Why is the National Baseball Hall of Fame the most revered among sports?

Very well might be a question without an answer.

On Tuesday, the National Baseball Hall of Fame will announce its newest class of inductees. Here at Royals Review, our writers took a look at the ballot and voted a few weeks ago. That’s just one of—what?—hundreds, if not thousands, of articles across the land about the Hall of Fame and who will get the call. Like every year, discussion explodes regarding the candidates.

Will Ichiro get inducted unanimously?

Will C.C. Sabathia make it during his first year on the ballot?

Will Billy Wagner make it in his last year of eligibility?

Will Andruw Jones continue his ascent?

Will the voters forgive Carlos Beltran?

Will the voters forgive Alex Rodiriguez? (They will not.)

How will Felix Hernandez fare?

Will David Wright fall off the ballot?

And on and on and on, multiple questions for each member on the ballot, from national pundits to local yocals to whatever the hell it is that I am.

But you know what? This discourse is fun.

Give the Hall of Fame credit where credit is due—by releasing the ballot so far in advance and allowing, if not encouraging, its voters to make their votes public, it stokes the arguments, stirs the discussion, and supplants the real world.

While it is all fun—baseball is, after all, a game—the Baseball Hall of Fame seems to be the most revered sports hall of fame, more important and more discussed than the Pro Football Hall of Fame, the Basketball Hall of Fame, and the Hockey Hall of Fame.

Why is that? Why does baseball’s grandest reward seem more important than football’s, a sport that is much more popular?

As you can tell by the sub-headline, I don’t have a great answer for that. I hope you can help.

Before we get to that, though, I did run the question by a couple of others. I’ll share some theories.

All About the Numbers

Numbers in baseball seem to mean more than numbers in other sports. For example, I’m a Minnesota Timberwolves fan (it’s an uninteresting story). I follow the team on X. Tonight, they defeated the Knicks. During the game, the team posted a congratulatory Tweet (what are they called now?) about Rudy Gobert reaching 10,000 career points.

That’s…great? That’s good? I didn’t even know he was approaching that number. I have no idea where that number ranks among the all-time greats*. I have it stuck in my mind that the Mavericks’ Klay Thompson reached 16,000 career points earlier this week. I strongly believe LeBron James is the only player to surpass 40,000 career points. But I couldn’t tell you how many career points Michael Jordan has. Or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Or Kareem Rush. Or Brandon Rush. Or Kevin Durant. Or Kevin Love. Or James Harden or Steph Curry or Wilt Chamberlain or—

You get the point.

*I am by no means calling Gobert an all-time great, but congrats on the 10K!

Sure, I’m a much bigger fan of baseball than I am of basketball, but I follow the NBA somewhat closely. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m not sure that even diehard NBA fans can name the top give all-time scorers.

But I know baseball fans, even some who aren’t diehard, can name every Major League Baseball player with more than 700 career home runs.

I don’t know, but I doubt, that diehard NFL fans can name the top five quarterbacks by passing yards or by touchdowns, nor could they name the top five players with the most touchdowns from scrimmage.

But I know I can give baseball fans a series of random numbers—like 56, 42, 762, .406, 4,256, 511, 5,714—and they’d know what they mean.

Numbers in baseball, especially the new numbers, like WAR, despite its flaws, make comparing today’s baseball players to yesterday’s that much easier. That’s not as easy to do in other sports. There isn’t as good of a stat to compare Patrick Mahomes to Dan Marino or Connor McDavid to Gordie Howe or Derrick Henry to Emmitt Smith or Karl-Anthony Towns to George Mikan*.

*I am aware of PER. WAR, either b or f, is better.

Baseball’s numbers, in turn, make the Hall of Fame discussion that much more accessible to the common fan.

The First National Pastime

Is baseball’s Hall of Fame more revered because the sport is older? That could be.

It humors me when thinking about baseball’s “Golden Age” that the Super Bowl had yet to be even played. Sure, the NBA’s been around for a while, but it took off when Magic Johnson and Larry Bird entered the league, which wasn’t until the very end of the 70s. Hockey’s been around seemingly forever, maybe as long as ice existed, but the NHL only consisted of six teams until 1967. And though I rarely mention it, Major League Soccer, the country’s most successful soccer league, only debuted in the mid-90s.

What about the ages of the actual Halls of Fame?

• National Baseball Hall of Fame: 1939.
• Pro Football Hall of Fame: 1963.
• Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame: 1959.
• Hockey Hall of Fame: 1943.
• National Soccer Hall of Fame: 1979.

Sure, baseball has the oldest Hall of Fame, but not by all that much.

Cloak and Dagger

Touched on this earlier, but I love the way baseball conducts its Hall of Fame voting. The ballot comes out well in advance, and the writers who are voters—and even writers who aren’t voters—devote a good amount of time to not just deciding their votes, but writing about it, and publicly publishing those stories.

It’s great.

It’s transparent, it has the capability to shine different lights on different players, and, most importantly, it drives conversation among fans.

The Pro Football Hall of Fame does this a little bit.

You won’t find nearly as many articles out there on the pros and cons of, say, Torry Holt entering the Hall of Fame as you will Dustin Pedroia. Football’s Hall of Fame does let fans know what 15 players make it to the final round, but you won’t know Voter A is voting for until it’s all said and done.

Cloak and dagger, for some reason.

The opposite works just fine for Cooperstown.

Morals, or Lack Thereof

The Baseball Hall of Fame has a morality clause that forces voters to look past the field of play and at the person as an individual. This clause has kept out numerous great players, including the likes of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens, among others. But Ty Cobb’s cool.

The Pro Football Hall of Fame does not have this clause. Worthiness is kept strictly to on-the-field accomplishments. You’re welcome, Lawrence Taylor.

It’s odd, then, that one Hall of Fame will induct its sport’s best players, regardless of morals, while another won’t. Bonds might not be the greatest of all-time (that would be his godfather), but he’s up there. Yet, he won’t be enshrined in Cooperstown anytime soon. That means the National Baseball Hall of Fame lacks some of its best players ever.

That’s…weird, no? The Hall of Fame is supposed to celebrate a sport’s best players, not shun them.

Despite that, the majority of baseball fans seem fine with including that thin red line, keeping out players who elevated their sport. In those fans’ minds, it lends a certain gravitas to the Hall of Fame that other Halls lack.

***

What do you think? Am I totally wrong in thinking that baseball’s Hall of Fame is more revered that other Halls of Fame?

If I’m right in that, at least, why is that so? Again, I don’t know why. It could be a number of different reasons. It could be a combination of different reasons.

I want to know what you think.

Hit us up in the comments.