Andre Dawson Pissed He Isn't Wearing a Cubs Hat on Hall Plaque, We're Pissed He's Not Pissed It's Not a Marlins Cap

Come on, we could totally see this image in bronze!

​

We've just finished scrawling a letter to Dawson, using pinkie blood for ink, demanding to know why he isn't fuming that there isn't a leaping big-game fish humping an F on his plaque cap.

OK, he played his last two seasons here, over the age of 40, and accumulated 400 at-bats. So we're not really going to make that argument -- although catch us when we're drunk and we might.

But the plaque-hat flap got us thinking about the Marlins' severe lack of representation in the Hall. Besides Dawson, one other guy has been inducted who got a Marlins paycheck: Tony Perez, who managed the Fish for half a season in 2001 and was inducted for his Cincinatti playing days. So at least we're leading by half a manager when it comes to the Tampa Bay Rays, who had a two-year twilight tour by HOFer Wade Boggs and apparently tried to bribe him into choosing their hat for his plaque, forcing the Hall to take the privilege of choice away from inductees.

But anyway, the question remains, for our children's children's sake: When, if ever, will a Marlins hat be set into bronze on a Hall of Fame plaque?

A brief glance at possible future Hall of Famers who have made Miami-Dade cameos -- Gary Sheffield, Mike Piazza (hey, it was three days, but it was a great three days), Derrek Lee, Josh Beckett, Tim Raines -- doesn't give us much confidence: Most of them probably remember the Marlins only as that organization that paid for the speaker rocks in their garden.

Since we have absolutely no reason to believe the Marlins will ever sign some Hall-bound superstar free agent, our only hope, as usual, is Hanley Ramirez. If we can hold on to the Sprightly One long enough for him to play the bulk of his career here, and he continues to play to his potential, he could be the first Marlin to wear the team's hat on a Hall plaque.

We're aware that we're commiting a grave sin here -- the career equivalent of congratulating a pitcher on his no-hitter in the second inning -- but we're calling it now: July 2035 will be one hell of a proud month in Miami Gardens Little Havana.