For all the tools we have to assess the careers of baseball's all-time greats, the Hall of Fame selection process is always going to be subjective. That's as it should be, because determining who becomes enshrined forever in Cooperstown is as much an art as a science.
I have very few qualms about the Hall's Classic Baseball Era Committee selecting Dave Parker and Dick Allen on Sunday. I would have written the same thing had any of the eight candidates under consideration been picked. All of them played a key part in baseball history, and their stories will not cheapen the Plaque Gallery one iota.
Allen was long overdue for selection. He fell short by a single vote in both of his last two times on the ballot, the last of which was in 2021, a vote delayed by a year because of the COVID-19 pandemic. Allen died on Dec. 7, 2020. Thus, it's more than a little bittersweet that Allen is finally getting his due.
There's no one really to blame, but posthumous selections of overdue candidates have been a little too common over the last 10-15 years. Minnie Minoso, Marvin Miller, Buck O'Neil and Ron Santo are among those whom fans would have relished to see taking the stage at the Clark Sports Complex. Allen is another.
All, I would argue, were fairly clear Hall of Famers who had been championed far and wide long before they died. It's hard to think of a way to improve this issue, but there is solace in knowing how much posthumous selections mean to the friends and families of those selected. Bittersweet? Absolutely. But the selections do not go uncelebrated.
Allen topped out at 18.9% on the BBWAA ballots during his original candidacy. In "The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract," James rated Allen as the second-most controversial player in baseball history behind Rogers Hornsby, who was reviled on the record by the owners he worked for, the teams he played against and even the players he managed as a player-manager. The book, published in 2001, was written long before steroid controversies enveloped the game. Allen acknowledged that view of his career, writing, "It could have been a joy, a celebration. Instead, I played angry."
To be sure, Allen had a well-documented history of clashes with managers, the media and even fans in Philadelphia, who for a time threw so many things at him from the stands that he had to wear a batting helmet while playing the field. It's hard to see these things as unrelated to Allen's lack of support from the writers of his time once he retired, because his career seems solidly Hall worthy from an empirical standpoint.
Of the six players on the Classic Era ballot (excluding Negro Leagues great John Donaldson, whose case isn't really quantifiable), I had two over the statistical threshold for inclusion, based on my methodology. Allen was one of them. He was the 10th-best player on my outside-the-Hall list, excluding those who aren't in because of extenuating circumstances.
At his peak, Allen was one of a handful of the best players in the game, and his time at that level of play exceeded my Hall threshold in both five-year and 10-year measurements. He compiled 58.3 bWAR from 1964 to 1974 while putting up a .940 OPS and 165 OPS+ during some of the most extreme pitching-friendly seasons of the post-integration era.
Take Allen's epic 1972 season, when the American League ERA was a composite 3.47. Allen hit .308 with league-leading totals of 37 homers and 113 RBIs. He also led the league in walks and on-base percentage -- overlooked qualities at the time -- and his total of 8.6 bWAR also led the circuit among position players.
Allen took home MVP honors that year, so it's not like no one noticed. But he'd been having years like that for nearly a decade, and they rarely registered in the MVP voting. I'm certain if the metrics we have now existed and were in common use at the time Allen retired, he would have been enshrined decades ago.
As for Parker, he's similar in that for a half-decade or so, he was one of baseball's very brightest of stars, in the running for "best of the game" status during the late 1970s. His tools were off the charts, especially his legendary throwing arm. He was an MVP, a frequent All-Star, a multiple Gold Glove winner and two-time batting champion. He was the best player on a championship team -- the 1979 "We Are Family" Pittsburgh Pirates.
Parker's peak was fairly short, largely because of injuries and off-the-field problems, but he also overcame those issues to have an amazing second chapter late in his career. Parker finished in the top five of National League MVP balloting for the Cincinnati Reds in 1985 and 1986, his age-34 and age-35 seasons. He won a second World Series ring with the 1989 Oakland A's, hammering three postseason homers at age 38 in the process.
In my Hall standards system, Parker is over the threshold for his best five-year measure, but is a little shy in 10-year and career value. Again, I'm thrilled for the Cobra that he's finally in and, goodness knows, he still has legions of fans who are just as happy.
I do think the committee overlooked the best player on the ballot, though: legendary third baseman Ken Boyer. I could write a novella about why I think Boyer should be in the Hall, but my editors would have my email access turned off. So I'll just sum it up like this: Boyer is over the threshold in my three core measures -- five-year, 10-year and career, and ranked fourth on my list of the best who haven't gotten in and aren't saddled by a non-playing issue. According to the Hall's press release, Boyer received fewer than five votes from the committee. Ah well. Maybe next time.
For now, as we start to look forward to the BBWAA ballot and the likely heavy support for Ichiro Suzuki, we know whoever gets in then will have worthy company in Cooperstown next summer. The Hall of Fame grew by two members on Sunday, and whether you agree with the picks or not, that's always happy news.