A Solid Baseball Hall of Fame Class This Year

[Déjà Bru]

From The Athletic:

Ichiro, Sabathia, Wagner, Parker, Allen inducted into Baseball Hall of Fame

By Jayson Stark



COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. — One of them got more than 4,300 total hits on both sides of the Pacific Ocean. Another was built like a tight end, but earned fame as the ultimate ace in Cleveland, Milwaukee and New York. A third was a diminutive reliever who was born right-handed but miraculously grew up to throw a baseball 100 mph left-handed.

For Ichiro Suzuki, CC Sabathia and Billy Wagner, this was their coolest moment in baseball time — the day their roads converged on a wondrous Sunday afternoon in Cooperstown. This was the day they were inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, along with two sadly absent giants from another era, the late Dave Parker and Dick Allen.

On this day, fans from Tokyo to Texas felt a magnetic pull that drew them to upstate New York, for a baseball celebration unlike any other. What about these five players made all of this possible? Here’s a look at their paths to the Hall.

Ichiro’s Hall of Fame credentials



He’s the man who got more hits than anyone who ever played baseball in the two greatest leagues on Earth. So Ichiro Suzuki is a one-of-a-kind Hall of Famer, a global baseball icon who transformed his sport and performed magic tricks no one in history ever performed. Such as …

4,367 hits — It’s a mind-blowing number. It’s more than Joe DiMaggio (2,214) and Yogi Berra (2,150) combined! Of course, the 1,278 hits Ichiro got in Japan theoretically didn’t “count” when voters assessed his Hall of Fame case. But it’s staggering enough that he had 3,089 of them on this side of the Pacific, considering he didn’t get any of those hits until he arrived in Seattle at age 27.

10 seasons in a row with 200 hits and a Gold Glove — How historic were Ichiro’s first 10 seasons in the major leagues? He was so special, on both sides of the ball, that he got at least 200 hits and won a Gold Glove Award in all 10 of them. How many other players in history ever did that? None, of course. In fact, no one else even had five seasons in a row like that.

262 hits in one season — How is it possible for a man to get 262 hits in a season? It seems incomprehensible, but that’s how many hits Ichiro got in 2004 — breaking a record by George Sisler (257 hits) that had stood since 1920, when baseball looked very different than it does today.

Maybe this will put that 262-hit season in perspective: That’s so many hits that back in 2017 and ’18, Aaron Judge got 269 hits for the Yankees over two seasons (and almost won an MVP award in one of them).

Ichiro’s path to election

Babe Ruth didn’t get elected to the Hall of Fame unanimously. Neither did Willie Mays, Henry Aaron or Ted Williams. So it shouldn’t shock us that Ichiro was the latest all-time great who just missed becoming the first position player to run the table in one of these elections. Still …

If Planet Earth’s all-time Hit King couldn’t collect every vote, will any hitter ever crack that unanimity barrier?

There were 394 ballots cast in the 2025 Hall election. Ichiro’s name was checked on 393 of them. So after nine decades of voting, only legendary Yankees closer Mariano Rivera has been unanimous (in 2019). Meanwhile, Ichiro jumps nearly to the top of this list of position players who missed by fewer than 10 votes.



Sabathia’s Hall of Fame credentials



On one hand, Sabathia’s 3.74 ERA is the highest of any left-handed starter in the Hall of Fame. On the other hand, the voters looked at that ERA and said: Who cares?

Turns out that when those voters judged Sabathia, they didn’t see a guy whose final numbers slipped while he was reinventing himself, on balky knees, in his final few seasons. They saw one of three left-handers in history to join the 250-Win, 3,000-Strikeout Club. (Randy Johnson and Steve Carlton were the others.) And they saw a man whose ace cred was on vivid display for more than a decade, for three different teams:

Five straight top-five Cy Young Award finishes — In 2007, Sabathia won a Cy Young Award in Cleveland. In 2008, he got Cy Young votes in Milwaukee, even though he didn’t get traded there until July. Then he ripped off three more top-five Cy Young finishes in a row with the Yankees, in 2009-10-11. So how impressive was that? It should tell you something that only three active pitchers have had a top-five streak that long: Clayton Kershaw, Max Scherzer and Chris Sale.

