Stan Hochman: You take Dick Allen the way he was

"I never met the man, never shook his hand," Allen said, when asked about James' harsh commentary. "A statistics guy, huh? Well, I think statistics might be the cancer in baseball.

"Stats alone don't tell the truth about a ballplayer. Tony Taylor would come back to the dugout bleeding, his uniform dirty and torn. He'd stolen three bases, scored two runs, but in the box score he might have one hit, two walks."

Allen leads the list alphabetically, among other ways. The other candidates are Gil Hodges, Jim Kaat, Tony Oliva, Al Oliver, Vada Pinson, Ron Santo, Luis Tiant, Joe Torre, Maury Wills. All rejected by the writers over a 15-year period.

Living Hall of Famers do the voting this time. A player needs 75 percent of the votes cast to get in. The results will be announced on Monday.

"It's just an honor to be included in that list," Allen said warily. "There are some very good ballplayers on that list. The thing is, I don't know what the criteria is."

Between now and Monday, Allen may get carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists trying to keep a lid on his hopes and dreams. He is in his mid-60s now, working with the Phillies in community relations, mellowed by time, weathered by sadness, feeling euphoric about the team winning the World Series.

"I thought they played fundamentally sound baseball, which is what they needed to do," he says proudly. "Jimmy Rollins set the table. It became 'As Rollins goes, we go.' Jimmy and Chase Utley got on and Ryan Howard delivered.

"The kids improved under Charlie [MAnuel]. He seems easy-going. I know I could have played for someone like that."

He played for no one like that. Gene Mauch, who once declared that Allen "walked to the beat of a different drummer," was quoted as saying, "He wasn't doing anything to hurt [his teammates] play the game, and he didn't involve his teammates in his problems."

"On a roster of 25 guys, I was one guy," Allen said, tiptoeing into the debate. "You win or lose as a team. No one guy should take the blame or get the glory.

"I know we [the Phillies] were a better team in '64 then we were in '63, when I came up. We finished second. I got traded to St. Louis and it was all kids except for [Joe] Torre, [Lou] Brock and me. We came in second.

"I went to the Dodgers, a dream come true, the team that signed Jackie Robinson. But they were no longer in Brooklyn, it was not the same. We finished second.

"And then I went to Chicago and got to play for Chuck Tanner [and the White Sox]. A lot of young guys, barely out of high school. We finished second."

Allen enjoyed spending time at the racetrack. He understands the phrase "black type." Whenever a thoroughbred finishes first, second or third in a stakes race, it shows up in bold face on his pedigree.

Some people measure Hall of Fame worthiness by a similar black-type standard. Allen led the league in homers twice, in RBI once. Led the league in on-base percentage twice, in slugging percentage three times. He was chosen MVP for the gaudy year he had with the White Sox in 1972.

He hit 351 homers, some of them traveling so far they had in-flight meals. He scored 1,099 runs and drove in 1,191. Despite shoulder injuries he finished with a lifetime batting average of .292 and a slugging percentage of .534.

And littered in that career, the shards of a broken headlight, the splintered glass of controversy. Given a second chance, would he do anything differently?

"Nooooo," he said. "What's done is done, what's said is said. People come up and ask me if I'm worthy. If I don't understand the criteria, how can I answer?

"I think about my old roomie, Bill White. Played in the minor leagues when segregation was the rule, when water fountains had labels. Got to the big leagues, won 16 or 18 Gold Gloves, made All-Star teams. Became an announcer, moved on to become president of the National League, all of that done with dignity, every facet of the game, and you never hear people talking about him and the Hall of Fame." *

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