The Self-Absorbed Hall of Fame

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Cooperstown, New York

Not long ago I was part of a group of guys treated to a presentation not part of any regular tour of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. A show-and-tell, shall we say, that showcased the tabloid side of the sport, offering a rather ribald look at the some of the game's more colorful men and moments.

All of which got me to thinking about characters and "character" as I later strolled the gallery of all-time greats, leading me back to a question posed to a Hall official during our private session. Was it true, the official was asked, that Barry Bonds had refused to donate even a single item from his home run chase? Yes, the official admitted, it was true, adding the words Bonds allegedly added: "What have you ever done for me?"

Right then I knew the time had come to create another athletic shrine – The Self-Absorbed Hall of Fame.

Don't get me wrong: The power of Me is not necessarily a bad thing. Lord knows I ring that bell in any number of categories. Success is certainly the by-product of single-minded focus, the ability to block out distractions and monk-like dedication to detail. Halls of Fame around the world are full of men and women who put their interests above all else. But there's a difference between the good self and Bad.

Lance Armstrong's me-first attitude brought huge medical and philanthropic rewards for all.

Take Lance Armstrong. Nobody was more Me when it came to winning the Tour de France. From start to finish, it was all about Lance. And while the resulting, record-setting seven straight wins came with a price (divorce, bare-all books, court battles and a messy split with Sheryl Crow), they also served as the catalyst for a life-changing cancer foundation and the LiveStrong philosophy that has inspired millions around the globe. Such is the positive side of being so self-possessed.

Then there are those bad boys and girls, the truly insufferable Paris Hiltons of sport who deserve immediate entry into my Hall. These athletes are so pathologically addicted to celebrity and fame, pathetically self-indulgent, as to be the long lost twin of Terrell Owens. Take Roger Clemens. Please. A future Hall of Famer of the highest order, but come on, if his so-called "Re-Launch" with the Yankees had been any more orchestrated, it would have been conducted by the late Arthur Fiedler.