When I arrived at my front-row seat in the open air press box at Qualcomm Stadium — it was still "The Murph" then as far as most of us were concerned — in San Diego, I simply sat down and absorbed the moment.
It was July 11, 1978, I was a 32-year-old sportswriter who had nursed a lifelong dream of someday being in this very place, covering my first Major League All-Star Game, and, to be honest, I was blown away.
With chill bumps tingling, I picked up the phone and called the one person I considered most responsible for me sitting in that seat.
"Mom," I said, "I’m finally here."
The All-Star Game was a big deal to me then, and it still is, even though I won’t be in St. Louis tonight when baseball’s best take the field. And if I was, for all of the amazing communications advancements of the last three decades, there’s still no way to get a phone call through to heaven so that I can hear my mom’s voice again.
I’d have to settle for a far more mundane call, I’m afraid. I’d like to pick up the phone and tell Bud Selig to make up his damn mind.
Make baseball’s All-Star Game a glorious exhibition or make it meaningful, but don’t try to make it both. It just doesn’t work.
Don’t misunderstand; baseball continues to have the best All-Star Game in professional sports, by far.
The NFL still hasn’t figured out a way to make the Pro Bowl relevant, either as an exhibition or as a "real" game, and I doubt it ever will.
The NBA has a fantastic weekend, but it’s all about fun and not at all about competition.
And there’s simply no way for the NHL to manufacture the same kind of intensity that it takes to play a real hockey game, so its All-Star Game becomes little more than a skate and shoot free-for-all, with the goalies posing as ducks in a shooting gallery.
Selig wants the best of both of worlds for baseball. He wants all the pomp and circumstance, the pageantry and grandeur, of the NBA’s All-Star Weekend, but he also wants a real game, with real consequences riding on the outcome.
So when the commissioner decided seven years ago to award home-field advantage in the World Series to the winning league in the All-Star Game, I had no problem with that.
Selig was obviously trying to recapture the fiery, competitive edge that the American and National leagues had demonstrated so often in past All-Star Games. He believed that putting something on the outcome would help spur that along.
It hasn’t worked, though, because every other change Selig and MLB have instituted since, like adding a 33rd player, a 13th pitcher, this year works to counter that very goal.
Terribly embarrassed when the AL and NL were forced to halt play after 11 innings with the game tied at 7-all because both clubs had run out of pitchers in a game played on his own home turf, Milwaukee’s Miller Park back in 2002, Selig is clearly determined to never see that happen again. But adding more pitchers simply undermines his attempts to make the game more meaningful.
All that does is reinforce the idea to the All-Star Game managers that it’s fine and dandy to use Zack Greinke or Tim Lincecum for just an inning tonight. The All-Star Game hasn’t seen a pitcher work more than two innings since Greg Maddux, who pitched a whopping three innings in 1994.
Somehow, his arm didn’t fall off.
But Selig has is own "Catch-22" situation here. He wants the game to mean something, but he also has team owners, general managers, managers and even agents screaming in his ear about not overusing their players in what essentially is still just an exhibition game at the center of a giant three-day party.
They have a point, too, and it’s all about money, naturally. No team wants to see a key player get hurt or "burn out" in an All-Star Game. If that’s going to happen, it better happen while that player is trying to help his own team get to the postseason.
Even Rangers manager Ron Washington says he noticed a difference in Josh Hamilton after last year’s Home Run Derby extravaganza, and not a good one.
Selig remembers the old days, just like I do, when the leagues were basically autonomous, there was no interleague play and free agency hadn’t arrived to guarantee a free flow of talent moving between the American and National leagues.
Ted Williams was an American League player, Willie Mays played in the National League and that was that.
Pete Rose had no problem flattening catcher Ray Fosse, essentially derailing his career, at home plate to win a game. Managers felt no obligation to get every player in the game and some even dared to keep a starter at his position for nine innings or even longer.
Do that today and somebody’s bound to file a lawsuit.
Those days are gone and Selig and MLB simply must accept that. The changeover happened on his watch, when he decided to do away with league presidents and separate umpiring crews and blend it all under the MLB umbrella.
There’s no going back, either, so Selig must give up on this idea of making the game meaningful, though the American League will remain ever grateful after six consecutive All-Star Game wins translated into six consecutive home-field advantages in the World Series, something the National League has still managed to overcome twice in the last three years.
Selig must face the fact that nobody really cares who wins anymore, not even the players, and he can’t manufacture intensity.
Give up on the home-field advantage thing and let it simply be an exhibition. Because it’s baseball, it’ll still be the best All-Star Game going.
