Anyone with a pulse and American red, white, and blue blood still circulating in their veins knows that the Baseball Hall of Fame voting just wrapped up, with Carlos Beltrán and Andruw Jones elected in their fourth and ninth years of eligibility, respectively.

I’ve only recently come back around to the great American pastime of baseball, but there’s something uniquely jarring about watching players who defined your childhood now get bronze plaques and acceptance speeches. These guys aren’t just highlights anymore — they’re history. As the local baseball expert in the WOTS Division of Writing and Gaming (a self-appointed role, obviously), I figured I’d throw my own ballot into the mix. Not because it matters, but because it’s fun, it’s stupid, and it reveals a lot about how broken and subjective this process really is.

A Very Quick Hall of Fame Primer (Before We Get Stupid)

For some quick background: the Baseball Hall of Fame in National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum uses a ballot voted on by members of the Baseball Writers’ Association of America. Players must be retired for five years to appear, must receive at least 5% of the vote to remain on the ballot, and must clear 75% to be elected. They can remain eligible for up to ten years before falling off.

Voters may select up to ten players, which is where things get messy fast.

There are also Era Committees — for managers, executives, umpires, Negro League players, and pre-WWII greats — operating behind closed doors. I assume robes are involved. I’m not here for that. I’m here to shitpost responsibly about the BBWAA ballot.

The Class of 2026: Headliners and Context

Speaking purely on the class of 2026, Beltrán was a statistical no-brainer, while Jones felt like a borderline case that finally broke through thanks to voters catching up to modern defensive metrics.

Beltrán entered his fourth year of eligibility with a résumé that reads like a checklist for Cooperstown: roughly 70 WAR, over 400 home runs, more than 300 stolen bases with an absurdly low caught-stealing total, and elite postseason production. He spent his two longest stretches with the Kansas City Royals and New York Mets, and was one of the most complete outfielders of his era.

The complication, of course, is 2017. Beltrán’s lone World Series ring came with the Houston Astros, and he was the only player explicitly named in the sign-stealing investigation. He’s apologized, owned his role, and absorbed the reputational damage. Does that ding his Hall case? For some, yes. For me, not really. Strip away that ring entirely and he’s still a first-ballot caliber player. Pretending sign-stealing was a one-team, one-year phenomenon is naïve bordering on dishonest.

Andruw Jones, meanwhile, gets in with a résumé that looks weird if you stare only at batting average and perfectly logical if you value defense at all. He hit just .232 for his career — easily the lowest average of any Hall of Famer — but also smashed 400+ home runs, posted a 50-homer season in 2005, and won 10 Gold Gloves in center field. He was an elite defender for a decade, anchoring some dominant Atlanta Braves teams before bouncing around late in his career and eventually landing in Japan with the Tohoku Rakuten Golden Eagles.

Is he a perfect Hall of Famer? No. Is he a defensible one? Absolutely.

The WOTS Ballot

Voters can select up to ten players, and I will be using all ten slots because I am not a coward.

Chase Utley

Chase Utley is currently in his third year of eligibility, and his path to Cooperstown feels inevitable. Utley wasn’t a one-stat wonder or a brief peak guy — he was excellent across the board for a long time.

He finished with roughly 64 WAR, well above the Hall average for second basemen, made six All-Star teams, won four Silver Sluggers, and was a foundational piece of some genuinely electric Philadelphia Phillies teams. Those late-2000s Phillies don’t sniff a title without Utley anchoring the infield and middle of the lineup.

Second base is a position where sustained excellence matters more than flash, and Utley checks every box. The only suspense left is how long voters make him wait.

Félix Hernández

I was honestly shocked that Félix Hernández didn’t debut closer to the 60% range, but that probably says more about how voters still struggle with pitcher evaluation than anything else.

From roughly 2009 to 2014, Hernández was one of the most dominant pitchers in baseball, period. He did this almost entirely while pitching for deeply flawed Seattle Mariners rosters. His 2010 Cy Young season remains one of the clearest arguments against pitcher wins as a serious stat: 13–12, 2.27 ERA, 7.2 WAR, on a team that finished 61–101. He even missed the All-Star Game that year, because baseball occasionally forgets how baseball works.

Hernández is a six-time All-Star, a Cy Young winner, and threw a perfect game — against a very good Tampa Bay Rays lineup — in a game the Mariners won 1–0, because of course they did.

If voters can’t look past win-loss records and focus on dominance, innings, and context, then the Hall has a credibility problem that goes well beyond Félix Hernández.