He led both leagues in shutouts in the same year — This man may have won his only Cy Young Award in 2007 for Cleveland. But in truth, the legend of CC Sabathia was chiseled in 2008.

His three months in Milwaukee, in the second half of that season, were unforgettable for many reasons: His four consecutive starts on short rest. His 1.65 ERA. His willingness to risk his own health (and free-agent payday) to lift that team into the playoffs. But also, try to imagine a pitcher who didn’t join his team until July then going on to tie for the National League lead in shutouts (with three).

That would have been astonishing enough, except that he also tied for the American League lead in shutouts that year (with two). How many other pitchers have ever led both leagues in the same year? Right. That would be nobody.

He had a Bronx October for the ages — So how did Sabathia follow up that act? With yet another extraordinary chapter, for another new team. Before the 2009 season, he signed with the Yankees and became an official New York folk hero. Those 2009 Yankees won the World Series … as their new ace was spinning off a 1.98 postseason ERA over five memorable starts. Guess who started Game 1 in every series they played that fall? CC Sabathia would be a sensational guess.

Sabathia’s path to election

If you just stared at his ERA, Sabathia may not have looked like a classic first-ballot Hall of Famer. But when the votes were counted, he cleared the 75 percent election bar by nearly 50 votes — winding up with essentially the same percentage (86.8) as Sandy Koufax (86.9). So now the First-Ballot Left-handed Starters Club has these five members:

• Sandy Koufax (1972)
• Steve Carlton (1994)
• Tom Glavine (2014)
• Randy Johnson (2015)
• CC Sabathia (2025)

Wagner’s Hall of Fame credentials

[Wagner is pictured in the next post.]

It’s now clear that Hall of Fame voters divide relief pitchers into two categories: 1) Mariano Rivera and 2) everybody else. So there is no better explanation for why it took Billy Wagner 10 elections to make it to that stage Sunday, even though he collected more saves (422) than all but one left-handed pitcher in history.

He wasn’t Mariano. He never threw the last pitch of a World Series. His 10.03 postseason ERA (in only 11 2/3 October innings) was a never-ending topic of conversation. But that was a small sample. The larger sample, of Wagner’s unparalleled dominance over 16 seasons, ultimately led him to Cooperstown:

The most unhittable closer ever — Does that sound like hyperbole? Think again. Look at where Wagner ranks among all left-handed pitchers (not just relievers) in modern history.



Pretty astonishing, for a guy who only learned to throw a baseball left-handed because he broke his right arm as a kid.

Wagner was actually more unhittable than Mariano — No, that isn’t clickbait. It’s just the facts.

Opponent avg. versus Wagner: .187
Opponent avg. versus Rivera: .211

To put that in perspective, here’s a little nugget from longtime Wagner proponent Austin Eich: “Billy Wagner could return to the majors, surrender 100 consecutive hits, and have the same career opponent batting average as Mariano Rivera.”

Wagner’s path to election

It’s a good thing Wagner was a closer — because nobody knows better than a closer that the last out is always the hardest to get. So in some ways, it’s almost fitting that he didn’t earn this honor until his 10th and final shot at election.

In his second year on the ballot, in 2017, Wagner got just 45 votes — or 10.2 percent. That tied him with Scott Rolen for the lowest percentage by a player who later was elected by the writers.

But many of his fellow Hall of Fame closers can relate. Hoyt Wilhelm was elected in his eighth year on the ballot. Goose Gossage was elected in his ninth. Bruce Sutter was elected in his 13th, back in the days when players’ ballot life lasted 15 years.

So by the time Wagner finally was elected in January, it had been 5,224 days since his final save in the big leagues. But when those votes were counted, all of those days of waiting melted away.

Parker’s Hall of Fame credentials

[Parker is pictured in the next post.]

Before Aaron Judge or Giancarlo Stanton, there was a giant of a baseball man named Dave Parker. At 6-foot-5, 235 pounds, he towered over everyone around him. He towered over that patch in right field he patrolled like no one else in the sport. He towered over his franchise in Pittsburgh. And he seemed bound for Cooperstown almost from the day he arrived.

Then it took him 34 years, after his final game in 1991, to get there. Sadly, he died of complications from Parkinson’s disease on June 29, a mere 29 days before Induction Day. Parker is only the third Hall of Famer to die between his election and his induction, joining Leon Day (in 1995) and Eppa Rixey (in 1963).

