Kerry Wood & Mark Prior

July 7, 2003

Photographed by Michael O’Neill

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”

Since its inclusion in 1985, I have always felt that the home run derby was, without a doubt, the highlight of the All-Star break.  There was nothing more exciting than watching the most prolific home run hitters put on an unparalleled display of power, as a way of giving back to the major league baseball fan base.  Baseball’s best power hitters seemed honored to be selected for the derby, and it was clear that they were whole-heartedly competing.

However, that was then.

Now, the home run derby is an embarrassing, lesser version of what it once was, featuring out-dated commentators and shitty, intolerable music that can be heard three states over.  It has become an overly publicized, commercial event that fails to recognize and compliment the most impressive players in baseball.  What happened to the days where guys like Ken Griffey, Jr., Frank Thomas, Juan Gonzalez and Jim Thome battled each other, round by round, while creating an electrifying environment within the given park?  I’d prefer a derby featuring juicers like McGwire and Sosa than the anticlimactic atmosphere that I had to sit through last night.  I thought that baseball’s all-star game and home run derby actually reflected the best players in baseball?  It seems as though the derby has now become an event much like the Pro-Bowl, where the players would rather protect their bodies and swings than participate in an elite event that was once a highlight of the MLB season.  It’s a running joke.

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As I was browsing Sports Illustrated’s archive of covers, I came across something so disturbing that it forced me to reevaluate their legitimacy, and consider a moratorium on my ‘Classic Sports Illustrated Covers’ series.  Sure, I know that it is part of their business to market what is trending across sports, but it is not their business to disgrace living legends.  I get that Jeff Francoeur was one of the most exciting, young, baseball players when he graced the cover in 2005, but there is no way that Sports Illustrated could have honestly believed that he was Cooperstown bound.  To make matters worse, SI’s contentious cover proclaimed Francoeur as “The Natural,” exactly as it did when Ken Griffey, Jr. burst on the scene in 1990.  Comparing an over-producing rookie to what Junior had done in the 15 years since that first cover is a blatant insult.  Hell, even Robert Redford should be pissed off.

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Watching the World Cup has been a real treat for me this year because I have been blessed enough to take in matches the way God righteously intended when he gave us television: on a 50-something inch flatscreen in 1080p High-Definition picture. Being a broke college student most of the last half-decade, HDTV was nothing more to me than something I drooled over when strolling stoned through Best Buy on my way to play their free PS3. But now that I have finally graduated, things are looking up: I’ve moved back in with Mom and Dad, whose hard work has provided us all the opportunity to sit around on the couch and watch in vivid detail every individual drop of sweat dripping down each little vuvuzela-blowing African child’s chin, and now that I don’t have school or a job I’ve had nothing stopping me from catching those morning and daytime matchups working stiffs despise and getting so stoned I sometimes believe I am actually in a room filled with Madonna and Sandra Bullock’s vuvuzela-blowing children. Soccer is now finally living up to its billing as the beautiful game, all thanks to High Definition television.

Continue Reading “High Definition a Huge Disaster?”