Yes, Jeff Bagwell and his weird, Russian kick-dance batting stance are headed for the National Baseball Hall of Fame. The only question is, “when?”

The votes have already been cast, and the announcement of the 2011 class will be made Wednesday afternoon. Should reason and basic arithmetic prevail — and why shouldn’t they? — Bagwell’s name will be among those selected for enshrinement in Cooperstown.

However, there’s a great deal more at play than the controversies that typically surround Hall-of-Fame ballots. Bagwell’s case is hugely important historically, because he is the first potential inductee to have made his Major League debut during the 1990s — the perceived zenith of baseball’s lamented steroids era.

Two factors will dictate if Bagwell gets the Hall call Wednesday or if he’ll have to wait: the symbolic sanctity of the first ballot, traditionally reserved for the game’s über-stars (think Ted Williams, Nolan Ryan or Tony Gwynn), and lingering suspicion that Bagwell’s talent may have been boosted in a lab somewhere, although there is no evidence linking him to steroids. Let me repeat that, because it bears repeating: There is no evidence linking Jeff Bagwell to steroids.

Yes, fellow Astros Roger Clemens and Andy Pettite got busted. So, too, did Manny Ramirez, Rafael Palmeiro, Mark McGwire, David Ortiz, Jason Giambi etc. etc. Bagwell, however, did not. With apologies to influential Boston Globe columnist and Hall of Fame voter Dan Shaughnessy (who left Bagwell off his ballot) we must presume that the dude is, was, and always has been clean.

Freakish? Yes. But clean.

The math is beyond reproach. During his 15-year Major League career (all with the Houston Astros), Bagwell belted 449 home runs while playing the majority of his home games at the notoriously pitcher-friendly Astrodome. I’ve heard it’s easier to launch a beach ball out of the Grand Canyon with a waffle iron than it is to go yard at the cavernous Eighth Wonder.

Along with a .297 career average, the three-time Silver Slugger Award-winner and four-time All Star batted in 1,529 runs while posting a .540 slugging percentage and a .408 on-base percentage. No player with those numbers has ever been denied. Toss in the 1994 National League MVP, the 1991 NL Rookie of the Year and a Gold Glove (also in ’94), and Bagwell’s No. 5 jersey is a mortal lock for a bronze plaque, right? RIGHT?

Bagwell’s chances in 2011 will have less to do with numbers than with whether or not the Baseball Writers Association of America will use their Hall of Fame ballots as a passive aggressive referendum on MLB’s Steroids Era. Ever since Jose Canseco became baseball’s Deep Throat in 2005 by releasing the amazingly accurate Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant 'Roids, Smash Hits & How Baseball Got Big, the national pastime has had fits attempting to reconcile its recent history — a huge problem for a sport built on a foundation of nostalgia.

Baseball fans, like football fans, are obsessed with statistics. (This, by the way, is why soccer continues to fall flat with Americans.) The back of Bagwell’s baseball card should be plenty good enough to draw the 75 percent of votes needed for enshrinement. Throw personal conduct into the equation, and he’s a shoo-in. Teammates, opposing players and media fall over themselves in praise of his loyalty, skill and work ethic.

If he doesn’t make it in this first go ‘round, the stat monkies will point to the relative shortness of his arthritis-plagued career, which kept him 51 dingers shy of the 500 home run club and miles from the 3,000 hit club’s ZIP code. Bagwell is left stranded with 2,314 over his 15 seasons.

Performance enhancing drugs conspiracy theorists among the electorate have an easy explanation for leaving Bagwell off: that his career wasn’t first ballot caliber. And they may be right — although the words “first ballot” don’t appear on anyone’s plaque, it is, by its nature, a symbolic and somewhat silly designation anyway.

Should Bagwell be forced to wait a year, the truth will be that many voters were tacitly wagging their fingers at the game’s steroid users, and by extension Jeff Bagwell, who has been, by too many, deemed guilty by association. On the flip side, some voters might take this opportunity to strike a victory for “innocent until proven guilty” (that’s still at thing, right?) and check off Bagwell’s name, citing his inevitable induction, boffo numbers, and commitment to a single, small-market franchise — but I’m not holding my breath.

As for steroids in baseball, they’re an unfortunate part of the game. So, too, were amphetamines and “greenies” in eras past. Bagwell’s case is merely the first of many as the debate over the legitimacy of statistics during the steroids era rages into the new decade. This, sadly, is only the beginning.

In the meantime, the numbers are there. Bagwell — who will (eventually) be the first player enshrined as an Astro — deserves in, and he deserves in right now.

Here’s hoping the phone rings.