But it isn’t hard to see why the Hall’s Classic Baseball Era Committee finally elected him last December.

Parker, Aaron, Kaline and Ott — Parker retired after the 1991 season with 2,712 career hits, 339 home runs and a .290 career batting average. Only three other right fielders in the live-ball era (1920-present) are members of that 2,700-Hit, 300-Homer, .290 or Better Club: Henry Aaron, Al Kaline, Mel Ott and Parker. Now they’re all sharing plaques in Cooperstown.

His first five seasons were epic — Parker played almost two decades in the big leagues. But it was his first five full seasons (1975-79) that turned him into one of the biggest stars in his sport:

His slash line: .321/.377/.532/.909
His Adjusted OPS+: 147*
His average season: 23 HR/98 RBIs/17 SB
Gold Gloves: 3
Batting titles: 2
MVP awards: 1
World Series rings: 1
WAR/season: 6.2

(*47 percent above league average)

Before that run by the Cobra, there was only one comparable five-year span from any right fielder in history — by Aaron, from 1955-59. And if you’re in any club with Henry Aaron, it’s official. You could play.

This man could throw a baseball — Google Dave Parker, and there’s a good chance the first video that pops up will be his two breathtaking, what-just-happened outfield assists in the 1979 All-Star Game. It’s only fitting because Parker possessed a throwing arm that could have launched the first rocket to the moon.

In 1977, he had a season with 26 outfield assists. Only one outfielder in the expansion era (1961-present) has had more in any season. And that was a Pirates right fielder from a previous era, Roberto Clemente — who beat Parker by one, with 27 assists in 1961.

Parker’s path to election

In 15 spins through the writers’ ballot, Parker never came close to election — peaking in his second year at 24.5 percent and never coming within 250 votes of election again. He then needed four more tries, with various versions of the Veterans Committee, before he was named on 14 of 16 ballots in the Classic Baseball Era Committee election in December.

So why did a player with his credentials take so long? It’s a long story. But suffice it to say that Parker’s last 12 seasons bore almost no resemblance to his first five.

There was a brief resurgence in Cincinnati in the mid-1980s. But for most of those 12 years, his bat got slow, his defense slipped and there was too much off-the-field drama and controversy. So Hall of Fame voters had a hard time ignoring that — until now.

Allen’s Hall of Fame credentials

[Allen is pictured in the next post.]

Dick Allen once hit a home run that traveled 540 feet. Let’s start there.

He was a massively talented player with a complicated story. But what do people most remember about the greatest player ever to come out of Wampum, Pa.? No right-handed hitter who ever lived hit baseballs farther than Allen did.

The 500-Foot Homer Club — In his definitive 2010 book on the longest home runs ever hit, long-distance home-run historian Bill Jenkinson documented 10 Allen homers that traveled 500 feet or farther. The highlight was a 540-foot rocket, on June 5, 1967, that roared over the most distant sign atop the roof of Philadelphia’s old Connie Mack Stadium in the deepest part of left-center field. Jenkinson has documented only three homers in major-league history that traveled farther than that. They were all hit by Babe Ruth.

He mashed with the legends — There was no such stat as “OPS” (On Base plus Slugging) when Allen played, back in the 1960s and ’70s. But now that we understand what OPS truly is — a metric that gives us a window into the most dangerous sluggers in baseball — we have a new appreciation for where Allen fit during his monstrous 11-year peak, from 1964-74.

You merely have to size up how Allen compared with the Best of the Best during his 11-year peak, from 1964-74 — and there’s no longer much to debate:

OPS, 1964-74

1. Henry Aaron — .941
2. Dick Allen — .940
3. Willie McCovey — .937
4. Frank Robinson — .914
5. Willie Stargell — .905

Even more revealing is OPS+, a variation which adjusts a player’s stats to account for the ballpark he played in and the hitting environment in his league. That metric didn’t exist in Allen’s day, either. But all these years later, it did wonders for his Hall of Fame case.

OPS+, 1964-74

1. Dick Allen — 165
2. Willie McCovey — 161
3. Henry Aaron — 159
4. Frank Robinson — 159

(Source: Baseball Reference / Stathead)

Allen’s path to election

Like Parker, Allen traveled an interminable road from the diamond to the plaque gallery. He played his last game nearly half a century ago, in 1977. So it was an unfathomable 17,372 days between his 351st and last home run and his election to the Hall last December.