And if I’m ever there again, I suspect I’ll still get a few chill bumps.
It was July 11, 1978, I was a 32-year-old sportswriter who had nursed a lifelong dream of someday being in this very place, covering my first Major League All-Star Game, and, to be honest, I was blown away.
With chill bumps tingling, I picked up the phone and called the one person I considered most responsible for me sitting in that seat.
"Mom," I said, "I’m finally here."
The All-Star Game was a big deal to me then, and it still is, even though I won’t be in St. Louis tonight when baseball’s best take the field. And if I was, for all of the amazing communications advancements of the last three decades, there’s still no way to get a phone call through to heaven so that I can hear my mom’s voice again.
I’d have to settle for a far more mundane call, I’m afraid. I’d like to pick up the phone and tell Bud Selig to make up his damn mind.
Make baseball’s All-Star Game a glorious exhibition or make it meaningful, but don’t try to make it both. It just doesn’t work.
Don’t misunderstand; baseball continues to have the best All-Star Game in professional sports, by far.
The NFL still hasn’t figured out a way to make the Pro Bowl relevant, either as an exhibition or as a "real" game, and I doubt it ever will.
The NBA has a fantastic weekend, but it’s all about fun and not at all about competition.
And there’s simply no way for the NHL to manufacture the same kind of intensity that it takes to play a real hockey game, so its All-Star Game becomes little more than a skate and shoot free-for-all, with the goalies posing as ducks in a shooting gallery.
Selig wants the best of both of worlds for baseball. He wants all the pomp and circumstance, the pageantry and grandeur, of the NBA’s All-Star Weekend, but he also wants a real game, with real consequences riding on the outcome.
So when the commissioner decided seven years ago to award home-field advantage in the World Series to the winning league in the All-Star Game, I had no problem with that.
Selig was obviously trying to recapture the fiery, competitive edge that the American and National leagues had demonstrated so often in past All-Star Games. He believed that putting something on the outcome would help spur that along.
It hasn’t worked, though, because every other change Selig and MLB have instituted since, like adding a 33rd player, a 13th pitcher, this year works to counter that very goal.
Terribly embarrassed when the AL and NL were forced to halt play after 11 innings with the game tied at 7-all because both clubs had run out of pitchers in a game played on his own home turf, Milwaukee’s Miller Park back in 2002, Selig is clearly determined to never see that happen again. But adding more pitchers simply undermines his attempts to make the game more meaningful.
All that does is reinforce the idea to the All-Star Game managers that it’s fine and dandy to use Zack Greinke or Tim Lincecum for just an inning tonight. The All-Star Game hasn’t seen a pitcher work more than two innings since Greg Maddux, who pitched a whopping three innings in 1994.
Somehow, his arm didn’t fall off.
But Selig has is own "Catch-22" situation here. He wants the game to mean something, but he also has team owners, general managers, managers and even agents screaming in his ear about not overusing their players in what essentially is still just an exhibition game at the center of a giant three-day party.
They have a point, too, and it’s all about money, naturally. No team wants to see a key player get hurt or "burn out" in an All-Star Game. If that’s going to happen, it better happen while that player is trying to help his own team get to the postseason.
Even Rangers manager Ron Washington says he noticed a difference in Josh Hamilton after last year’s Home Run Derby extravaganza, and not a good one.
Selig remembers the old days, just like I do, when the leagues were basically autonomous, there was no interleague play and free agency hadn’t arrived to guarantee a free flow of talent moving between the American and National leagues.
Ted Williams was an American League player, Willie Mays played in the National League and that was that.
Pete Rose had no problem flattening catcher Ray Fosse, essentially derailing his career, at home plate to win a game. Managers felt no obligation to get every player in the game and some even dared to keep a starter at his position for nine innings or even longer.
Do that today and somebody’s bound to file a lawsuit.
Those days are gone and Selig and MLB simply must accept that. The changeover happened on his watch, when he decided to do away with league presidents and separate umpiring crews and blend it all under the MLB umbrella.
There’s no going back, either, so Selig must give up on this idea of making the game meaningful, though the American League will remain ever grateful after six consecutive All-Star Game wins translated into six consecutive home-field advantages in the World Series, something the National League has still managed to overcome twice in the last three years.
Selig must face the fact that nobody really cares who wins anymore, not even the players, and he can’t manufacture intensity.
Give up on the home-field advantage thing and let it simply be an exhibition. Because it’s baseball, it’ll still be the best All-Star Game going.
And if I’m ever there again, I suspect I’ll still get a few chill bumps.
Jim Reeves, 817-390-7760
No comments:
Post a Comment