If you’ll pardon the expression, Braun cheated himself out of a Hall of Fame case.

A few weeks ago, I had a look at the holdovers on the current Baseball Writers Association of America Hall of Fame ballot. Included in my analysis of their cases was a promise, which some might deem a threat, to look at the newcomers in short order.

Well, the order was short enough. In the interim, the Contemporary Baseball Era Committee elected Jeff Kent to the Hall. So It’s time. But I’m going to tell you going in that I have a sneaking suspicion that Kent may stand alone among players at the Cooperstown podium next summer.

Which would probably drive to the nearest drink well those writers still standing who saw Kent in his prime. The ones who remember his feuding with a certain Giants teammate. The ones who knew concurrently that, without that teammate in the lineup ahead of him, Kent’s only passage to the Hall of Fame might be as a paying customer.

I’m not going to say, “Be afraid. Be very afraid.” But, and we’ll take these ballot rookies alphabetically . . .

Ryan Braun—Like Álex Rodríguez, Braun got himself caught as a customer of actual or alleged performance-enhancing substances from Biogenesis. Unlike A-Rod, that didn’t provoke Braun to litigiousness. His litigiousness happened earlier, when he tried suing his way out of a suspension when testing caught him using synthetic testosterone. He even accused a sample collector of anti-Semitism.

After serving his Biogenesis suspension, Braun went out of his way to self-rehabilitate. He apologised publicly to the collector he smeared; he revived his charitable activities. But he was also never again the player he was before his PED issues, thanks largely to injuries.

In peak and career value terms, his performance papers fall too far short of Hall-worthiness. In trying to go scorched-earth when caught red-handed (and probably red-faced), placing his entire pre-test/pre-suspension career into question (fairly or unfairly), Braun cheated himself out of a Hall case. No.

Shin-soo Choo—The second Korean position player to make it to the U.S. major leagues (Hee Seop Choi preceded him), Choo was as talented as the day was long and just about as unfortunate. Injury bugs got to him too often. At his best and healthiest, he was as solid a tablesetter as a lineup could have. But it’s not enough to strike a plaque in Cooperstown. No.

Edwin Encarnación—As a Blue Jay in the middle of his fifteen-year career, he was one of the American League’s most feared sluggers. He was also a better baserunner than you might remember. His defensive liabilities probably did the most to keep his peak and career values below the Hall of Fame averages.

But he and Toronto will always have that monstrous three-run homer to send the Jays to an American League division series after Buck Showalter’s brain fart meant Encarnación wouldn’t have to get through the 2016 AL’s best reliever, Zach Britton. No.

Gio Gonzalez—Likeable. Durable. Dependable. And, according to Baseball Reference, the number 309 starting pitcher of all time. One fielding-independent championship isn’t enough to get you to the Hall after a thirteen-year career. Twice leading your league in walks won’t, either. But you kind of had to love this guy.

In the pre-universal DH era, Gonzalez had an all-time freak stat: he struck out more pitchers batting against him than any other pitcher in four decades preceding him. Not a Hall stat, but certainly something to warm the hearts of those who know baseball really is a funny game. No.

Alex Gordon—It would be easy to dismiss him because of his modest batting statistics, but Gordon was one whale of a defensive left fielder. He has eight Gold Gloves and two Platinums, and he didn’t get them as participation trophies, either. He is, in fact, the number three left fielder ever for run prevention.

The only guys ahead of him there? Some dude named Bonds, and some Hall of Famer named Yastrzemski. That’s bloody well elite company he’s keeping there.

I don’t know if that alone will get Gordon into the Hall in due course. But I say “in due course” because I think his case deserves deeper looks and I suspect he’ll last on the ballot for another couple of years at least. Not now.

Cole Hamels—He looked like a Hall of Famer once upon a time. Especially when he helped lead the 2008 Phillies to a World Series triumph with a 1.80 postseason ERA that year, not to mention bagging the Most Valuable Player awards in the National League Championship Series and the World Series.

