My Hall of Fame ballot: Ichiro was top 10 all time, volume helps Sabathia, and the cases for the Phillies

Ichiro Suzuki was the most complete ballplayer of his generation, and I am excited to vote for him. I used to stay up late to watch Mariners games solely to see him hit once or twice. He might be the only inductee to the Baseball Hall of Fame this summer, which would be fine by me: He deserves the spotlight.

I consider him to be one of the top 10 players of all time. That list begins with Willie Mays, who might one day be supplanted by Shohei Ohtani, but Ichiro belongs with any all-timer collection. Only three players have at least 3,000 hits, 10 Gold Gloves, and an MVP award: Mays, Roberto Clemente, and Ichiro.

For a decade he was the best hitter and the best outfielder, with the best arm; right field in Seattle was called “Area 51″ after his uniform number, and the mere reputation of the cannon on his shoulder saved more bases in a season than anyone else. He also was one of the three best baserunners, and the only ones better, Juan Pierre and Carl Crawford, were six years younger than him.

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Ichiro finished with 4,367 hits, but only 3,089 of them in the majors. That’s because he had to spend his first seven full seasons as a pro in his native Japan. The argument that he succeeded because he faced inferior competition is absurd; he won the batting title every season there, won seven Gold Gloves, and was MVP three times. He was 27 when he left Japan, and he was dominant.

Only Ichiro and Fred Lynn were the AL MVP and rookie of the year in the same year. Ichiro might have been the MVP again three seasons later, in 2004, which was his best season — he set the record with 262 hits — except Vlad Guerrero and Manny Ramirez went nuts and Gary Sheffield played for the Yankees. If Ichiro had played for the Yankees in his prime, instead of the Mariners, he’d be considered the second Joe DiMaggio.

Ichiro won Gold Gloves and went to the All-Star Game in each of his first 10 major league seasons. He played every game in four of his first 12 seasons, including his 10th and 12th, at the ages of 36 and 38. He missed only one game in four of his first 12 seasons.

And lord, was he durable. Among the 13 players with at least 3,000 plate appearances and 125 steals from 2011 to 2016, Ichiro’s .270 batting average ranks seventh. The six players ahead of him all were in their prime. Ichiro was 37 in 2011 and he was 42 in 2016. He averaged 152 games per season in that span.

How? Because, in an era in which steroids and weight-lifting were epidemic, he was counterculture. His stretching routine was legendary. He rolled his feet after every game. He stored his magic bats in a case like musicians would use to protect a Stradivarius violin or a Les Paul guitar, which made sense, because he was a hitting virtuoso.

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I consider the Hall of Fame important, not sacred. I get 10 votes, and that’s why I vote for the 10 players on that year’s ballot who deserve it most, even if most of them might not deserve it in the eyes of a purist.

I publish my vote. I rank each player. I explain each ranking. I consider defense more important than do most voters. I consider durability very important. Consistency matters. The best ability is availability. I don’t think steroid use is disqualifying, because I believe plenty of players used them without getting caught. If a candidate’s 10-year window is about to close, he’s more likely to get my vote. I even address some exclusions, but not all.

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I don’t think designated hitters belong; I didn’t vote for David Ortiz in 2021. Why? Because players who play 20 minutes per game then sit on their butts in heat and cold and drizzle while the other eight guys play defense have it far easier than players who play for three hours. Comparing Ortiz to, say, Manny Ramirez is ridiculous.

I’m softening on my anti-reliever stance. My central logic is that they’re all failed starters at some point. I’m softening in part because I’ve heard lots of pro-Billy Wagner arguments in the last two years, and in part because sometimes pitchers, by dint of their situation in the minors or college, never get the chance to develop as starters. I didn’t vote the year that Mariano Rivera unanimously made it.

This year’s 14 new candidates include several whose entire careers I covered. Except for Ichiro, none particularly excites me.

And so ...

He played his most meaningful games for the Yankees, the same team as the Sultan of Swat, but he’s the Sultan of Smug. I believe that A-Rod’s awkward, contrived, disingenuous, condescending persona has been nearly as much an impediment to his candidacy as his repeated steroid use and his denials of it. Or maybe not. At any rate, he was baseball’s most productive player for 16 seasons, beginning in 1996, and he deserved at least five Gold Gloves, not just the two he won; he had the misfortune of playing shortstop when Omar Vizquel ruled the position and played third base when Eric Chavez had his run. At any rate, Rodriguez has gotten about 35% of the votes needed in each of his three years of candidacy, so it seems like the same 125 or so voters who agree with me are hollering down a well.

