The All-Star Game.  The Midsummer Classic.  A gathering of the best players from the American and National leagues to play a single game.  What an idea. 

It's an event that started seventy-five years ago in Chicago and came from the think-bone of Arch Ward, sports editor of the Chicago Tribune.  Imagine this coming to fruition in 1933.  Television was barely a thought, leaving many of the great players a curiosity in some cities.  Players routinely went barnstorming in the off-season, forming traveling teams with other players and doing a series of exhibition games throughout the country and even Japan.  Heck, many teams scheduled exhibition games in the middle of the season as a chance to gain a little extra money by milking their stars for all they could.  

Baseball was a little different back then.  Motion pictures were making an impact, but live entertainment was the staple, and the baseball diamond became a place where heroes and stars were born.  A baseball game, whether it "counted" or was simply an exhibition, was high entertainment; gathering the elite players of the day in an exhibition game against each other would stand as the ultimate barnstorming experience. 

The appeal lasted for quite a long time.  Even with the invention of television, it wasn't too often that you could see an out of market game, save for a few nationally televised games.  The All Star game was an opportunity to see all of those players you heard so many great things about in one evening.

As a kid, I loved it.  Not because I wanted to see these other players, but because I wanted to see my guys do well on the big stage.  Nothing made me happier than when my players performed well in the All Star game because, if you did it in the All Star game, you must be great. 

As an adult, the All Star game has almost no appeal to me.  I find the Home Run Derby somewhat interesting, if only to see a bunch of guys mash balls further than they might in a game.  Despite the best efforts of the commissioner’s office, I find the game itself to be a bore.

Jaded adulthood?  Maybe.  I'm less susceptible to event hype now than I was as a child. When a promo told me that the All Star game was going to be exciting, you better believe I was excited.  I knew it was going to be great because the television told me so.  The television has done a lot more than that, though.  Now, I see highlights of every game on a nightly basis.  The National League West isn't such a mystery anymore and, if I want, I can spend a few extra bucks a year and get ALL of the games right in my own living room.   

With inter-league play, I can now see some out-of-towners on my local broadcast. The wall between the American and National leagues has been ripped down, the curiosity that lingered around the Fall Classic stripped away in favor of highly profitable inter-league regional showdowns, bringing high ratings, high ticket sales, and gaudy memorabilia that loses its appeal a week later.

I complain about all of these developments as if they're bad for the sport.  They're not.  I love that I can watch any game in my living room.  Getting a good rundown of what happened that night in the span of an hour fits my ridiculous schedule.  As much as inter-league play bothers me when the match-ups are nothing but required inter-divisional games, I do get a jolt when the Yankees play the Mets.   

All of these things are great for the sport of baseball.  They're just not good for the All Star game.

Who cares about exhibition games anymore?  If a game doesn't have any meaning in the standings or even contribute to players’ seasonal stats, nobody pays attention.  It's as if the game didn't even happen.  The novelty of simply watching and enjoying a baseball game has been worn off by its availability. 

This lethargy towards the All Star game had been festering for quite awhile until 2002, when managers Joe Torre and Bob Brenly made the mistake of treating an exhibition game like and exhibition game and used all of their rosters, leaving no pitchers available for the twelfth inning.

There was outrage.  How could you have en exhibition game without an ending?  People complained that the game was treated like it didn't mean anything.  The reaction was so strong that Major League Baseball decided the game should take on more importance, linking home field advantage in the World Series to the victor of the All Star game. 

After the tie, Joe Torre sympathized with Bud Selig's situation, saying, "I feel bad for Bud.  Bob and I had talked. You can't have it both ways. You can't have all the people see all the players.''  

That's really the crux of it, isn't it?  Who is this game for, the adults who have the extra money to spend on a ticket to the All Star game, or the kids who just want to see their favorite player be crowned an All Star and get his two at-bats?   

I didn't care when the game ended in a tie.  If I was twelve years old and you made me pick between a tie game and watching Don Mattingly hit in the All Star game, I would have picked Mattingly every time.  

At this point, the All Star game is a fading relic whose appeal can't match its former glory.  Selig's attempt to legitimize the game by placing post-season ramifications on the outcome is a lame attempt at pacifying the wrong fans.  The game is now for the younger generation, a chance to feel like their favorite players are heroes, excelling in a game against their ultimate peers.

That is, of course, if they play.

Scott Ham can be reached at scotth23@hotmail.com