Talent to burn and perfectionism likewise, seemed to be the cumulative assessment, whether in Philadelphia, Texas, or Chicago. He also dealt with enough injury issues to make it difficult to impossible to build the Hall of Fame case he looked to be beginning in the glory days with the Phillies. But I suspect he might linger on the ballot another year, at least. No.

Matt Kemp—He, too, looked like a Hall of Fame talent when he arrived. The bad news was a) Kemp’s dynamic style was offset by his frequent inabilities to re-adjust when pitchers caught onto his fastball dependency at the plate; and, b) he was a defensive liability as often as not.

He hit with staggering power when he was right, especially his career year 2011. But when measured against the rest of his career overall, that turned out to be kind of a fluke season. Kemp’s real problem might have been being a designated hitter type who played in the wrong league in the pre-universal DH era. No.

Gallows pole: Kendrick’s power hitting helped the 2019 Nationals go all the way to the Promised Land.

Howie Kendrick—Eminently likeable, especially as his career neared its finish and he shone for the 2019 Nationals all the way through the postseason. Especially hitting a pair of ultimately game-winning home runs that paid the bill for every steak he might ever want to have in Washington for the rest of his life. (He also won that year’s NLCS MVP.)

Forgotten amidst those postseason heroics: Kendrick was a very solid second baseman, not quite an intergalactic presense there but in the plus column for run prevention. It won’t be enough to help him into Cooperstown, but when he was right he was a fine player and a terrific clubhouse element. No.

Nick Markakis—He’s one classic example of a terrific baseball player who was as solid as they came without being spectacular. (2,388 hits; 57 total zone runs as a right fielder.) Even as something of an on-base machine and a definite asset in right field, Markakis was the guy you couldn’t bear to replace, even if the rest of the world didn’t necessarily drop what it was doing when he checked in at the plate or ran down a right field fly. Not quite.

Daniel Murphy—A threshing machine at the plate for the pre-World Series 2015 postseason Mets, with those six consecutive games hitting a home run and breaking Hall of Famer Mike Piazza’s team record for total homers in a single postseason. Unfortunately, his Series fielding mishaps negated that hitting prowess on the way to the Mets’ Series loss to the Royals.

Murphy’s 2016 redemption (leading the NL in slugging and OPS) proved a one-off. His career overall was too far short of the Hall of Fame, but that pre-World Series postseason power display in 2015 keeps him a Met hero. No.

Hunter Pence—He got to play for two out of the three San Francisco Series winners in the 2010s. He was charmingly quirky, enough to earn a temporary trend of “ahhh, ya mother rides a vacuum cleaner” banners around the league. (Hunter Pence eats pizza with a fork! Hunter Pence says “Sorry” when he catches a fly! were typical.)

Well, Pence was a good, solid player when he wasn’t injured. That’s important and it counts, and if it’s married to a guy who’s delightfully flaky that’s a big plus. That might even keep him on an extra Hall ballot. Might. Not quite.

Rick Porcello—His 2016 American League Cy Young Award was an outlying season for him—especially since future Hall of Famer Justin Verlander should have won it. Porcello  opened the next season with a 1.40 ERA and 1.74 FIP in his first four games. That season ended with him showing a 4.65 ERA/4.60 FIP.

That was Porcello. Periodic short bursts of greatness, modest longer terms. He was smart on the mound and relied on his defenses. But that’s not always going to make a Hall of Famer, either. No.

First published at Sports Central.

Will this be Carlos Beltrán’s year? Or will he have to serve Astrogate penance a bit longer?

The Baseball Writers Association of America’s Hall of Fame ballot for 2026 includes fifteen return engagements. One of them remains a bit troublesome because of something foolish and illegal by baseball’s rules he did in his final season as a player. His voting support has increased since his first turn on the BBWAA ballot. Will all be forgiven this time?

I’ll address the ballot newcomers soon enough. For now, the holdovers . . .

Carlos Beltrán

Before the exposure of the Astro Intelligence Agency’s illegal, off-field-based, electronic sign-stealing operation of 2017-18, Carlos Beltrán figured to have ended his playing career (as the Astros’ 2017 designated hitter) looking forward to accepting a plaque in Cooperstown. That and managing in the major leagues.

