News that's he's not hall material still staggers Oliva after 25 years

TOM POWERS
St. Paul Pioneer Press

FORT MYERS, Fla. -- Tony Oliva groaned as he gingerly sat on a folding table near the parking lot at Hammond Stadium. His knees were bothering him. His knees are always bothering him.

Earlier in the day, a local vendor was selling hot dogs from that table during the Twins' workout. But as the magic hour neared — 2 p.m. Eastern time — pretty much everyone had gone home. So Oliva settled in there, surrounded by his immediate family. His wife, Gordette, clutched the cell phone.

In the hours leading up to this moment, Oliva didn't really want to talk about his chances of being elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Instead, he would strike a batting pose and talk about hitting. And he kept wracking his brain trying to remember the name of a former Twins first-round draft pick from the 1970s who:

"Couldn't hit, couldn't run, couldn't catch and couldn't throw. How do you get a No. 1 pick who can't do nothing?" he would ask anyone within earshot.

Once, however, during a short break in the Twins' workout, he allowed himself a moment of reflection.

"It would be a beautiful thing," Oliva said, smiling. "If it happens, it would be beautiful. And it would be a relief."

He quickly snapped out of it.

"But I don't think about it," he said. "I can't do nothing about it."

As the day progressed, players and coaches came up and offered him their best wishes. Clearly Oliva was upbeat and hopeful.

A small back room was reserved at a local pub. Oliva's family was going to have a celebration. Many members of the Twins' organization planned to attend.

Many of us believed he was a sure bet. The veterans committee — living hall of famers — meets every two years. Last time, the vote was so fragmented that no one was elected. The voters took heat for that.

The consensus seemed to be that, this time, they would unite behind Oliva and the late Gil Hodges, one of the Boys of Summer.

Sure enough, at 2 p.m. Oliva's cell phone rang. But it was not the Hall of Fame calling. Instead, it was one of Tony's sons, who had just gotten wind of the results.

Once again, no one was elected.

"This stinks," said Gordette, her eyes filled with tears. "It's been 25 years. We got really excited this time. Everyone was saying it looked good."

She composed herself for a moment before continuing.

"Well, we are going to go back to our grandchildren," she said. "And we are still going to drink a beer and eat chicken wings with our friends. We'll still have a little party."

Oliva, meanwhile, was upset. It wasn't that he didn't get in. It was that nobody got in. How can it be, he kept asking, that no one got elected? There were so many great ballplayers eligible.

He has a point. Perhaps the current members of the hall are intent on turning the place into Augusta National. Apparently, no one else is quite good enough, by their standards, to get into this ultra-exclusive country club.

The baseball writers send one or more players to the hall virtually every year. But there was a feeling that maybe some worthy candidates were slipping through the cracks. That's where the veterans committee was supposed to come in. Instead, the committee has done nothing but mess up.

These gentlemen are supposed to be taking care of their own — honoring their own — and they are failing miserably.

The last player the committee voted in was Pittsburgh Pirates second baseman Bill Mazeroski, a career .260 hitter, four years ago. Few could figure that one out.

So a day that started with such promise turned out to be a sad one after all. But even before the results were in, Oliva tried to put things in perspective.

"I know that if I don't have the knee trouble, I'd have 3,000 hits," he said. "I lost nine or 10 years off of my career. But I thank God every day that I was able to come to this country, play this game and meet so many great people."

After a while, Oliva hoisted himself off the table, wincing as his feet hit the pavement.

Someone suggested that there was always next time.

"Tony's stats haven't changed in 25 years," Gordette said. "We don't want to hear about it anymore."

Then Oliva took his wife by the hand and limped off toward their car.