By Ray Buck
SportsLine National Columnist

MIAMI -- Let's get something straight: Lawrence Taylor is sick. He has a disease, an addiction, a death wish.

Call it what you want. But this is about giving credit to the 36-member Pro Football Hall of Fame election committee -- a group too often, and unfairly, pigeonholed as being just old and white.

L.T. RECEIVED HIS DUE Saturday for what he stood for purely in the context of Canton Criteria.

He was a player who flat-out revolutionized the game at his position.

When he wasn't wreaking havoc at outside linebacker for 13 seasons with the New York Giants, when he wasn't piling up 132½ career sacks, 10 Pro Bowl appearances, three NFL Defensive Player of the Year honors and two Super Bowl championships, he was snorting cocaine or socializing with slime, filing for bankruptcy or being a deadbeat dad.

With Lawrence Taylor, there was never anything in between -- Sunday afternoon hero or after-hour outlaw. Over the years, he spent as much time in denial as he spent in the opposing team's backfield.

So this week, at the site of Super Bowl XXXIII, everyone wondered which Lawrence Taylor would be judged by the Pro Football Hall of Fame voters. His name was on the ballot for the first time. The voting was done behind closed doors, sort of the way L.T. liked to operate whenever he succumbed to his illness.

The spirited discussion took just over 30 minutes (out of a 3½-hour session) with clear-headed thinking prevailing. It came down to reading the guidelines, which couldn't be more simple: "The only criteria for election to the Pro Football Hall of Fame is a nominee's achievements and contributions as a player, coach or contributor in professional football."

The class of '99 (Eric Dickerson, Tom Mack, Ozzie Newsome, Taylor and "senior candidate" Billy Shaw) brings the total of inductees to 199 -- not every one an angel. In 1985, O.J. Simpson went in on a first ballot. Of course, that was nine years before we saw the darker side of this Sunday afternoon hero.

THE ONLY MISTAKE THE VOTING committee made Saturday was voting down a morals clause, much like the one the Baseball Writers' Association of America has established for its Hall of Fame requirements.

It should be in place, if for no other reason than to send a message to NFL players who want to be immortalized (and not just retired) that they need to keep -- no pun intended -- their noses clean. This would give the self-righteous voter the right to cast a negative vote.

Lawrence Taylor earned his induction into the Hall of Fame. (AP)

As the rules state now, the Pro Football Hall of Fame voter has no such right.

Just as baseball had no say in Mark McGwire's use of an over-the-counter testosterone booster called androstenedione, which was not a banned substance in that sport, football had no choice but to welcome L.T. to its hallowed halls with open arms.

A morals clause is a necessity, purely for the sake of debate. Then, for each voter, it becomes personal choice.

Personally, if I were sitting in that room Saturday, as I had the privilege to do from 1991-95, I would've had Lawrence Taylor on my final ballot. Just as Pete Rose belongs in Cooperstown (serving time for his failure to report income to the IRS and admission to betting on football games -- Rose's only crimes -- are not reasons to leave out baseball's all-time hits leader), L.T. belongs in Canton.

CHARLIE HUSTLE AND L.T. HAVE different addictions, but they should be treated as humans as well as sports heroes, and not labeled as pariahs. L.T. is arrogant, self-absorbed and needs help. But that has little to do with the way he played the game, which was the only part of L.T. standing trial here.

The real crime Saturday would've been if former Raiders standout and current TV personality Howie Long had gone in on the first ballot.

Thankfully, I don't have to write that column.