The number-nine center fielder of all time (according to Baseball-Reference via Jay Jaffe) who’d been respected as a student of the game and managerial material in the making found himself having to yield the bridge of the Mets (for whom he’d once starred as a player)—before he had the chance even to manage a spring training exhibition.

Though Commissioner Rob Manfred handed all 2017-18 Astro players immunity from discipline in return for spilling AIA deets, Beltrán was the only player Manfred singled out by name in his Astrogate report. It was Beltrán who suggested the Astros needed to “upgrade” from mere replay room reconnaissance, prompting then-bench coach Alex Cora to arrange the long-infamous real-time camera feed to an extra clubhouse monitor for sign deciphering and the long-infamous trash can transmissions.

That was despite Manfred’s September 2017 warning against using replay room reconnaissance and other such off-field chicanery, after the Red Sox (eventually using their own Rogue Sox Replay Room Reconnaissance in 2018 regardless) and the Yankees were caught trying a few tricks from the dugouts.

Beltrán landed the Mets’ managing job twelve days before Ken Rosenthal and Evan Drellich (in The Athletic) dropped the first full Astrogate revelation in November 2019. Within 72 hours of Manfred’s January 2020 report, all three incumbent managers named in the Rosenthal-Drellich exposure—Beltrán, Cora (who managed the 2018 Red Sox to a World Series championship), and the Astros’ A.J. Hinch (who acted feebly at best when catching onto his AIA cheaters)—were out.

Hinch was fired by Astros owner Jim Crane in hand with general manager Jeff Luhnow, but after sitting out his Manfred-imposed season’s suspension and some very contrite interviews, he found new life on the Tigers’ bridge. Cora sat out his Manfred-imposed season’s suspension, gave a few interviews in which he expressed genuine remorse for his Astrogate role, and was brought back to manage the Red Sox.

Beltrán said little about his Astrogate culpability until he returned to baseball as an analyst for the Yankees’ YES cable television network. There, he owned up in an interview with YES colleague Michael Kay:

Looking back now—yes, we did cross the line. I made my statement about what happened in 2017, and I apologized . . . This happened in such an organic way for ourselves. We all did what we did. Looking back today, we were wrong. I wish I would have asked more questions about what we were doing, I wish the organization would have said to us, “What you guys are doing, we need to stop this.” Nobody really said anything—we’re winning.

Seemingly, Beltrán either didn’t know or chose not to know that “the organisation” as headed by Luhnow was in it up to its kishkes, having deployed the Codebreaker sign-stealing algorithim despite its creator’s warning that it was legal to use only before or after games but not during.

Had Astrogate never happened, Beltrán would have been a very likely first-ballot Hall of Famer. He played twenty seasons, and his peak with the Royals, the Astros (the first time, helping them reach a postseason with his second-half term there), the Mets (helping them to the 2006 postseason), and the Cardinals (two postseasons) was All-Star caliber or better. (He was actually a nine-time All-Star.)

He earned 67.6 wins above replacement-level (WAR) from his first full Kansas City season through the second of two with the Cardinals. That was despite missing significant time due to injuries in his final Met seasons. “Had he not missed substantial portions of three seasons, he might well have reached 3,000 hits,” Jay Jaffe (The Cooperstown Casebook) has written, “but even as it is, he put up impressive, Cooperstown-caliber career numbers. Not only is he one of just eight players with 300 home runs and 300 stolen bases, but he also owns the highest stolen base success rate (86.4%) of any player with at least 200 attempts.”

Beltrán is the number seven center fielder all-time for run prevention above his league average with +104. He was rangy, smart on the fielding lanes, and was a top of the line reader of batted balls from his position before Father Time finally began to exact a penalty.

Until Astrogate, of course, Beltrán had only one genuine black mark against him, especially so far as Met fans were concerned: frozen solid by an Adam Wainwright curve ball for strike three called—with the bases loaded, the Mets down two runs, and the pennant on the line in the bottom of the ninth—in Game Seven of the 2006 National League Championship Series.

