It’s getting time for the ladies and gentlemen of the BBWAA to put on their thinking caps and get about the business of rewarding the outstanding players in major league baseball this season.

Specifically, I am talking about the MVP and Cy Young Awards.

This is the time of year when my blood pressure is put to the test. For some reason I have never been able to understand why many voters take the word “valuable’’ literally. Thus you hear the following argument: “Well, if you took so-and-so off his team, where would they be? Therefore, he’s the MVP.’’

Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. (Stick around, and you might get a “Casablanca’’ reference, too.)

Yes, I know the award clearly says “Most Valuable Player.’’ Regrettably. I just cannot bring myself to believe that when this current award was instituted in 1931 (There were other such awards before) that most members of the Baseball Writers Association of America weren’t thinking of anything but rewarding the best player that year, regardless of such extraneous circumstances as the ability of any given team to replace any given player in the event of his injury-related absence. I think the word “valuable’’ sounded nice. What they meant was “outstanding player.’’

Now this is merely an educated guess on my part based on what I would like to claim is a decent reasoning process. I can’t prove anything. After all, I wasn’t at the meeting.

I really abhor that line of thinking. Year after year, there are any number of circumstances where the if-you-took-him-off-the-team-where-would-they-be? reasoning would apply. But the fact is some teams can survive the absence of a very good player because a) they have several other pretty darn good players or b) they have a very capable substitute at that particular position. What people are talking about here is the MIP Award: “Most Irreplaceable Player.’’ That’s a very different subject.

Replacing said player is a general manager’s business, not a player’s. So why should a player be penalized for a general managing matter? To paraphrase Bill Parcells, you are what you are. Your performance is your performance. It should not be measured against an abstract.

If voters wish to go outside the box a bit, I’m fine with that. I may disagree, but I respect their right to do so. I’ve always wished for someone to tell me what it was about Marty Marion — he of the .267 batting average, .686 OPS, and paltry 50 runs scored in 506 plate appearances — that prompted the 1944 National League voters to make him the MVP. Yes, I know he was a great defensive shortstop, but he must have had intangibles, or something, up the wazoo.

And I lived through 1967, when a Minneapolis voter — I know his name, but why subject him to 21st-century humiliation? — felt that Cesar Tovar’s ability to play multiple positions, and so-so offensive numbers such as a .267/.325/.365 line, made him a better choice for American League MVP than our hallowed Yaz. That Twins team had Tony Oliva, Harmon Killebrew, Bob Allison, and a young Rod Carew, so the man couldn’t invoke the if-you-took-him-off-the-team argument, at least not believably. He was just honestly and sincerely wrong, that’s all.

Many of my colleagues, perhaps even a majority of them, disagree. Regardless, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. You should vote for the most outstanding player. Ignore that unfortunate word “valuable.’’ It was strictly ornamental.

There is another problem: position players vs. pitchers. That’s a very separate topic. Maybe next time.

Now we come to the Cy Young, and this is shaping up as one of those years when there is a hot reliever and a relatively undistinguished group of starters in the American League. Again my blood pressure could be put to the test.

The Cy Young Award was instituted in 1956. For the first 11 years there was one winner, covering both leagues. The initial winner was Brooklyn’s Don Newcombe, who was 27-7 and fit the exact profile the award founders had in mind. This was clearly an award for starting pitchers. There had been noted what were known as “firemen’’ dating back to the 1920s. But it was definitely a starter’s world.

The world rolled along smoothly until 1974, when the voters were confronted with an odd circumstance. A Dodgers pitcher named Mike Marshall was an aberration. There was absolutely no one like him, before or since. He started zero games, but he appeared in an incomprehensible 106. He threw 208⅓ innings from the bullpen! He was 15-12 with a 2.42 ERA. His WHIP was not dazzling at 1.186, but since no one knew what WHIP was then, no one cared. Anyway, he won the Cy. Though he was a completely one-off pitching phenomenon, the door was open for non-starter to win the Cy.

The first traditional reliever to win was Sparky Lyle in 1977. Since then seven more what we now call “closers’’ have won the Cy, including our pal Dennis Eckersley, who won both the Cy and MVP for the Oakland A’s in 1992.

Tell Eck to cover his ears and shut his eyes. I could not have voted for him. But I would loved to have voted him as the Hoyt Wilhelm Award winner as the primary reliever of that year. There is no way I can bring myself to believe that the people who instituted the Cy Young Award 60 years ago would ever have signed off on giving this award to a one-inning pitcher, which, starting with Tony La Russa’s pioneering use of Eck, is what closers have become. Someone will be the best starter. Find him.

Yes, I know it’s become far more of a bullpen game and starters have become somewhat deemphasized by some managers. If you want a lengthy bullpen discussion, we should go have a beer or two. Let’s just say I have a few thoughts on that subject.

What I do know is that right now, Zach Britton of the Orioles is having a superb year as a closer. That’s nice. He should not win the Cy.

Voters who agree with me will ignite the start of a beautiful friendship.

Bob Ryan’s column appears regularly in the Globe. He can be reached at ryan@globe.com.