Just as a general Neck Pickup policy statement:
- Halls of Fame (baseball, rock n’ roll, or otherwise) are equal parts overstuffed attic and spoiled kids’ treehouse.
- I don’t care who gets into any particular hall of fame, or who is left out.
- The real hall of fame in any given endeavour lives inside the head of any given fan — which means there are millions of them, each one just as valid as the next.
- The only appeal of any given bricks-and-mortar hall of fame is the chance to see Satchel Paige’s cleats or Jimi Hendrix’s satin pants. (As though that pair of cleats, or that pair of satin pants, were what accounted for Satch or Jimi’s greatness.)
Hope that answers those countless questions everyone has been dying to ask about my stance on this matter.