Cleveland writer 'Hoynsie' set to enter Cooperstown for colorful career excellence

When Paul Hoynes got the news late one night during last December’s Winter Meetings that he would be honored with the Baseball Writers’ Association of America’s 2026 Career Excellence Award, his hands started to shake. He picked up his phone to call his wife, Jackie, but he couldn’t even dial the number. Hoynes had never expected that his more than 40 years covering Cleveland would lead to him getting honored at the National Baseball Hall of Fame, and the moment left him a frazzled mess.

But here’s all you need to know about the man affectionately known as “Hoynsie.” Once he did manage to get the news to his bride, he went back to work in a mostly empty Winter Meetings work room, banging out a notebook piece at 11 p.m.

His hands had no trouble typing that.

“I just like the job,” Hoynsie said of the baseball beat. “I like the day to day of it. I like the grind of it.”

Hoynsie has been grinding away so well and so long that he’s become a press-box institution, beloved by his peers for his old-school approach, contagious chuckle and self-deprecation. He was shocked that his fellow BBWAA members voted him for the highest honor bestowed upon baseball scribes, but the real shock was that it took this long for the 75-year-old Hoynes to get his day on the dais in Cooperstown.

Hoynes followed in the footsteps of former Cleveland writers Gordon Cobbledick, Hal Lebovitz and his longtime colleague Sheldon Ocker in winning this honor, though none of them lasted as long on the team beat as Hoynes, who has covered more than 6,000 games and owns more bylines than anybody in Cleveland Plain Dealer history.

But it’s not just longevity that has defined Hoynsie’s career; it’s the color within those years, the way he embodied the fun and frustrations of chronicling a baseball team that, in his time on the beat, went from the dregs of the American League and a literal Hollywood punchline to a respected postseason regular.

Hoynsie has written his fair share of stories but can tell you hordes more. About getting thrown into a locker at old Municipal Stadium by an angry Mel Hall. About randomly fielding phone calls from a retired Albert Belle. About being in such a rush to get to the ballpark that he accidentally put on two belts. And about living up to his end of a bargain by jumping into a frigid Lake Erie after the 2016 Indians went on an extended playoff run after he had counted them out.

Hoynes has covered Cleveland since 1983. He’s outlasted a dozen managers, 18 Opening Day starters and six general managers. He’s seen the team at its worst and at its best (including three World Series and two Game 7s on deadline) and never lost his curiosity about the sport and those who play it.

The years can jumble the mind. Hoynes has been heard in road press boxes calling his desk after filing his story when he realized he put the wrong city in the dateline. He’s sent “texts” to his wife that accidentally wound up on Twitter. For the life of him, he could not stop writing “Julio Lugo” in his stories when reporting on Jorge Julio when he pitched for Cleveland in 2008. And his travel schedule tends to be an adventure, as Hoynsie has been known to book flights with layovers that make little logistical sense (one season, he spent enough time at Detroit’s airport to qualify as a quasi-Michigander).

But those moments only add to the charm of a man who has been fiercely dedicated to his job and doing it well.

A colleague once told a story about Hoynes that, like the Winter Meetings tale, sums him up beautifully. He was in downtown Minneapolis and happened to spot Hoynsie across the street. Hoynes was pulling his laptop case behind him, hustling to yet another game. All of a sudden, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pulled out his notebook and started furiously scribbling notes to himself.

That’s Hoynes. And that’s the beat.

A product of Marquette University, where he played on the rugby team while studying journalism, Hoynes developed not only his flair for the written word but also what’s known as the “Hawk Call.” It’s a yowl akin to what you might hear from a mating bird, and for many years Hoynes would perform it in the press box at some random point in the middle of a game. If you contributed to the Hawk Call pool and happened to land the winning inning, you got the cash and Hoynsie got the applause for another impressive performance.

Then, he’d go back to writing. Because that’s what he’s always done.