He never even made it to 20 percent in his years on the writers’ ballot. Then he appeared on various Veterans Committee ballots seven times before the Classic Baseball Era Committee finally elected him, along with Parker. He’d fallen short by only one vote in each of his two previous elections, in 2015 and 2022.

He died in between those two votes, on Dec. 7, 2020. So like Parker, he missed out on his chance to stand on that stage in Cooperstown with his fellow Hall of Famers.

What were the voters missing in all those previous elections? As with Parker, it’s not a simple answer. How do we factor in the racism and ugliness that Allen encountered early in his career? Does that help explain the controversies and sometimes unexplained absences that cost him time, dinged his numbers and left their mark on voters?

But beyond all that, Allen was also lacking in the traditional counting numbers that drove Hall of Fame voting for decades. Was it even possible back then for a Hall of Fame “slugger” to be a guy who finished his career with “only” 351 homers and 1,848 hits? Apparently not!

Then, however, along came a whole different set of metrics to provide a whole different perspective on players like this. And it was those metrics, plus a newfound understanding of the man himself, that finally opened the doors of Cooperstown to Allen.

[Déjà Bru]

Here are the three player photos from the article that I owe you (there is a limit of 5 uploaded images per post):

Billy Wagner:



Dave Parker:



Dick Allen:

[Déjà Bru]

Some random thoughts of my own:

At first, I was waxing irate over the one, one, sportswriter who did not vote for Ichiro. Read Ichiro's credentials again and wonder. Bad day and mad at everybody? Don't like Asian-born athletes? Just a stupid mistake or let the cat make the picks? But then, I thought this way: 393 out of 394 people agreed on something. Where in our society today can you achieve a 99.7% consensus on anything?

Sabathia's picture (the one in a Yankee uniform) does not do him justice. He was heavier than that in his playing days. Yet now, look at him in the Hall of Fame photo. That man has lost a ton of weight since he retired, and good for him. He maintains that he needed the extra weight to pitch well. Who can argue with him now?

It's hard to imagine why it took Wagner 10 years to be elected, given what it says about him in the article. I think it's because the path to the Hall of Fame for relief pitchers is not as clear as for other players. You have to be really spectacular and earn a lot of media attention, preferably in a big market. Wagner did not get to New York until he was 34.

Parker knew, he had to know, that he was elected to the Hall of Fame before he died. That is some consolation that the next guy never received, unfortunately.

Allen hit a 540-foot home run. What a poke that must have been. You don't hear much about 500-foot homers these days. When is the last one that happened in the MLB? According to this, the longest this season so far is 484 feet (Mike Trout). And according to this, only three guys have hit 500+ foot home runs in the past ten years, 505, 504, and 504 feet. So Allen really belted that ball.

[Jason Moyer]

Ichiro is a first ballot HOFer in my mind without question, but the things that people say about him always puzzle me. Yeah he had 262 hits in 2004, but he still got on base less than Bobby Abreu and had an OPS 100 points lower. His case for being a better player than someone like Abreu was his defense and baserunning, not his hitting. Actually, Abreu stole 5 more stolen bases with 6 fewer times caught that year, so it's basically his defense that would make me rank him ahead.

[Amazin69]

There was a nice crowd for all five…but dang, those Seattle fans can make the noise. Big ovations for The Big Unit, Junior, and Edgar. Congrats to Ichiro for bringing out such passion.

Of all the ex-Mets mediocrities, I didn't expect a Doug Henry shout-out. But Wee Willie Wags shouted out every man he shared a Houston bullpen with. I did flinch a bit at the talk of how Wags succeeded despite his small size, given that Billy had three great first halves as a Met, but wore down in September every single time, where perhaps a larger man would have been healthy enough to have a better post-season in '06 than the 6.53 ERA he posted, or been able to keep us from having to depend (unsuccessfully) on the Luis Ayalas of the world to avoid the collapses that ruined the final two seasons of Big Beautiful Shea. I can get on Tom Glavine for his game 162 disaster in '07 (or his running back to Atlanta without facing the press)…but at least Glavine was there.

