The first Major League Baseball All-Star Game was played at Chicago’s Comiskey Park in 1933; organized in conjunction with the city’s World’s Fair by Chicago Tribune sports editor Arch Ward. The American League won 4-2 behind the stellar play of Babe Ruth, who not only hit the first home run in an All-Star Game history but also robbed the NL’s chances of a comeback in the eighth inning by pulling back Chick Hafey’s otherwise certain yard ball from over the fence, a la a young Ken Griffey, Jr. The game was intended to be a one-off event, held alongside other historic displays of America’s industrial progress, such as Cadillac’s first V-16 limousine and incubators containing live babies. However, the showcase was such a smashing success that the MLB, ever-capitalizing on potential revenue, decided to make it an annual affair.

Today, the Midsummer Classic has grown to include such other cash-generating spectacles as the Sirius XM All-Star Futures Game, the Taco Bell All-Star Legends and Celebrity Softball Game, Gatorade Workout Day and the State Farm Home Run Derby, among various other corporately branded proceedings. The five day celebration concludes with what is supposed to be the exhibition of baseball’s greatest current talents, the All-Star Game itself. The only problem is that Major League Baseball has tried to turn what was once a relaxed, fun-filled atmosphere for players and fans alike into a crucial must-win match-up by granting the winning league home-field advantage in the World Series. This dubious decision was made by Commissioner Bud Selig following his almost equally inexplicable judgment to end the 2002 All-Star Game in a tie following eleven innings of paired play.

Continue Reading “C’Mon Bud, Let’s Bring the Fun Back to the All-Star Game”

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As many of you may know, a colossus of baseball has retired recently.  It was a first for me.  It was the first time in my life that I had witnessed the retirement of not only my all-time favorite baseball player, but my boyhood idol.  Griffey did more for me than most fans.  He not only seduced me with his effortless swing, like he did millions of others, he taught me how to play baseball.  He was a perfect combination of natural born talent, charisma, effort (I’m talking to you Hanley), and youthful vigor, all rolled into the one and only live action Roy Hobbs action figure.  His game had the grace of an antelope fused with the spirit of a 10 year old kid.  If Michelangelo were to paint the roof in the House That Ruth Built, Ken Griffey Jr. highlight reel catches and home runs would fill it from corner to corner.

If Bo knew, The Kid did.  Anybody out there remember how sad they were when Griffey’s season was ruined by having to receive a plate and multiple screws to repair a broken wrist after making a diving/jumping combo catch into the wall?  Complete disregard for his body, all in the name of wanting to make the coolest play a 14 year old could think of.  As a young, fellow south-paw, and eerily similar named kid who loved baseball, I used to mimic his every move between on the diamond.  Shit, at one point I actually learned how to do the Griffey homer hand shake during the ’93 season.  I rocked the backwards hat.  Left-handed swing? check.  And you can bet the barn that I smiled as much, if not more than he did too.  Oh, and that smile. That infectious smile.  Anytime you saw a Griffey highlight you saw that picture perfect smile that was a leftover from his devilish deeds of thievery in the outfield.  This smile is how you knew he was still just a little kid leaving a dream.  He was fortunate enough to have gifts, so gifts are what he gave back.

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