufax. He wasn’t Palmer. He was close enough. All Jenkins did was win 20 games seven times, six in succession, pitching too much of the time in Wrigley Field, which should entitle him to some kind of award. He was 284-226, and if you’re wavering, keep thinking Don Drysdale, Don Drysdale, Don Drysdale.

Cepeda won’t make it. He won’t make it because he played in the shadow of Mays and McCovey, and he won’t make it because he went to jail after his career had ended, and he won’t make it because he’s a close call anyway. But he hit over .300 nine times, drove in 100 or more runs five times and 90 or more nine times, hit at least 25 homers eight times. He was an MVP and an 11-time All-Star.

Last year, Carl Yastrzemski made it on his first try, with fewer homers per at-bat than Cepeda, with only six years batting .300 and seven years with 90-plus RBI.

In Baltimore, Cepeda’s fate is of little interest this year. All eyes will naturally be on Palmer. This won’t be a nail-biter, folks. He’s a sure thing. The only question is whether Earl Weaver will introduce him at the induction ceremony. That sure gets my vote.

Michael Young