I grant you that Billy made the most of the body he had, but it's a bit odd to see him inducted next to Carsten Charles Sabathia, the big pile of meat who was renowned for pitching complete games down the stretch (often on short rest) to get his teams the post-seasons that Billy failed to deliver for the Mets, including literally taking the spot from us in 2008 that ensured that the beautiful closing ceremonies that followed (with one of the two men wearing a Mets cap on his HoF plaque pitching to the other) were truly the end, instead of the warm-up to one final playoff run.

Interesting to see CC, Manly Manfred's golf buddy, coming thisclose to calling out MLB's failure to keep as significant a black presence in MLB as before.

Ichiro's speech was damn hilarious (including the Rick Rizzs impression) and deep about the focus on preparation, including the loose strings on the glove. So meticulous.

Who was the kid whom Dick Allen took to mentoring and who was at the ceremonies? I never caught his name .

David Parker II did a great job with his speech, but I wish that "Pops" had been able to recite that delightful poem he wrote. (And it would be great if the Buccos would get on the stick and build the statue referenced therein…or at least retire the Cobra's number already!)

[Hrycaj]

Ichiro was a magician with the bat. If he would have started earlier in states he would have been the hit king.

Also, I know a lot of these have been phased out of baseball but I miss counting stats for hall of famers. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure we will never see another 300 game winner. 3,000 hits may be another one that goes the way of the dinosaur too.

[CONN CHRIS]

It really is remarkable to see the shape that CC is in now.

I am happiest about Allen getting in. It's long overdue.

[Amazin69]

Originally Posted by Hrycaj

Ichiro was a magician with the bat. If he would have started earlier in states he would have been the hit king.

Also, I know a lot of these have been phased out of baseball but I miss counting stats for hall of famers. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure we will never see another 300 game winner. 3,000 hits may be another one that goes the way of the dinosaur too.

300 wins looks dead unless Verlander pulls several rabbits out of his hat, it's true. But there are still a few 3000-hit candidates:

• Fabulous Freddie Freeman is at 2369 currently and has averaged over 180 per season for his career. Even if the 153 last year and a total this season (102 in 106 team games) that seems likely to track with that are his new normal, he'd still get there by 2029 at that reduced pace. And first basemen/DHs can play until age 39 or beyond.

• Manny Machado just cracked 2000 (2022 atm, IIRC) and he's 33. He's never been a big hit producer (the 189 in his rookie year is his career high), but he's under contract for another 8 seasons, so would barely need to average 120 per year to get there. Of course, he might not make it all the way there, but…

• Frankie Sweet Money, aka Francisco Lindor, is at 1597 right now, and he's 31 years old. Tough to project, but hardly impossible.

• And of course, Lindor has a teammate who just passed 1000. Juan Soto is only 26, recall. The Mets are paying him for another 14 seasons, so we won't know for quite a while, but if Mr 765 is worth even 600M of what he's got coming, he can give it a shot.

[Déjà Bru]

Yes, there is no reason why 3,000 hits is permanently beyond the horizon unless there comes a time when the latest concern and fad is about players having to swing their bats more than, say, three times a game. Or, say, having to play the field more than six innings.

Picture it: Some analytical department in Brian Cashman's organization publishes a study linking player injuries with excessive at-bats. There is further evidence that injuries are hazily linked to the seventh, eighth, and ninth innings of games, plus a correlation with overall innings played per season!

Aaron Boone jumps on it, of course, and decides to platoon players accordingly. This gets top coverage on ESPN and elsewhere, and within a fortnight, all MLB managers are doing the same thing, afraid to be accused of hurting their position players with excessive use.

The MLBPA loves the idea, as it will end up expanding rosters to 30 or 35 players. They cut a deal with team owners to lower minimum salaries but that lasts only a few years. Team owners use this to justify charging $100 a head for bleacher seats and passing the costs on to media companies. Our monthly cable bill reaches $400 as a result.

Ten years later, we are exclaiming when Nick Kurtz hits his 20th home run on September 30. And Juan Soto is closing in on 1,000 career hits!

[Déjà Bru]

Originally Posted by CONN CHRIS

I am happiest about Allen getting in. It's long overdue.

