It's been less than a day now and we have not yet seen a tribute to Joey Votto that includes a case for him being spirited immediately into the Hall of Fame as the game's best example of a Guy Who Just Got It. Even C. Trent Rosecrans of The Athletic, who covered Votto through his entire big-league career in Cincinnati, stopped short in what was otherwise a frothy paean to Votto and Vottoism on the occasion of his retirement from baseball.
Oh, the 17 years of his career make him a borderline candidate for the Hall, and if you don't think so, take it up with Baseball Reference. The BR elves see him as Middle America's Freddie Freeman, a one-team lifer whose career slash line of .294/.409/.511/.920 stands up well against the fully plaqued Orlando Cepeda and Gil Hodges. Unlike Cepeda and Hodges, Votto's postseason numbers are modest because Cincinnati's participation was modest, but his work, which includes an MVP, six All-Star Games, and a career top 60 on OPS+, stands well with his assumed betters.
Mostly, though, Votto got course credit for being Votto, a perpetually grounded person who wore his happiness at his circumstances on his sleeve, even when the Reds wore their sleeveless jerseys. He wasn't just at peace with his career, he was in public, unabashed love with it and shared it freely. Baseball being a game built on a culture of showing nothing but business face to the outside world, Votto was an overt outlier, the logical inheritor to Tony Gwynn, a magnificent hitter who loved being a magnificent hitter but never disdainful of those who weren't. Gwynn then, and Votto now, just Got It the way we want all athletes in all sports to Get It.
His Instagram retirement announcement was pure, a selfie from the parking lot of Buffalo's Sahlen Field, the home of the Blue Jays' Triple-A affiliate, where he faced his athletic mortality squarely: "That's it. I'm done. I'm officially retired from baseball." He'd been trying to regain his form for more than a year after an ankle injury that refused to heal, and he struggled through an entire season of never being quite right physically and realizing that he was out of fuel to power his dream of one more season in his homeland. He accepted his mortality reluctantly but squarely, and made sure to send an addendum to his original retirement, 367 words that summarized his life by thanking (in order):
His parents.
His brother for throwing him Wiffle Balls as a kid.
Two high school teammates referred to only as Warren and Nick at Richfield Collegiate Institute.
Etobicoke, Ontario, and five other towns where he played youth ball ("Mark Capone is STILL better") and Etobicoke Rangers youth coach Bob Smyth.
Leon Roberts and Freddie Benavides, among his first pro teammates.
Dusty Baker and Jay Bruce, his manager and teammate in the glory days of the early '10s.
A series of people who provided inspirational quotes and moments through his career, like "Sometimes you lose" (Philly Woo) and "Got an iron?" (Ken Griffey Jr.).
His home nation, for whom he provided his own epitaph: "Toronto + Canada, I wanted to play in front of you. Sigh, I tried with all my heart to play for my people. I'm just not good any more."
And finally, to the fans in all towns, most specifically Cincinnati, who provided him the soundtrack of his career. "You energized me with your cheers, I loved the boos, the trash talk, the moments where I broke a road cities moment, or was humbled on stage. I’ll never forget, early in my career, my first time at Wrigley Field and the crowd standing and cheering toward my failure. I remember standing at the plate, smiling and thinking, this is my home. I belong here. I was myself in this sport. I was able to be my best self. I played this sport with every last ounce of my body, heart, and mind."
That's where you wonder where the endorsements for his Hall of Fame candidacy are. If such a thing is possible, he went out better than he came in, almost to the point where it partially obscures his actual career. If he is a borderline candidate for upstate New York, his return on emotional investment would almost serve to buttress his unfortunate lack of postseason moments caused by the teams that employed him. If nothing else, his pure honesty in a sport that almost demands refusal to accept reality would seem to generate some support:
Driving to the stadium right now. My Uber driver asked, "Are you a player?" I said, "No."
— Joey Votto (@JoeyVotto) August 22, 2024
Then again, maybe the real story here is that while he would be thrilled to be mentioned with the other 273 Hall of Famers, he seems to be at peace either way. And plaque or no, that's actually as good as anyone deserves to have.
