Our take: Former major league baseball great and Mormon Dale Murphy is in the 15th and final year of having his name on the Hall of Fame ballot, and chances are slim that he will make it. Nevertheless, his children are doing their best to honor their father's greatness with some heartfelt tributes.
I wanted to do a quick and fun doodle for my dad for Christmas. It's his last year of eligibility to be voted into the Hall of Fame, and my seven siblings have started quite the offensive to speak up and make a case for him, after 15 years of silence.
I'm a bit of a black sheep in the family, as my professional sports knowledge is nil, and my athletic prowess is nonexistent. Most people are surprised to hear that my artistic side was actually fostered and encouraged by my dad, but that's just the way he's always been with me.
For the rest of Tyson Murphy's blog, visit www.gardenturtle.blogspot.com.
His career statistics are comparable to (if not better than) many players already in the hall, not to mention that everything he accomplished was done with utmost respect for the game and without performance-enhancing substances of any kind. His legacy continues to draw unmatched respect and admiration from players, coaches and fans alike.
Despite being overshadowed by the artificially inflated numbers of the steroid era, Dale's statistics alone have helped him receive enough votes to stay on the HoF ballot for 15 years. Moreover, his off-the-field achievements are just as impressive as those he accomplished on-the-field, creating immeasurable goodwill for the game during the 1980s and inspiring young people everywhere.
For the rest of Taylor Murphy's petition, visit www.change.org.
These two facts — 1) the difficulty of objectively quantifying qualitative characteristics about a player; and 2) our deeply ingrained negativity bias as human beings — have led to a troubling scenario where we either ignore the character clause altogether, or we use it to keep people out, citing their public sins. But let’s be honest: you can’t have it both ways. Either we apply the character clause for all eligible players, equally, allowing for both negative and positive evaluations to count toward a player’s HoF case, or we toss it out completely. If the latter, then say goodbye (probably) to my dad’s HoF chances at the same time you say hello to Mr. Rose and Mr. he-of-no-shoes Jackson. Oh, and might as well roll out the red carpet for Mr. Bonds, too.
As the voting criteria currently stand, however, there’s no doubt that a fair, holistic assessment of my dad’s playing years would reveal that he is exactly the type of player we should want to represent the game of baseball for future generations. As the criteria suggest, HoF membership is not the equivalent of a career-long MVP award; rather, it’s an honor bestowed upon players for the legacies they’ve left behind. In my dad’s case, that’s a dang near unimpeachable legacy indeed.
For the rest of Chad's letter to the BBWAA, visit blog.chron.com.
Growing up primarily in Utah, my childhood was far away from the legacy he left in Atlanta. Basically, the only thing I knew about my dad's baseball career is that he had one. I had no knowledge of awards or statistics. My dad never displayed his memorabilia. We didn't have pictures lining our walls or framed jerseys in our family room. Anybody walking through our house wouldn't even know a baseball player lived there.
Baseball fans always know that my dad is modest, and sometimes people even ask me, "Is he really THAT humble?"
Yeah. He really is.
I cannot remember one time where my father boasted about his career. He never gathered us all around to talk about an amazing game he had, or what a great guy everybody thinks he is. He was never his first priority - and neither was his career. Our family never slipped from the top of his list. Because of this, I never looked at him as Dale Murphy the "Baseball Player," he was always just my dad.
For the rest of Madison's essay, visit hallofverygood.com.
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