You may appreciate this follow-up article, also from The Athletic:

Dick Allen’s Hall of Fame Induction Day, a powerful — and ‘personal’ — closing chapter

By Jayson Stark



COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. — I’ve been making trips to baseball’s magic kingdom for Hall of Fame Induction Day since 1995. But this one was different — because unlike all those others, this one was personal. This wasn’t just another story I was covering. This was the closing chapter in the longest-running baseball story of my lifetime.

On Sunday afternoon at the Clark Sports Center, my eyes welled up as I watched Willa Allen, wife of the late, great Dick Allen, stride to the podium and listen intently as the commissioner of baseball, Rob Manfred, read the words that would appear on the plaque that would define her husband’s baseball legacy forever:

“Fearlessly wielded a 42-ounce bat with presence and style, combining plate discipline and power to become one of the game’s most intimidating hitters during a notorious pitchers’ era.”

It was a beautiful moment nearly half a century in the making. Allen played his last baseball game 48 years ago. He died, before he could make it to the podium, in December 2020. So this was a day his friends and family had long thought would never arrive — until a vote by the Classic Baseball Era Committee last December changed everything.

But on this fateful Sunday, I always understood that for most of the estimated 30,000 people in attendance, this would not be remembered as Richard Anthony Allen’s Hall of Fame Induction Day. It was a day to celebrate the hitting genius of Ichiro Suzuki, the larger-than-life acehood of CC Sabathia, the triple-digit domination of Billy Wagner. It was a day to mourn the death, just four weeks ago, of Dave Parker.

They were all bigger stories, and bolder headlines, for most of this planet, than the induction of a man whose prodigious prime, as one of baseball’s most intimidating sluggers, came way back in the 1960s and ’70s. But not for me. And not for a group of baseball lovers from Philadelphia just like me.

No, for us, Dick Allen was a life-altering figure. And I’m not exaggerating.

Dick Allen was the single biggest reason I became a baseball fan. He was my first favorite player. He was the first player in my life who drew my eyes to the TV screen in a way that men named Judge and Ohtani do now.

When Allen kicked the dirt in the box back then, waggling that fabled 42-ounce tree trunk he called a bat, this was not the time to do your homework, or go check what was inside the refrigerator. It was time to plant yourself in front of the TV to await what miraculous thing might happen next. The rest of my life could resume once he was through.

Was a baseball about to disappear over the distant billboards atop the left-field roof of the Connie Mack Stadium bleachers? Was a line drive about to bore a hole in the 447-foot sign in the center-field fence? Was a Dick Allen rocket about to beat the first Apollo capsule to the moon? I was just a kid, but I knew enough to not rule it out.

So he was the single biggest reason I learned to love baseball. And if that’s true, I ask myself all the time: If he had never shown up in the city where I was born, would I have grown up wanting to be a baseball writer? Would I have done something totally different with my life? I very well might have.

Before he arrived, I thought I wanted to be an astronaut. Then a love affair with baseball fueled an entirely different dream and an entirely different journey. And it all began right there. It all began with the awareness that no one on Earth — or at least no one who I was aware of — could hit a baseball harder or farther than Dick Allen.

But here’s the important part: It wasn’t just me.

A friend of mine, Mike Tollin, was there Sunday, too. He, too, has been waiting for this day for decades. He is a filmmaker with a Dick Allen story to tell. That film – tentatively titled, “Letters in the Dirt” — is being scripted and on its way to life as we speak. As the idea for this film was born and this story unfolded for so many frustrating years, Tollin became one of Allen’s closest friends. He came to know Allen and his family in a way that I don’t.

But it all began for him the way it began for me — with those mammoth Dick Allen home runs, the awe they inspired and the baseball fandom they created. So when we spoke about what this day meant to people like us, Tollin used the same word that was engraved in my brain: “Personal.”

“Oh man, it gives me goosebumps,” he said. “I’m thinking two words: boyhood hero. And then I’m thinking: Do kids even have boyhood heroes anymore?”

I think they do, to be honest. But that doesn’t change the meaning of our boyhood hero in our lives. The feelings we felt, when we first watched Allen play baseball, have never left us. We’ve both gone on to do lots of cool things in life. We’ve both gone on to live our dreams in ways that many people aren’t fortunate enough to do.

But there is a lifelong passion for baseball that weaves through it all. And it began with the mesmerizing sight of Dick Allen swinging a bat.

