I loathe that which I love

The Major League Baseball All-Star game has again descended upon the summer. America’s three other top sports leagues – the NFL, NHL, and NBA – will lie dormant another two, three, almost four months before playing meaningful games. There are no tennis matches. The fall semester isn’t even close for college football yet. You won’t hear a word on MLS or American soccer (what else is new) with David Beckham still a few days shy of his return to LA Galaxy. Tiger Woods will be perfecting his short game in Scotland. NASCAR is and will always be 43 automobiles driving in continual circles, burning through gasoline and rubber.

Baseball alone has the stage.

But yet again I find myself loathing our Past Time’s annual summer showcase. It has nothing to do with a lack of adulation for the game. You’re reading this straight off the fingertips of a true baseball fan. A man who considers himself the biggest fan of the game since Benny the Jet. A man who would buy season tickets and attend 81 games if he could somehow receive a decent salary and benefits package as an incentive to do so. A man who would readily throw down with anyone having the ignorant audacity to try and pin football as America’s new past time.

There are several reasons contributing to my disdain for Major League Baseball’s All-Star Game. I used to love the game, as any fan should. Bud Selig and baseball’s brass have made decisions that have turned the game into a mockery, and we’ve all been hoodwinked into thinking the game is better off for them.

It all began with the infamous All-Star Game tie of 2002, perhaps not so coincidentally held in Selig’s Milwaukee. With two outs in the bottom of the eleventh inning – game tied 7-7 and both squads with dugout and bullpen emptied – Seattle’s Freddy Garcia struck out San Francisco’s Benito Santiago to end the game. The decision to call the game a draw was over the concern for the incumbent pitchers, Garcia for the AL and Philadelphia’s Vicente Padilla for the NL. As an exhibition game, perhaps Selig could have told managers Joe Torre and Bob Brenly they could recycle pitchers and players. Regardless, Selig – in a rash attempt to save face – told us the next day that the game’s winner in future seasons would have home-field advantage for the World Series.

Honestly I don’t mind the concept. But baseball was proclaiming that the game would mean something, would be a real game. This is where the atrocities begin.

-Why does John Q. Baseball Fan still get to vote for the game’s starters? If this game is to be a real, competitive game, then why still hold a popularity contest? If you say it’s because the game is for the fans I’m going to punch you. The game honors baseball’s top performers for the first half of the season. Instead of voting for those players, fans ignore their consciences and vote for the Red Sox and Yankees to play as a mixed-squad. And great as he was, Cal Ripken Jr. did not deserve about a half-dozen of his All-Star appearances.

-If this game is really going to mean something and be played for a competitive purpose, why have each team represented? I for one am in full support of having a player from all 30 teams at the game. The game is a celebration of baseball. Though Oakland never seems to have a deserving player, their green cap should be on the field.

Additionally, why play every player on the team? If you really wanted to win the game, Albert Pujols gets to the plate as many times as possible.

-Another farce is the Final All-Star vote. “Here, Corey Hart, you were neither popular enough to be voted to the game nor good enough to be selected by manager Clint Hurdle; you won round two of voting among the B-tiered players in the NL. Welcome to the All-Star Game!” (Corey Hart incidentally cost me a game in Las Vegas when he robbed a home-run, but that’s beside my point. It’s just convenient that that s.o.b. was last year’s accessory player.)

-The Home Run Derby used to be a fun event to watch, and it’s on the way back. But under the cloud of steroids, HGH, and female fertility drugs, I find it hypocritical that baseball and its fans forget the shame of McGwire, Bonds, and Palmeiro et al for one night of mesmerizing moonshots. I too marvel at watching the players feast on batting practice meatballs, but there’s still that lingering suspicion.


So here is my solution to fix the Summer Classic:

1) Voting for the starters copies the method in place by the worst and least relevant of any league’s all-star game: the NFL’s Pro Bowl. Let the fans still vote, but that only counts for a portion of the final count. The remainder can come from the players and/or managers and/or GMs. This way Josh Hamilton won’t take up a spot on 2009’s team by riding the coattails of his spectacular 2008 season and Home Run Derby performance.

2) Eliminate the “last man in” vote. Just a ploy to get more people to MLB.com.

3) Every team will be represented. Yes, that means the Washington Generals will have a minor leaguer occupying a spot; but the Senators do deserve to be there. I don’t believe them, but Major League Baseball insists the Washington Oats are indeed a real Major League Baseball team. (This year is an exception, as Ryan Zimmerman is quietly having a great season.)

4) Every player does not have to play. Keep the game competitive by playing the best players, not by reverting to little league and letting each kid get a little dirt in his spikes. Remember when Lance Carter was the Devil Rays’ All-Star in 2003 and made the franchise proud by keeping the rosin bags handy in the bullpen? To your question of “Who?” I’ll simply respond by answering “Exactly. But every team was still represented.”

5) In the event of a tied ballgame in extra-innings with no player absent from the scorecard, let the managers recycle players and pitchers who played one inning or less.

There. The All-Star game would be restored to its past glory and would be balanced between a real game and a showcase and celebration of this magnificent game. Perhaps Terrence Mann said it best in "Field of Dreams":

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.

There is still one last thing I hate about the All-Star game, something I thoroughly detest. The game is aired on FOX, which makes for a poor excuse for a big-time sporting event broadcast that does not involve 43 automobiles. And, of course, I’m forced to endure Joe Buck droning through the play by play and Tim McCarver fumbling through the commentary like he’s Brick Tamland.