Nudging Rice over the borderline

Full disclosure: I have not always voted for Jim Rice.

He first appeared on the Hall of Fame ballot in 1995, and I did not put an X in his box until 2000. I mention this to underscore the enormously agonizing thought process any voter goes through when evaluating a borderline Hall of Fame candidate, of which Jim Rice is almost a classic Exhibit A.

Oh, sure, it's easy when examining the case for a Mike Schmidt, George Brett, Nolan Ryan, Ozzie Smith, Wade Boggs, Cal Ripken, or Tony Gwynn, all of whom attained first-ballot enshrinement in the past 14 elections. It is similarly easy to vote yes on Rickey Henderson this year.

But there is a reason why it takes time to elect the average garden-variety Hall of Fame candidate. It's because most of us aren't sure; that's why. We're not sure, and we very much want to do the right thing, given the life consequences of a Hall of Fame designation. None of us wish to deprive a deserving candidate of the satisfaction, let alone the perks, that accompany membership in the most historic of our sports Halls of Fame. At the same time, we want to feel that the candidate really is deserving of baseball's highest individual honor.

The fact is people have never been sure. Four of the 226 people who voted in the first Hall of Fame balloting (1936) did not vote for Ty Cobb. Eleven did not vote for Babe Ruth - Babe Ruth! - and Honus Wagner. Twenty-one said no to Christy Mathewson. Thirty-seven did not think Walter Johnson passed muster. Cy Young? The man for whom pitching's biggest prize is named drew only 151 votes out of 201 cast the second year of the balloting. So from the beginning people have had individual standards as to just what a Hall of Famer should be.

Since Jim Rice's name was first placed on the ballot, the following 21 players have been elected by the Baseball Writers Association of America: Mike Schmidt, Phil Niekro, Don Sutton, Nolan Ryan, George Brett, Robin Yount, Carlton Fisk, Tony Perez, Dave Winfield, Kirby Puckett, Ozzie Smith, Eddie Murray, Gary Carter, Paul Molitor, Dennis Eckersley, Wade Boggs, Ryne Sandberg, Bruce Sutter, Cal Ripken, Tony Gwynn, and Rich Gossage.

Some were obvious, but some weren't. Players such as Niekro, Sutton, Perez, Sandberg, Sutter, and Gossage endured long waits, although none got to the current Rice position, which is 14 rejections and just one opportunity left in the BBWAA balloting.

Jim Rice is a type. His entire case rests on offensive production. Had you placed an ad in the paper for a cleanup man between the years 1975 and 1986, you would have been very pleased if Jim Rice had answered it.

He led the league in total bases five times during that span. He was in the top five in slugging five times. He finished in the top five in MVP voting six times, and he won it in 1978 when he had one of the great years in Red Sox history, a season in which he was the last man to compile more than 400 total bases in a season.

Had he added, say, two more stat-laden years to his résumé, there probably would have been no question about his Hall of Fame credentials. He fell short of 400 home runs (382). Three unimpressive years at the end of his career dragged his career average under .300 (.298). That matters to some voters. It shouldn't, but it does.

We are fond of saying hereabouts that he was the most feared right-hand hitter of his time, and that suggestion has been laughed at by some experts and simply attacked by others. Joe Posnanski of the Kansas City Star, whose passion for, and knowledge of, baseball is matched by no columnist I know of, does not vote for Rice. He reasons that if Rice were as feared as we Bostonians say, why were his intentional walk totals so skimpy?

You know what? I don't know. I just don't know. What I do know is that once while Jim Rice was in the midst of an ungodly hitting streak Milwaukee Brewers manager Alex Grammas casually admitted to me that, sure, he pitched around Rice to force in a middle-inning run in the hopes of saving the game (which he did). Now that's respect, and I suggest that Alex Grammas was not alone in his fear of what a hot Jim Rice could do during his 12 good years.

Joe Posnanski was not here during those 12 good years. I was. I really do believe that throughout the American League Jim Rice was a highly respected hitter. The issue is to what extent a vote depends on sheer numbers as opposed to anecdotal evidence, and there is never a clear answer with these borderline cases.

One reason individual vote totals fluctuate is that voters simply change their minds. They do more research or they reevaluate the evidence or they just wake up one day, slap themselves on the forehead, and say, "Hey! When that guy was great, he was great!" And that's why I voted for an injury-racked Andre Dawson for the first time this year.

This year I voted for Rice, Dawson, Henderson (duh), Bert Blyleven, and Jack Morris. Leaving Mark McGwire aside for a moment (that's an entirely different argument), I could make a reasonable devil's advocate argument for nine more players on the 2009 ballot. They are Harold Baines, Mark Grace, Tommy John, Don Mattingly, Dale Murphy, Dave Parker, Tim Raines, Lee Smith, and Alan Trammell. Voting or not voting for any of these gentlemen does not make someone an idiot. It makes him or her a voter who made a difficult choice. Jim Rice is in that category, too.

So why did I wait five years before I began voting for Jim Rice? I'm not sure. Perhaps I wanted to convince myself I was not a homer. Perhaps I now put more stock in the idea that he did what he did in an era when offense was suppressed. Perhaps I want to reward a man who got strong the old-fashioned ways, sans PEDs. Perhaps I factored in the idea that at his peak he was more than just a slugger. He was a bona fide hitter who had one amazing three-year run in which he averaged 206 hits and 127 runs batted in. Anyway, I began voting for him.

He's Mr. Borderline. I hope we hear his name announced tomorrow. But I'll understand if we don't.

Bob Ryan is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at ryan@globe.com.