Let’s Never define Valuable. At least not when it is sandwiched between Most and Player.
Let’s keep it beautifully in the eye of the beholder and award voter.
Let’s keep it imperfectly, delectably, wonderfully ambiguous.
Because in the country of the NFL we took all three timeouts from Tebow, DeSean and the collapse of New York football for a debate about whether Justin Verlander, a pitcher, deserved to win the American League MVP in the voting announced yesterday.
If the Baseball Writers Association of America had long ago simply named it the Best Player Award, Toronto’s Jose Bautista would very possibly be picking up his second straight AL BPA. Instead, Verlander won his first MVP and became the first pitcher to double as the Cy Young and the MVP winner since Dennis Eckersley in 1992.
As a brief aside, who won the NFL MVP last year? How about the NBA MVP? How about in 1992?
These baseball awards are distinct for the passion they evoke, for the history they conjure and for their uniquely important place in the timeline of the game. No one argues if a defensive tackle should win the NFL MVP or whether an NBA MVP could come from the bottom of the Eastern Conference standings. In the major leagues, it is interwoven into the tapestry of the game.
Therefore, these baseball debates are not something to run from or do away with — they are to be embraced. For here we are days from Thanksgiving dissecting what the meaning of 34 starts is compared to 650 plate appearances — and that is because the meaning of “valuable” remains so elusive, a devilish word open to so many interpretations.
I know a lot of my voting brethren wish there was better definition of the award, just like many wanted the Hall of Fame or some super committee to tell them what to do with those candidates busted for use of illegal performance enhancers.
My advice is to grow up. Get some thick skin. If you can’t handle the decision-making or the criticism that comes with it, turn in your ballot and let someone else vote.
This is the big-boy (and girl) world, so go into your personal confessional and decide what you think “valuable” means. If you think it shouldn’t be a pitcher, fine. If you think it shouldn’t be a player from a losing team, so be it. If you think it should be the everyday player who compiles the best statistics regardless of whether his team ever plays a meaningful game, go for it.
Full disclosure: I voted for NL Rookie of the Year, not AL MVP. But I think the committee got it right with Verlander.
But this is not about defending the vote or the voting system. I can’t. Because there is no such thing as a perfect system.
The managers and coaches vote for Gold Gloves, and there is a lot of annual rancor about that. The members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences once decided “How Green Was My Valley” was the Best Picture over “Citizen Kane.” And after watching the Republican debates, there are probably a lot of folks wondering about the wisdom of democracy (or at least how it is practiced in Texas) considering Rick Perry has been elected governor three times (my email address is below for those who now will feel compelled to tell me to butt out of politics — or worse).
That leads me to one of the most powerful influences these days — the Internet. It used to be BBWAA voters could remain relatively unchallenged on their decisions. Not any longer. The web provides a meeting place for millions to weigh in, and the loudest keyboards generally belong to folks who devoutly believe in statistical analysis.
Fine, we should have to explain these votes. These awards last forever and help define legacies. So those filling out ballots should be held to a high standard, forced to detail their thinking, not able to — for example — do a favor for a local player as a bit of back-scratching and expect any longer to get away with it.
But mainly this is an appeal to see the big picture. To see it is three weeks into November and we are talking baseball, re-connecting to a debate with no end. For the lifeblood of the game, this remains most valuable.