You know something? It happens. Even to Hall of Famers. Beltrán wasn’t the first superstar to get himself tied up at the last minute of that critical a postseason set, and he won’t be the last. That’s not enough to damage a man’s Hall case. No eleventh-hour shortfall should have been. Not even for Babe Ruth.

You want to continue condemning Beltrán for that? How about The Big Fella getting himself caught stealing on a likely busted run-and-hit play to end the 1926 World Series in the Cardinals’ favour—with Bob Meusel at the plate and Hall of Famer Lou Gehrig on deck?

How about Willie McCovey—with second and third, two out, and the Giants down only 1-0—hitting a howitzer shot speared by Bobby Richardson to end the 1962 Series in the Yankees’ favour instead of sending the tying and maybe winning runs home?

How about Carl Yastrzemski fouling out with two out and the Red Sox down a single run to end the 1975 Series in the Reds’ favour?

How about Mariano Rivera surrendering a Series-losing base hit to Luis Gonzalez in 2001 or—after Dave Roberts stole second off a leadoff walk—an RBI single to Bill Mueller to tie the game at four when the Yankees were only three outs from a 2004 ALCS sweep?

None of those fatalities kept Ruth, McCovey, Yastrzemski, or The Mariano out of Cooperstown when their time eventually came. Getting frozen solid by a great pitch shouldn’t keep Beltrán out, either.

But it’s entirely realistic to suggest that, had Beltrán not gotten himself into the thick of the 21st Century’s worst major league cheating scandal, in his final season as a player, he’d probably be looking at unvarnished, uncontroversial first-ballot Hall of Fame election. Right now, we don’t know how many Hall-voting BBWAA writers will hold it against him enough to make him wait until after his third ballot appearance—or more.

Yes to anyone else?

To beat us, you had to go through the Jones boys.—Hall of Famer Chipper Jones on his Braves teammate Andruw Jones.

Andruw Jones—He’s the most run-preventive center fielder who ever played the game. He was a whale of a hitter as a Brave, too; injuries (and the sour attitude that emanated from them) once he left Atlanta turned him into a sadly declining shell of his former self. But those great Braves seasons should have been more than enough to enshrine him long before this. Yes.

Chase Utley—Maybe the most underrated middle infielder of his time. Deserved several Gold Gloves that he didn’t win. Hit with brains as well as skill and handled himself on the bases even more so. He was worth almost twice as many defensive runs as his Philadelphia double play partner Jimmy Rollins. His peak value is above the Hall standard; his career value only slightly below it, but Utley does deserve the honour. Yes.

The Rest of the Holdovers

Bobby Abreu—He’s a lot closer to being a bona fide Hall of Famer than you think or remember. He was a disciplined five-tooler and few of his time were as good as he was for wearing pitchers down. And he was a good, above-average defensive right fielder. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t remain on the BBWAA ballot.

If not, a future Contemporary Era Committee just might give Abreu a review. His peak WAR is just too close to the Hall of Fame peak average. Maybe.

Mark Buehrle—He was a good pitcher who touched greatness occasionally; a no-hitter and a perfect game prove that. He used a deft off-speed mix and ground balls to thrive. He was also an excellent fielder. But the traditional and advanced numbers don’t get Buehrle through the gate, and his postseason record doesn’t help him. Neither do four league leaderships in most hits surrendered.

The number 79 starting pitcher overall, and still beloved on Chicago’s South Side, Buehrle still might linger on the ballot awhile. No.

Félix Hernández–King Felix pushed the door open that said a pitcher’s won-lost record was probably the least sensible way to judge his work. His heavy early workload took a toll on him; his questionable conditioning caught up to him his final four seasons.

He was a terrific pitcher for a good while, the best in the American League for five seasons. But it wasn’t enough to make him a peak value case, and losing both his fastball and his deadly changeup hurt too much. No.

Torii Hunter—He was good enough to play nineteen seasons. He was a decent hitter but not as run preventive a center field defender as you might have guessed. (Hunter earned nine Gold Gloves the last eight of which may have been off the rep he established in his one plus-run prevention defensive season.)

