Dale Murphy—No. MVP awards notwithstanding, Murphy was basically a slightly lesser Dawson, from the terrific peak in center field to a 1987 season that demonstrated a full mastery of what to do with a juiced baseball while playing in right. Dawson has three seasons’ worth of playing time on him at the same OPS+, though, nearly twice the steals at a better percentage and a better defensive reputation, so if Dawson isn’t a Hall of Famer—and I don’t think he is—it’s hard to see how Murphy is. Both slot in reasonably with the third-tier HoF center fielders, above the likes of Kirby Puckett, but there are no-hopers like Jimmy Wynn with better cases.

Jesse Orosco—Well, no, but as a 1986 Met he has something far more valuable than a brass plaque. While there’s no way I’m checking, you have to think that the 14 straight years in which he pitched more games than innings would have to be in contention for a record; also, for a million dollars I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that he once finished third in Cy Young voting. A great man.

Dave Parker—No. I’ve always wondered how much of Parker’s decline was really drug-related and how much was just normal aging. He had his two best seasons at ages 26 and 27, hitting .338 and .334, and as a guy who didn’t walk a lot and thus had a lot of his value tied up in his batting average it doesn’t seem all that odd that he experienced a drastic drop-off once he lost 50 points of BA, or all that odd that he lost 50 points of BA. There are players who can keep hitting .330 even after their reflexes start to go a bit, like Vladimir Guerrero and the guy Parker replaced in right field, but they’re pretty rare, and I think it’s a bit of a stretch to assume that Parker would have been one of them if not for drugs.

Dan Plesac—No, though if there were a prize for having the best ERA+ from 1986 to 1989 among all pitchers with at least 275 innings pitched he would have won it. Of course if there were such a prize the person handing it out would be too busy getting punched in the face to actually award it. But it’s hardly nothing. Plesac’s broadcast work in Chicago was notable for his high coming off as a nice guy:saying interesting things ratio; I understand he’s now with the MLB Network but I wouldn’t know as the demonic figures who run Comcast refuse for some reason to make it available in my house.

Tim Raines—Yes, of course. I doubt it’s an original point, but Raines is one of the Hall candidates who suffers most from circumstances entirely out of his control. I think what’s hurt his case more than anything is that if you look over his Baseball Reference page, it looks as if he broke in as a part timer in 1981 at 21, had a nice five year run, began to break down, and then finished out his career as a part-timer. This just isn’t true. 1981 was a strike year, in which his 88 games were the equivalent of 136; in 1987 he missed the first month of the year, and quite possibly an MVP award, due to collusion; in the 1994 and 1995 strike years he wasn’t at the top of his game, but he was a full-timer, playing the equivalent of 149 and 144 games.

It isn’t just that the strikes and collusion cost him nearly a full season of playing time, but that they shape the statistical narrative of his career so much. Of course Raines also spent his prime in a pitcher’s park in Canada in an era of moderate offense, played left field not because he couldn’t handle center but because the Montreal Expos had a star incumbent at the position, and was overshadowed through his whole career by the similar but even better Rickey Henderson. Despite all this he’s still an obvious pick, but it shouldn’t be surprising that a lot of people can’t see it.

Jim Rice—No. Think of it this way—if Magglio Ordonez has three more typical Magglio Ordonez seasons, hitting .310/.370/.520, would that make him a Hall of Famer? Because if he does so, he’ll have basically had Jim Rice’s career, which might if anything be generous to Rice since he spent a quarter of his career as a designated hitter and before that was by all accounts a pretty indifferent defender, whereas Maggs is a pretty good one. Rice was a fine player but the differences between players like Rice and Ordonez and Hall of Fame outfielders with similar rate stats like Roberto Clemente, Dave Winfield and Carl Yastrzemski—the Hall of Famers had longer careers, longer primes and shelves full of Gold Glove awards—aren’t small.

Lee Smith—Present.

Alan Trammell—Yes, easily. His top five offensive seasons look fine next to those of borderline candidates such as Rice and he was a quality defensive shortstop with good speed who played for a fine Detroit team that at its peak ran up one of the best seasons of all time, so his lack of support is utterly inexplicable. I don’t see much difference between him and Derek Jeter; The Captain has been more consistent than Trammell was offensively, but Trammell had more first-rate hitting years and was a much better defender, so it all seems to wash out.

Greg Vaughn—No, though he inspired one of my favorite ever front office moves, when Cincinnati Reds general manager Jim Bowden, having just traded for him, held up a seemingly homemade sign promoting the team’s season ticket hotline at a press conference. It’s amusing to note that Vaughn, coming off a 50-home run, 119 RBI campaign for San Diego, hit 45 home runs and drove in 118 for the Reds while losing 39 points of OPS+.

Mo Vaughn—No, though I thought the way his career ended was a real shame—few players ever made a bat look so light, and by all accounts he’s spent his retirement as one of the most solid of guys.

Matt Williams—No, though he had a nice career and was a fun player with a weird mix of skills—excellent defense, monster home run power, no batting eye at all. Granting that he was a top prospect who was learning on the job, you have to give the San Francisco Giants a bit of credit for sticking with him after he hit .198 with a .243 OBP in 750 plate appearances when he first came up.