Frequently, it is considered a badge of honor, a testament to one's perseverance. Inquisitive students, telemarketing trainees and aspiring sales reps hear it constantly. "Don't take no for an answer." | MLB page

So they press on, blind to everything but the desired result. Succeed enough, and the advice becomes a mantra:

"Don't take no for an answer."

The payoff could be a research breakthrough in a university science lab, or a boost in sales at a fledgling company. Or, there could be no payoff … just frustration and disappointment.

Truth is, even optimism and determination have limits, and we have reached them in regard to Ron Santo and the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Fifteen times the Baseball Writers Association of America said "no," refusing the former Cubs' third baseman enough votes for enshrinement.

Repeatedly, the Veterans Committee has done the same, most recently on Monday. Santo received 39 votes and needed 48 to make the Hall.

His backers call it an injustice. His detractors say he should not get in.

Either way, it is time to take no for an answer. We have heard it enough.

It is time for Santo, his legions, everyone really, to move on from this annual angst, to stop debating a career which, like it or not, has time and again been judged as good, but not good enough for a plaque in Cooperstown.

Is it an outrage? It depends on how you look at it, where your heart and allegiances lie.

Santo's 342 home runs, 1,331 RBIs, nine All-Star games and five Gold Gloves compare favorably with many of the third basemen in the Hall. He also did it all while battling diabetes, unbeknownst to most he played with and against.

On the flip side, he does not have the kind of landmark statistic which often sways voters, i.e. 400 home runs or 3,000 hits. Voters love round figures like that. Nor was he an MVP winner or on a championship team.

You cannot fault Santo for the latter, but likely it works against him. With Ernie Banks, Ferguson Jenkins and Billy Williams in Cooperstown, voters appear hesitant to enshrine a fourth player from a team that never won its division, let alone a World Series.

It also is theorized Santo rubbed opponents the wrong way with his clicking of the heels after a Cubs' victory. His Hall of Fame fate now rests in some of those players' hands, and perhaps they hold a grudge.

That may not be fair, but it is reality. To Santo's credit, he seems closer to accepting it after years of playing the crestfallen and persecuted victim.

He still describes the wait for the vote totals as "torture," and yes, he would like to see the Veterans Committee format changed to allow more players (Santo?) to get voted in. Yet, in 2007, he said, "Maybe it's just not in the cards" for him to be enshrined.

That is a step in the right direction for a man worthy of admiration regardless of his Hall of Fame status.

Santo has helped raise $60 million for juvenile diabetes research over the past 30 years. He has overcome a bout with cancer, and goes to the Cubs radio booth throughout the season on two prosthetic legs. Diabetes led to the amputation of both below the knee earlier this decade.

He does not need an induction ceremony to validate himself as a person or player. His No. 10 flies from a foul pole at Wrigley Field, and on the day it was unveiled, he said, "This is my Hall of Fame."

There is no shame in that.

Wrigley Field is a shrine to all things Cub. To be honored there, where Santo is beloved, is a more fitting tribute than some plaque in a New York village.

His is a story of talent, courage, compassion and a deep-rooted love for the Cubs. His legacy should not be tied to Hall of Fame votes or the pity they evoke, self or otherwise.

Should he be in the Hall of Fame?

Maybe you think so.

But what do the voters think?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no …

It's time to accept it.

Randy Kindred is a Pantagraph columnist. To leave him a voice mail, call 820-3402. By e-mail: rkindred@pantagraph.com. The Randy Kindred Blog is at www.pantagraph.com/blogs