Should every Hall of Famer really be in the same hallway?

The Hall of Fame is one of the highest honors in sports, designed to immortalize greatness. But here’s the problem: once you’re in, you’re in. No matter if you were Michael Jordan redefining basketball or a role player who rode dynasty coattails, your plaque sits on the same wall. And while that sounds democratic, it actually diminishes the mystique of the true legends — the ones who could have dominated on any team, in any era.

That’s why it’s time to rethink the Hall of Fame. Not to take away from players who had great careers, but to recognize that not all greatness is created equal. The solution? Two tiers of enshrinement.

What the Hall of Fame Is — and How It Works

The Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield and the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton operate in similar ways. Committees nominate players, coaches, and contributors. Voters — primarily media members, historians, and insiders — decide who gets in.

It’s a rigorous process. But once you’re inducted, you’re automatically placed in the same category as every other Hall of Famer. That’s where the issue lies. The Hall doesn’t separate between a player who changed the game forever and one who simply excelled in their role.

The Case for Two Tiers

Tier 1: The Icons

Reserved for athletes who could walk onto any roster and still be the best player in the gym or on the field. They created records, broke records, and left a permanent mark on the sport. Their presence didn’t just elevate teams — it changed the league.

Tier 1 should be voted on exclusively by existing Tier 1 members. Only icons can crown new icons.

Tier 2: The Greats

These are the elite players who had stellar careers and were among the best at their position. Many won championships, many were beloved by fans, but their greatness was often situational — tied to teammates, coaching, or era.

Tier 2 would continue to be voted on by media members and selection committees, just like today.

NBA Examples: Legends vs. Greats

Take Michael Jordan, LeBron James, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Steph Curry, Allen Iverson — these are Tier 1 names. They transcended their teams. Plug them anywhere, and they still dominate.

Now look at someone like Draymond Green. He’s brilliant at what he does: defensive anchor, emotional leader, versatile playmaker. He will absolutely make the Hall. But Draymond’s greatness has always been contextual. He flourished because he was alongside Steph Curry, Klay Thompson, and at times Kevin Durant. Put him on a lottery team without that offensive firepower, and suddenly his impact doesn’t look the same. That doesn’t diminish his value — it just shows that his greatness is dependent on a specific system. That’s what makes him a textbook Tier 2 Hall of Famer.

And he wouldn’t be the first. Even some players already in the Hall arguably belong in Tier 2. Dennis Rodman, for instance, was a defensive genius and rebounding machine. But was he an all-time icon in the sense of Jordan or Shaq? No. Rodman was an elite complementary piece — the ultimate Tier 2. His plaque deserves to shine, but not on the same pedestal as the legends who defined eras. 

NFL Examples: Icons vs. Greats

In the NFL, Jerry Rice, Tom Brady, Lawrence Taylor, Jim Brown, Walter Payton — these are Tier 1 names. They redefined their positions, set benchmarks, and forced the sport to evolve.

But then there are guys like Eli Manning. Two Super Bowl rings, legendary playoff runs, beloved by Giants fans. He’ll likely get in. But can anyone argue he belongs on the same level as Tom Brady or Joe Montana? He was great when it counted, but his career numbers don’t scream Tier 1.

And just like in the NBA, we already have examples of inductees who fit Tier 2 better than Tier 1. Lynn Swann, the Steelers wide receiver, is a perfect case. A Super Bowl hero with highlight-reel catches, yes. But statistically? Not dominant compared to his peers. He’s remembered more for moments than for decade-long dominance. Under a tiered system, Swann would be celebrated — but he wouldn’t sit next to Jerry Rice in the pantheon. 

Why This Matters

Creating tiers isn’t about disrespect. It’s about clarity.

• It clarifies greatness: Not every Hall of Famer is an all-time icon. Tier 1 separates legends of legends.

• It adds prestige: A Tier 1 induction becomes the rarest honor in sports.

• It protects the legacy: Players who dominated for decades won’t be flattened by role players who benefited from dynasty rosters.

• It adds peer validation: Imagine LeBron, Jordan, and Magic sitting down to decide who’s worthy of Tier 1. That vote carries a weight no committee can match.

The Hallway Test

Picture yourself walking down the Hall of Fame. Should Steph Curry’s plaque really sit at the exact same level as Draymond Green’s? Should Jerry Rice’s bust be on equal footing with Eli Manning’s?

Two tiers don’t divide the Hall. They actually preserve its meaning. They let us honor all greatness while protecting the mystique of the athletes who shaped sports forever.

Because the truth is simple: not all Hall of Famers are equal. And that’s okay.