In addition to all of the aforementioned evidence, Suzuki’s Wins Above Replacement from 2001 to 10 was 54.1, second only to prime, ‘roided A-Rod and far higher than Hall of Famers like Derek Jeter and Guerrero.

Another casualty of the steroid era and baseball caretakers’ misplaced reverence for an irreverent game, Ramirez drove in 1,660 runs from 1995 to 2008, slightly more than A-Rod and almost 200 more than third-place Carlos Delgado. His OPS in 111 playoff games was .937, third among players with at least 300 plate appearances, behind Albert Pujols and Ortiz, and 52 points better than the man who owns fourth place, Mr. October, Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson. He’s never gotten more than 33.2% of ballots, so, well, yeah.

He went to nine All-Star games. His WAR among center fielders who played there at least half the time ranks seventh all-time, and he won three Gold Gloves. He had a 1.021 OPS in 65 playoff games, third all-time among players who have played at least 40 playoff games, behind legends Babe Ruth and George Brett. In fact, most of his aggregate accomplishments are equaled only by Hall of Famers, future Hall of Famers, or steroid guys. One reason he has never broken 58%: He was implicated in the Astros’ cheating scandal of 2017, in his final season, when he was 40. Seriously?

This is where the tea gets weak.

A likable fellow who comported himself with the same dignity for the small-market Indians and Brewers as he did with the large-market Yankees, I think Sabathia will make it one day. Why? Volume.

Since Sabathia hit the majors in 2001 he logged 3,577⅓ innings, more than anyone else, as well as 130⅓ postseason innings. He has 251 wins, second behind Justin Verlander, a certain future Hall of Famer. His 12 shutouts rank third. However, his earned-run average might turn off some voters; his ERA of 3.74 ranks 19th among pitchers with at least 2,000 innings pitched, and his postseason record was 10-7 with a 4.28 ERA. If he hadn’t pitched a lot for the Yankees, would his candidacy be as strong?

Rollins was the third-best all-around shortstop of his era, and that’s just because Jeter and A-Rod existed. Only Jeter had a higher WAR among shortstops from 2001 to 2012, and only a 2.6-point advantage at that. Shortstop is the most demanding everyday position — catcher doesn’t count any more because of built-in days off — and only Jeter played more games than Rollins in the 12-year span, and only 22 more games, at that. They each played more than 300 more games than the third-place finisher. Rollins won just four Gold Gloves, but he was an elite defender; Vizquel’s move to the Giants and the National League cost Rollins at least one Gold Glove, and Troy Tulowitzki’s arm and bat cost him at least one more. He was of Ichiro’s caliber as a baserunner, the 2007 MVP, and the leader of the 2008 World Series champion team. He’s never received even 15% of the vote. Sigh.

From 1998 to 2008 Abreu hit .302 with a .909 OPS, which ranks fifth among players with at least 7,000 plate appearances; all but Carlos Delgado (third) and Abreu are not in the Hall, and, unlike Delgado, Abreu has a Gold Glove, as well as almost 300 more steals. Abreu’s WAR in that 11-year span is higher than Jeter’s, too.

Last year, the first of his candidacy, I ranked Utley over Abreu. Sorry. I got caught up in the moment. Abreu was better. Utley was still pretty damned good, even though he could play only first or second base.

Wagner was five votes shy last year, which astonished me, but it probably shouldn’t have, since he’d steadily gained momentum. He’s one of the elite closers who never got a chance to start in the big leagues, an early victim of specialization. He will be my first acquiescence to the injustice of baseball. Also, I enjoyed my visit to his alpaca farm in Virginia 20 years ago.

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Last year, three first-year candidates — Adrian Beltre, Joe Mauer, and Utley — knocked Vizquel off my ballot. Beltre and Mauer made it, and Gary Sheffield ran out of time, so there were three empty slots this year. That means Omar and his 11 Gold Gloves and his status as the best defensive player of his generation get another chance with me. Also, he hit .292 from 1992 to 2006. Pretty good.

There are a lot of folks who think, say, Andruw Jones (eighth year) and Andy Pettitte (seventh year) are more deserving than Vizquel, but I’d sooner vote for Torii Hunter (fifth year) and newcomer Dustin Pedroia.