On Saturday evening, the Phillies threw a Hall of Fame party they’ve been waiting forever to throw. Over 300 of Allen’s family, friends and former teammates descended on Cooperstown this weekend, to celebrate this momentous occasion. And many of them were there at this party — possibly the most emotional Cooperstown party I’ve ever attended.

Tollin was one of the people who spoke that night. Phillies owner John Middleton was another. One of Allen’s favorite teammates, a legend named Mike Schmidt, was the third speaker. Every word seemed as if it flowed directly from their soul to their lips. Tears flowed.

These Hall of Fame weekends are normally such happy occasions. This one was different — because the journey to get here was so long, the story was so complicated, the guest of honor was no longer with us and because the waiting had been so hard.

“This was so different from Mike Schmidt’s (1995) induction,” Middleton told me. “That was all goodness stuff. It was a lovefest. It didn’t have the sense of this man who was being disparaged horribly, and having to overcome that. And to overcome it with, frankly, the grace and generosity with which he overcame it — that makes it different and special.”



After those three had finished speaking, a singer-songwriter named Chuck Brodsky picked up his guitar, stepped to the mic and sang a song that came flowing out of him more than 30 years ago about his own first favorite player — a man then known as “Richie” Allen.

That song, called “Letters in the Dirt,” helped inspire Tollin’s film project. Even more importantly, it weaved together two parallel tales of a misunderstood superstar in a very different era — the first Black baseball star ever to play for the Phillies, coping with racism and ugliness and all that went with it.

So on one level, this song told the tale of a ballplayer who grew so disgruntled in Philadelphia, he used his spikes to poke at Phillies fans by scrawling the word BOO in the infield dirt. But on another level, it connected the dots to so many young fans in Philadelphia who were too young and naïve to get what that booing was all about. Chuck and I were two of those kids.

Brodsky, one of the most devoted Phillies fans I know, has been singing that song since the mid-1990s. But the central character was so important to him, he flew all the way to Cooperstown this weekend to sing it for an audience made up entirely of people who were also there because this was an induction weekend they’d been thinking about for years.

“We’ve been waiting for so long for this day,” Brodsky told me. “I know you have. I know Mike Tollin has. I know John Middleton has. This is very personal. We loved him as children, and we have loved him all of our lives and thought that this day would have come years ago. And we had to live with the disappointment that it didn’t happen all through those years. But it finally did.

“So this is the most meaningful baseball event of my life. Honestly. Even more so than the Phillies winning the World Series — because I’ve lived with this love of Dick Allen every bit as long as I’ve had a love for the Phillies. Plus this is the writing of a historical wrong. And I think that makes it bigger than a typical induction.”

I should admit here that I was one of those baseball writers who never voted for Allen during his time on our ballot. It’s a reminder — to me and to you — that people in my line of work aren’t fans the way that you are. I was a sportswriter at The Philadelphia Inquirer back then. So I didn’t root for the Phillies. I covered the Phillies.

So when it came time to vote for the Hall of Fame, I wasn’t voting with my heart, for my first favorite baseball player. I was voting for a player who didn’t fit the definition, back then, of a Hall of Fame “slugger.” There was no such thing as OPS+ to put Allen’s numbers in perspective in the ’90s. The standard was 500 homers — and Allen was a man who finished his career with “only” 351.

Modern metrics have given us a much better understanding of how feared and productive a hitter he truly was. But I couldn’t convince myself to vote for him — not once — based on what I knew then. So I’ve had to live with the mixed emotions of all that for many, many years.

I hoped that some Veterans Committee would eventually come along to right this wrong. Instead, he missed by one vote in two elections — in 2015 and 2022. Those elections came with so much heartbreak for his friends and family, and for thousands of the kids from my generation, who now saw this story through such a personal lens.

“In the big picture, we’re just part of a tiny little group,” Tollin said. “I don’t want to call it a cult, but it’s definitely a clique. And we need to hang onto each other to validate our worship. Like: He really did hit that ball over the Coke sign, right? And he really was the greatest player you ever saw, right? And there are going to be so many guys like us who can just never let go of this guy.”

But on Sunday night, they hung Dick Allen’s plaque in the Baseball Hall of Fame. And now it will be there, to tell his story, forever. But some of us know there is more to that story. It’s not just about him. It’s about that feeling he evoked in all of us.

