When we started in on our project of making a farce and mockery of baseball's annual Hall of Fame election by buying a vote from a veteran baseball writer and then turning it over to the public, we had two principal aims. One was to draw attention to the way an increasingly ridiculous election process has diminished the Hall of Fame's ability to honor great ballplayers; the other was to turn a small but symbolically resonant amount of power over to the public.
As we figured they would, the veteran baseball writers whose process we were criticizing generally played to type in their responses to our stunt. Rather than addressing the substance of the critique, they chastised us for seeking attention—as if there's something wrong with wanting to bring attention to a point you'd like to make—and complained about the whole thing not being right, because QED. It was classic smarm, with a lot of ad hominem grouching about how we're not a respectable shop for reasons no one really bothered to spell out and very little explanation of what either we or Dan Le Batard, the voter who gave us his ballot, had actually done wrong.