He’s also remembered as a good clubhouse guy whom teams almost couldn’t wait to add when he was available. But as employable as he was for nineteen years, he’s short enough of a plaque. No.

Dustin Pedroia—Career killed by injury, taking him out before he could finish solidifying the Hall case he was certainly making before that. P.S. You can also stop blaming Manny Machado for the end; by his own admission, Pedroia was foolish enough to try playing through that one and put paid to his career before it should have happened.

Regardless, he’s still the best second baseman in the history of the Red Sox, even if he’s barely the number 20 of all. Maybe.

Andy Pettitte—Jaffe says it better: Pettitte was a plow horse, not a race horse: [B]ased upon both traditional and advanced metrics, Pettitte would represent a rather weak choice for the Hall of Fame—and I say that as somebody who had a considerable emotional investment in his career as a fan and would like nothing more than to find a rationale for electing him . . . although he’s probably not a fit for Cooperstown, flags fly forever, and he’ll always be fondly remembered in the Bronx. No.

Manny Ramirez—Pettitte’s hGH dalliance (to recover from an elbow injury) happened during the so-called Wild West Era, when the game and the world looked the other way. (So did the reputed indulgences of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens.) Manny Being Manny included two failed tests for actual/alleged performance-enhancing substances after baseball started testing in earnest.

How foolish could you get? Not even at gunpoint or under presidential threat, whichever comes first.

Álex Rodríguez—Dubious as MLB’s handling of Biogenesis probably was, that didn’t mitigate A-Rod’s using their wares or threats to sue baseball to death to escape punishment, until he was slapped with that massive suspension. He’s rehabilitated his public image to a certain extent since, but I’m not convinced that’s enough to clear his way to Cooperstown yet. P.S. His ranking as a shortstop is almost entirely in his bat; Ozzie Smith he wasn’t. No.

Francisco Rodríguez—From his embryonic supersplash in the 2002 postseason through the rest of his Angels years, K-Rod looked like the very essence of a Hall of Fame reliever who wasn’t named Mariano Rivera, and it wasn’t just his saves count, either.

After he left the Angels, his career was stained when he became involved in a couple of unsavoury domestic violence incidents, one of which (as a Met) injured his thumb when he punched his girlfriend’s father repeatedly, and another (as a Brewer) in which he attacked his then-fiancée. (Case dismissed when she and a household staff member who saw the incident returned to Venezuela, according to numerous reports.)

After his major league life faded, he tried coming back via the independent and Mexican leagues before calling it a career. It’s a question of whether his domestic violence issues will block him, the way they may keep blocking Omar Vizquel. (Andruw Jones pleaded guilty without fuss, paid a hefty fine, and no other such incident seems known of him.) For me, being multiple, they do. No.

Jimmy Rollins—The goods: solid shortstop defense and speed on the bases. The bads: a 95 OPS+; a .330 on-base percentage that isn’t quite what you should find in a Hall of Fame leadoff hitter; and, his basepath larceny didn’t make him a Lou Brock Hall of Fame lookalike. Not to mention that his +38 defensive runs at shortstop are 53rd all-time.

You loved watching him play in his prime even if he was trying to beat you, though, and he was one of those trash talkers who made you laugh instead of scream. But still. Not quite.

Omar Vizquel–He may have been the outstanding defense-first shortstop of the 1990s, but 1) his highlight reels in the advent of widespread cable television masked that he wasn’t quite as good defensively as Cal Ripken, Jr., never mind Ozzie Smith; and, 2) splendid as his defense was, Vizquel still shakes out as the number 42 shortstop ever.

That’s not a Hall of Famer, and that’s not counting subsequent issues of domestic violence and sexual harassment that may keep him unemployed in the game. No.

David Wright—He’s the Mets’s version of Don Mattingly and Dale Murphy: A character-to-burn guy whose Hall of Fame case was snuffed by injuries. He was the heart and soul of the Mets before the injuries began blocking him, but they’ll never forget that 2015 World Series home run that surely qualifies as the biggest blast of his past.

Yes, Wright deserved better. His uniform number retirement should amplify that. No, with regret.

Some portions of this essay—first published by Sports Central—have been published previously.