MTK
08-06-2004, 08:17 PM
http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0805/1852886.html
As Barry Sanders (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0805/1852825.html) and John Elway (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0805/1852491.html) bask in the glow of the hideously colored yet still oddly drab yellow blazers they will wear when inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame, Art Monk will be home again, waiting for a call that may never come.
So will Harry Carson, who is so unhappy at having been passed over so often that he has allegedly expressed his unhappiness with the process to the Hall officials themselves.
http://sportsmed.starwave.com/i/page2/photos/040115monk.jpgArt Monk did make it to 1,000 catches, but he did have more than 1,000 yards receiving five times in his career.
And then there are Steve Young, Dan Marino, Troy Aikman and Reggie White, the next four slam-dunks in the Hall of Fame queue.
Not that any of this has anything to do with Sanders or Elway, whose nominating speeches last January were the typical state-the-name-and-then-sit-down specials, or Carl Eller (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0804/1851903.html) or Bob Brown (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0805/1852837.html), both of whom thought they had been forgotten by the panel, and whose elections came as surprises.
This is life on the cusp of immortality, more or less. Some are born to it, others have to earn it, and still more don't get there even when it seems like they've done plenty.
The question that arises, though, is whether plenty is ever enough.
Carson has credentials worthy of any Hall of Fame debate, although the outrage over his annual omission seems to taper off quickly once the New York skyline disappears from the rear view mirror.
Monk's name has been brought up several times, with the leading argument being his 940 receptions and his noticeable contributions in Super Bowl XXVI (the one where the Redskins dope-slapped the Broncos). And yet his candidacy seems to have stalled too.
This does not bode particularly well for, say, Michael Irvin, who is eligible this year, or for Andre Reed, who comes up next, or for Tim Brown, still looking to keep his day job even after 1,000 catches and being released by the Raiders this week. Jerry Rice is, of course, a different story.
Which brings us to the Hall of Fame selection process itself, which is just arcane enough (39 people in a room, one from each of the 32 NFL cities, the president of the Pro Football Writers of America, and six at-large voters), just secretive enough (not even the voters know who got how many votes) and just capricious enough (a bad presentation in the room on Super Bowl Eve can doom a candidate, just as a really good one can elevate him) to make everyone scratch their heads in wonder at the process, and the result.
Now nobody in their right mind would argue against Sanders or Elway's induction, and those old enough to remember football P.M. (Pre-Madden) would cheerfully vouch for Brown and Eller as well. Nobody snuck in through the service entrance, is what we're saying here.
But Monk is the most curious case, because if his numbers say no, then it's hard to see a much more compelling case for Irvin, Reed or Brown. It is almost as if 900 catches is the 500-homer plateau in baseball -- not nearly as impressive as you would think it should be.
It isn't as though his case hasn't been made effectively or forcefully enough (voters on both sides agree they have gotten the full measure of Monk's body of work). Or for that matter, that Carson's C.V. has been properly presented.
Still, they wait, as do Rayfield Wright, Lester Hayes, Jim Marshall, Bob Hayes and a growing backlog of others who will find that the required 32 votes may as well be 32 million. As Halls of Fame go, this one is far tougher to crowbar into than the basketball or hockey versions, and only slightly less rigorous than baseball's.
The Hall might be better served by a more open policy, one in which the voters must account for their votes, and that the final vote totals are released. Then we would know just how close Monk or Carson are to actual inclusion. For that matter, so would they.
This would be particularly helpful given that after Young and Marino next time, and Aikman the year after, there are no slam-dunks. Not Deion Sanders. Not Warren Moon. Not Thurman Thomas. Nor any of the massive human clot of previously considered candidates who didn't make their nut. This isn't going to get easier for them, but harder.
And maybe that's as it should be, some argue. The Hall of Fame ought to be the final measure of a man's career, and it ought to be a high bar to clear. Really high.
But for those still with their faces pressed against the window in Canton, Ohio, the question of how high that bar really is remains a mystery.
Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com
As Barry Sanders (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0805/1852825.html) and John Elway (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0805/1852491.html) bask in the glow of the hideously colored yet still oddly drab yellow blazers they will wear when inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame, Art Monk will be home again, waiting for a call that may never come.
So will Harry Carson, who is so unhappy at having been passed over so often that he has allegedly expressed his unhappiness with the process to the Hall officials themselves.
http://sportsmed.starwave.com/i/page2/photos/040115monk.jpgArt Monk did make it to 1,000 catches, but he did have more than 1,000 yards receiving five times in his career.
And then there are Steve Young, Dan Marino, Troy Aikman and Reggie White, the next four slam-dunks in the Hall of Fame queue.
Not that any of this has anything to do with Sanders or Elway, whose nominating speeches last January were the typical state-the-name-and-then-sit-down specials, or Carl Eller (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0804/1851903.html) or Bob Brown (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/2004/0805/1852837.html), both of whom thought they had been forgotten by the panel, and whose elections came as surprises.
This is life on the cusp of immortality, more or less. Some are born to it, others have to earn it, and still more don't get there even when it seems like they've done plenty.
The question that arises, though, is whether plenty is ever enough.
Carson has credentials worthy of any Hall of Fame debate, although the outrage over his annual omission seems to taper off quickly once the New York skyline disappears from the rear view mirror.
Monk's name has been brought up several times, with the leading argument being his 940 receptions and his noticeable contributions in Super Bowl XXVI (the one where the Redskins dope-slapped the Broncos). And yet his candidacy seems to have stalled too.
This does not bode particularly well for, say, Michael Irvin, who is eligible this year, or for Andre Reed, who comes up next, or for Tim Brown, still looking to keep his day job even after 1,000 catches and being released by the Raiders this week. Jerry Rice is, of course, a different story.
Which brings us to the Hall of Fame selection process itself, which is just arcane enough (39 people in a room, one from each of the 32 NFL cities, the president of the Pro Football Writers of America, and six at-large voters), just secretive enough (not even the voters know who got how many votes) and just capricious enough (a bad presentation in the room on Super Bowl Eve can doom a candidate, just as a really good one can elevate him) to make everyone scratch their heads in wonder at the process, and the result.
Now nobody in their right mind would argue against Sanders or Elway's induction, and those old enough to remember football P.M. (Pre-Madden) would cheerfully vouch for Brown and Eller as well. Nobody snuck in through the service entrance, is what we're saying here.
But Monk is the most curious case, because if his numbers say no, then it's hard to see a much more compelling case for Irvin, Reed or Brown. It is almost as if 900 catches is the 500-homer plateau in baseball -- not nearly as impressive as you would think it should be.
It isn't as though his case hasn't been made effectively or forcefully enough (voters on both sides agree they have gotten the full measure of Monk's body of work). Or for that matter, that Carson's C.V. has been properly presented.
Still, they wait, as do Rayfield Wright, Lester Hayes, Jim Marshall, Bob Hayes and a growing backlog of others who will find that the required 32 votes may as well be 32 million. As Halls of Fame go, this one is far tougher to crowbar into than the basketball or hockey versions, and only slightly less rigorous than baseball's.
The Hall might be better served by a more open policy, one in which the voters must account for their votes, and that the final vote totals are released. Then we would know just how close Monk or Carson are to actual inclusion. For that matter, so would they.
This would be particularly helpful given that after Young and Marino next time, and Aikman the year after, there are no slam-dunks. Not Deion Sanders. Not Warren Moon. Not Thurman Thomas. Nor any of the massive human clot of previously considered candidates who didn't make their nut. This isn't going to get easier for them, but harder.
And maybe that's as it should be, some argue. The Hall of Fame ought to be the final measure of a man's career, and it ought to be a high bar to clear. Really high.
But for those still with their faces pressed against the window in Canton, Ohio, the question of how high that bar really is remains a mystery.
Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com