Remember My Name! Fame!

You might know that the great John Thorn, official MLB historian, has long been of the belief that the key word in the Baseball Hall of Fame is, yes, “Fame.” Let’s talk about that for a moment, and then I’m going to tell you about a little series I’m starting up.

The Cambridge definition of “Famous” is simply “known and recognized by many people.” That’s all. No judgment. Albert Einstein, Kim Kardashian, Michael Jordan, Elvis Presley, Abraham Lincoln, Jane Austen, Pablo Picasso, Ryan Seacrest, Beyoncé, Charles Manson*, Amelia Earhart, Gronk, Helen Keller, at least three of the Beatles, Tom Hanks and Martin Luther King are all famous, though there probably isn’t much else that connects them.

*Obviously, there’s also the word “infamous,” which is more likely to be used for Manson and others. But I think infamous is just a subset of famous. The Cambridge definition for “infamous” is “famous for something considered bad.”

So, going forward, let’s think of fame that way, without judgment, without questioning whether someone is quote-unquote “worthy” of that fame.

John’s argument is that the Hall of Fame should focus on those players who were known and recognized by a lot of people or—and this is important—“should have been famous, had all the facts been known.” This latter part, I think, works particularly well for Negro leagues players like Oscar Charleston.

Let’s break this down even more.

Every major league baseball player has at least some degree of fame. Even if you play only one game in the big leagues, you are likely famous in the community where you are from, famous at your school, famous among baseball obsessives. You have probably signed quite a few autographs in your life and you might be a celebrity at parties you attend, and you probably have at least some fans in the minor league cities where you played. So let’s say that someone who has a cup of coffee in the big leagues is a 1 on the Major League Baseball fame scale. That’s the baseline.

I’d say if you’re a big-league starter at any point in your career or a regular pitcher, you’re at least a 3 on our scale. I mean, now, you have baseball cards, and you’re in the boxscores all the time, and you’ve been on television a lot, and baseball fans will probably recognize your name and maybe even pick you up for their fantasy baseball leagues.

If you’re an All-Star in the big leagues at any point, you’re probably at least a 5. I suppose there are some obscure All-Stars who might only register a 4—heck, Ken Harvey was an All-Star—but mostly, if you’re an All-Star, you’re a 5.

If you’re a multiple-time All-Star, maybe that minimum is 6. Again, there might be exceptions; there are probably some multiple-time All-Stars I could name who would make you go, “huh?” We’re generalizing here.

If you’re an MVP candidate with some regularity, considered one of the better players in the game, you have to be at least a 7 or 8.

And here’s my theory: That’s more or less where the pure baseball part stops. I mean, yes, I suppose it’s possible that you could be SUCH a good baseball player that you would be a 9 or 10 based solely on that. But… I’m not sure. It’s a topic that I know will come up again.

But the point is, you can absolutely be a 7 or 8 on the FAME scale and get into the Hall of Fame. I think Todd Helton is probably an 8. I think Scott Rolen is probably an 8. I think Fred McGriff, Tony Oliva, Jim Kaat, Ted Simmons, Larry Walker, these are some of the more recent inductees, they were all fantastic players, they are probably 8s on the FAME scale.

So what does it take to be a 9 or, gasp, a 10 on the FAME scale?

Is Duane Kuiper the most famous player of the last 50 years? (Denver Post)

I don’t think it comes down to any one thing. As noted, people can become famous for any number of reasons and in any number of ways. But I think we can say it comes from something extra, something that transcends the game itself.

Consider Henry Aaron. Adjust your mind if you can, and think of Aaron not as the all-time player that he was, but specifically about his FAME level. Was Henry Aaron famous during his prime years as a player? Yes, sure, people knew him, people loved him, but was he a 10? I don’t think so. I’m not even sure he was a 9. He wasn’t as famous as Mickey Mantle and he wasn’t as famous as Willie Mays, and he wasn’t as famous as Ted Williams or Stan Musial, and he probably wasn’t as famous as Roberto Clemente or Frank Robinson or Ernie Banks or maybe even Roger Maris. Was he more famous than Al Kaline? I don’t know.

See, Aaron played in Milwaukee, and he was quiet and unassuming and profoundly modest. He won the MVP in 1957 and the Braves won the World Series that year. Then he had a long series of seasons that were just as good or better than his MVP season, but the Braves weren’t as good, and he never again finished top two in the MVP voting. Then the team moved to Atlanta. Aaron was considered a future Hall of Famer, for sure.

But FAME?

That came when he chased and surpassed Babe Ruth on the home run chart. That is when Henry Aaron became a 10 on the scale.

So, yes, an achievement like that can make a player famous. Roger Maris got famous (much to his chagrin) by breaking Ruth’s record. Bill Mazeroski got famous for hitting the home run that won the World Series. Don Larsen got famous for throwing that World Series perfect game.

A brief burst of superstardom can make someone famous, too. Sandy Koufax towered over all other pitchers in the mid-1960s. Carl Yastrzemski carried the Red Sox singlehandedly to a pennant in the Impossible Dream season.

Obviously doing something historic will make someone famous. There is no more famous baseball player than Jackie Robinson.

Some players have larger-than-life personalities. Think of Bob Gibson’s fury… Joe DiMaggio’s cool reserve…Ernie Banks’ exuberance … Lou Gehrig’s steadiness.

Some players have a singular skill that can move them into the stratosphere of fame. Think about Clemente’s arm or Bob Feller’s fastball or Cool Papa Bell’s speed.

Sometimes, it comes down to the force of personality. Dizzy Dean was famous because he was Dizzy Dean. Satchel Paige was famous because he was Satchel Paige. Yogi Berra was famous because he was Yogi Berra.

Ultra-fame can come from charisma—that’s harder to quantify and understand. I’m not sure that Mickey Mantle’s personality was all that dazzling. But pure charisma? Unmatched. There was just something remarkable and appealing about him, the way he looked, the way he carried himself. He was a country boy from Oklahoma with infinite potential, a switch-hitter raised to be a ballplayer, a slugger who hit some of the longest home runs in baseball history, etc. And I’d say he’s one of the 10 most famous players in baseball history, without question.

So, let’s talk a little bit about FAME. Here’s what I’m going to do over the next few days. I’m going to put together a list, in order, of the 50 most famous baseball players of the last 50 years. So, we’re basically starting in 1974 and carrying it through today, from No. 50 to No. 1.

What I like about this list is that it’s super-subjective. As such, I think there will be a whole bunch of surprises on there. And, I’m assuming, a whole bunch of arguments.

Let me know what you think in the comments, and if you want to start making your predictions or create a little contest among yourselves, hey, that would be a lot of fun. I’ll start on Thursday, to give you a little time for that (and to give myself just a little break after finishing the book!). I’ll probably do five players per day, so we’ll let this thing run over the next couple of weeks at least, leading us up to spring training.

Oh, and I would love for everybody to be a part of this, so if you would like to sign up for JoeBlogs at 20 percent off, well, here’s a little button for that.