Gil Hodges posted seven consecutive 100-RBI seasons for the Dodgers. AP

Gil Hodges retired 10 years before I was born, Ron Santo a year after. It's fun to compare their stats and argue over the relative merits of their careers, but other than that I don't have much to go on when it comes to deciding whether they should be in the Hall of Fame.

The people with the most informed opinions to offer are those who played with and against them all those years ago. And those peers -- specifically, the Hall of Fame Veterans Committee comprised of every living Hall of Famer -- decided this week that Hodges (eight-time All-Star, three Gold Gloves at first base) and Santo (nine-time All-Star, five Gold Gloves at third) still aren't Hall-worthy.

Of course, if informed opinions were the sole basis for entry, the plaque collection in Cooperstown might look a lot different. Personality, reputation, character, relationship with the media -- they all factor into the voting done by the Baseball Writers' Association of America every year, which may be why Wade Boggs and Ryne Sandberg will be inducted this summer and Jim Rice won't. Who knows what else runs through the well-worn minds of Vet Committee voters? In 2003 the Hall revamped the Committee, which used to have only 15 members, because it was approaching its job the way Wendell Kim coached third base: It was waving everybody in. The low point came in 2001, when Bill Mazeroski and his .260 career average received a Hall pass.

In two ballots since -- they vote every two years -- the rejiggered committee hasn't elected anyone. Now, maybe it takes a Hall of Famer to know a Hall of Famer, and the Veterans are simply upholding the lofty standards of the institution. As Tom Seaver, Hall Class of '92, said, "I'm of the opinion it's going to be awfully hard [to get in], and maybe that's how it should be."

Seaver's right. Hall of Fame standards should be high. But letting the inmates play gatekeeper allows them to make those standards unreachable. Think about it: By definition, a Hall of Fame dilutes itself over time. More and more people get in, and as the years go by the club becomes less exclusive. By keeping new members out, current Hall of Famers increase, or at least preserve, the value of their clique.

Is Veteran snobbishness the reason Hodges and Santo didn't get in this year? (They each got more more votes than they did in 2003 but fell eight votes shy of the 75 percent needed for induction.) We'll never know. Maybe one of the voters never forgot that Santo spiked him during a game in 1968. Maybe another vowed eternal revenge on Hodges after surrendering a game-winning homer to him. We do know this: There are some angry old-timers out there. "It's almost impossible to go into the Hall of Fame the way the system is now," said Tony Oliva, who got 45 votes from the Committee. He won three batting titles and made eight All-Star teams but spent his career in low-profile Minnesota. "It's ridiculous ... If I played in New York, I'd be there a long time ago. You play in Minnesota, they stick it to you."

The Veterans Committee only votes on players who failed to get elected by the Baseball Writers, so it's choosing from a pool of subpar candidates. It should be tough to gain their approval. But maybe the best thing to do is abolish the group altogether. There's no such thing as a completely impartial judge in Hall of Fame voting -- newsflash: writers can be petty, too. But it might be too much to ask Hall of Famers to be the guardians of their realm. Put yourself in their immortal shoes: Would you want to belong to a club that would have anyone else as a member?