“I can’t even talk about this without choking up,” Middleton said.

“Dick Allen, man — he was our hero,” Brodsky said. “He was our absolute hero. And we waited so much longer than your average fan of a superstar would wait for their induction. So for us, this is something we can finally put to bed. The quest for his induction, the wait for his induction, has finally been fulfilled.”

So as that wait counted down to its final hours Saturday, I asked Willa Allen if she could describe her emotions just thinking about the fact that her husband’s plaque would now hang in the Hall of Fame forever. As she composed her thoughts, she glanced over at the nearly life-sized poster of the young Dick Allen, a Phillies helmet atop his afro, his huge hands gripping the world’s most humongous bat.

Just seeing this photo there,” she said, “it almost brings tears.”

She paused again to control her emotions, then uttered the five words that bonded Dick Allen fans everywhere this weekend: “I think it’s about time.”

[CONN CHRIS]

Thank you!

[mytreds]

Funny how when Barry Bonds lost his weight, no one said they are glad he’s looking healthy…

[Déjà Bru]

Originally Posted by mytreds

Funny how when Barry Bonds lost his weight, no one said they are glad he’s looking healthy…

The difference is that Bonds lost weight in artificially expanded muscle while Sabathia lost flab like you and I have around our middles. Bonds got there by taking steroids. Sabathia, as far as any of us knows, did it by eating too much pizza and other unhealthy stuff.

Yet, the man excelled at his craft. How?

[pilight]

Originally Posted by Déjà Bru

The difference is that Bonds lost weight in artificially expanded muscle while Sabathia lost flab like you and I have around our middles. Bonds got there by taking steroids. Sabathia, as far as any of us knows, did it by eating too much pizza and other unhealthy stuff.

You don't think steroids are unhealthy?

[Hrycaj]

Originally Posted by Amazin69

300 wins looks dead unless Verlander pulls several rabbits out of his hat, it's true. But there are still a few 3000-hit candidates:

• Fabulous Freddie Freeman is at 2369 currently and has averaged over 180 per season for his career. Even if the 153 last year and a total this season (102 in 106 team games) that seems likely to track with that are his new normal, he'd still get there by 2029 at that reduced pace. And first basemen/DHs can play until age 39 or beyond.

• Manny Machado just cracked 2000 (2022 atm, IIRC) and he's 33. He's never been a big hit producer (the 189 in his rookie year is his career high), but he's under contract for another 8 seasons, so would barely need to average 120 per year to get there. Of course, he might not make it all the way there, but…

• Frankie Sweet Money, aka Francisco Lindor, is at 1597 right now, and he's 31 years old. Tough to project, but hardly impossible.

• And of course, Lindor has a teammate who just passed 1000. Juan Soto is only 26, recall. The Mets are paying him for another 14 seasons, so we won't know for quite a while, but if Mr 765 is worth even 600M of what he's got coming, he can give it a shot.

I agree there are some potentials out there for 3,000 hits. Staying healthy is the key. Hard to get to 3k if you are injured for any length of time. Also with Soto, I don't feel he will make it to the end of that contract. I have zero evidence to provide, just a feeling.

[dsvitak]

Originally Posted by Hrycaj

Ichiro was a magician with the bat. If he would have started earlier in states he would have been the hit king.

Also, I know a lot of these have been phased out of baseball but I miss counting stats for hall of famers. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure we will never see another 300 game winner. 3,000 hits may be another one that goes the way of the dinosaur too.

I can name several players with a legit shot at 3000 hits. Freddie Freeman, Altuve, and Machado. I am sure that there are others.

[Hrycaj]

Originally Posted by dsvitak

I can name several players with a legit shot at 3000 hits. Freddie Freeman, Altuve, and Machado. I am sure that there are others.

Never said it wasn’t possible. We will see though. Freeman and Altuve are already 35. Machado is 33, if he can stay healthy he has a shot. Actually the best of the bunch may be Vlad Jr. who is over 1000 at 26.

[Amazin69]

Good point; Vladi's on 1021 to Soto's 1028, but he is five months younger.

I'd like to think that playing in the field rather than being consigned to 1B/DH so early on gives Juan a better shot, but I did just get through seeing Edgar Martinez on Sunday, so…