Alex Rodriguez

There is no Hall of Fame case more exhausting than Alex Rodriguez, and that’s entirely his fault.

Statistically, Rodriguez is one of the greatest players in the history of the sport, rivaling Barry Bonds in overall value. He also carries one of the most visible and well-documented PED histories imaginable, rivaling Barry Bonds in overall length.

Rodriguez claims his steroid use occurred from 2001–2003 and 2010–2012. You are free to doubt that timeline. But even if we carve those years out entirely, what remains is still absurd: two MVP awards (2005, 2007), multiple 9+ WAR seasons, over 500 home runs, nearly 1,500 RBIs, a 40/40 season, and elite defense at premium positions.

Yes, there’s an asterisk. Yes, it matters. But the idea that a “clean” version of Alex Rodriguez wouldn’t be a Hall of Famer collapses the moment you look at the numbers.

Jimmy Rollins

Jimmy Rollins is one of those players whose case improves the longer you sit with it. He doesn’t overwhelm you with raw totals, but the full résumé paints the picture of a genuinely great shortstop.

Rollins finished with over 2,400 hits, a 48 WAR, four Gold Gloves, three All-Star selections, a Silver Slugger, an MVP award, and the Roberto Clemente Award. He was also one of only four players in MLB history to record a 20/20/20/20 season, which also happened to be a 30/30 year — a ridiculous combination of power, speed, and versatility packed into a single season.

Rollins was the engine of those late-2000s Phillies teams — a leader, a tone-setter, and a legitimate two-way force at the most demanding infield position. He’s halfway through his eligibility window, and if voters let him slip through, it would be a spectacular failure of context.

Cole Hamels

Cole Hamels was the toughest call on my ballot. His case is very good without being overwhelming, and he pitched in an era stacked with all-time arms, which tends to flatten even excellent careers.

Hamels is a four-time All-Star, a World Series champion, a World Series MVP, and posted nearly 60 WAR over his career. At his peak, he was one of the most reliable left-handed starters in baseball, particularly in October.

The back half of his career tailed off, and he lacks some of the milestone counting stats voters love. Still, the body of work is strong, and his early ballot momentum suggests voters are warming to him. Whether that continues as new names flood the ballot will be telling.

Manny Ramirez

If David Ortiz can coast into Cooperstown, then Manny Ramirez deserves more than a shrug.

Manny’s PED history is extensive and obvious. There’s no sugarcoating that. His prime aligns perfectly with the steroid era, and unlike some peers, Manny never really bothered with plausible deniability.

He was also one of the most feared hitters of his generation: 12 All-Star selections, two World Series rings, nine Silver Sluggers, 500+ home runs, 2,500+ hits, and a 69 WAR career. He’s inseparable from the identity of the early-2000s Boston Red Sox, for better and worse.

He’s off the ballot now. That’s fine. But the idea that his case was unserious is revisionist nonsense.

Andy Pettitte

Andy Pettitte exists in one of the grayest ethical zones imaginable for baseball. He admitted to HGH use for injury recovery, initially denied it, then came clean. For some voters, that’s the end of the conversation.

But where is the line?

Pettitte pitched deep into his forties, racked up over 60 WAR, made three All-Star teams, and won five World Series rings. He was consistent, durable, and reliable in the postseason, even if he benefited from pitching alongside some chemically questionable teammates.

If PED usage is disqualifying across the board, then say that. If it’s contextual, then Pettitte deserves context — and in that context, his case is stronger than many admit.

Bobby Abreu

Bobby Abreu is the purest example of the “Hall of Very Good” problem. He compiled nearly 60 WAR, just under 300 home runs, just under 2,500 hits, and posted strong on-base numbers for over a decade.

The issue is that very little pops. Two All-Star selections, one Gold Glove, one Silver Slugger. He played in an era of inflated offense and never quite stood out.

I went back and forth between Abreu, David Wright, and Dustin Pedroia before considering time left on the ballot. Abreu’s case is respectable and defensible — but it’s the weakest of my ten.

Why I Still Care About This Dumb Thing

Baseball is a sport I’ve come back to as it’s evolved. Games are faster. Players are more expressive. International stars are reshaping the league. Analytics have sharpened understanding without fully killing the soul.

The Hall of Fame is imperfect, contradictory, and deeply human — which is exactly why it remains fascinating.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to crawl back into my hole and wait out the Los Angeles Dodgers dynasty so I can witness the inevitable rebirth of my Arizona Diamondbacks in 2035.