By Robert Whiting (2014)
The MLB All-Star Game used to be a great event. It was the focus of great nationwide attention in the United States and also has had special meaning for fans in Japan, dating back to 1995, when Hideo Nomo was selected to start the mid-season all-star game of that year. But these days the game is increasingly losing relevance, and it is almost pointless to even have this event anymore.
The All-Star Game was established in 1934, thanks to an idea by Chicago Tribune sportswriter Arch Ward. It was an exciting idea because at the time, the National League and the American League hardly ever had any contact with each other except for the World Series and Spring Training exhibitions. People wanted to know which league had the best stars.
That first 1934 game was memorable because Hall of Famer Carl Hubbell of the Giants struck out Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Al Simmons and Joe Cronin—setting a long-standing mark for consecutive strikeouts. Originally intended to be just a one-time event, the game was such a roaring success that it became an annual event.
Players did their best to compete, most starters invariably playing the entire game, and there were many memorable moments over the years.
There was Ted Williams in the 1950 All-Star Game slamming into an outfield wall chasing a fly ball and breaking his arm. Still, Williams, his arm swelling painfully, stayed in the game for 8 more innings and drove in the winning run. Then there was the game Pete Rose won single-handedly, in one of the most infamous plays in All-Star history.
That game took place on July 14, 1970. With two out in the 12th inning, Rose came up against the California Angels’ Clyde Wright and smacked a single, advancing to second base on another single. The next batter singled sharply to center, and Rose barreled over Cleveland Indians catcher Ray Fosse to score the winning run, in a cloud of dust. In the collision, Fosse suffered a fractured and separated shoulder (the injury initially went undiagnosed until the following year, as Fosse continued to play in the second half of the season). The collision also caused Rose to miss three games with a bruised knee.
That was real hard-nosed baseball. The players wanted to show how good they were. It was a matter of pride. Unfortunately, today such behavior would be unimaginable for an MLB player.
The problem is that the players who play in the All-Star Game are not just all-star players anymore—they are “investments” worth millions and millions of dollars each, with an agent, a business manager, a PR representative and a handful of other advisors. Few stars really want to play. They don’t want the hassle of getting on a plane and flying hours to a city just for one night. Moreover, playing in an All-Star Game risks injury and subsequent loss in salary and endorsement income, which is something the player and the business people around him wish desperately to avoid.
That means that unlike years past, where most starters stayed in the game for as long as possible, today’s position players will play a couple of innings and then be taken out (usually not even staying around to watch the end of the contest), while most pitchers will only throw one inning or so—not nearly enough to develop a rhythm or a presence. Pitchers who start on the Sunday before the game break will not make an appearance. Exhibit A in this case is Masahiro Tanaka, the best pitcher in MLB in 2014, who was scheduled to make a start on July 13, two days before the All-Star Game this year in Minnesota, which, as Yankees manager Joe Girardi noted, would make Tanaka ineligible for the game. Exhibit B was Yu Darvish, another top AL hurler, slated to pitch the same day as Tanaka. The Japanese pitcher shook his head “no” several times when asked if he’d be willing to pitch an inning in the All-Star Game if he does indeed pitch on July 13. He said he would prefer to focus on “sightseeing.”
And that is the great pity. The competitive intensity that once characterized the All-Star Game is simply not there anymore. It is now just a dog and pony show preceded by a meaningless home run derby featuring 50-mile-per-hour fastballs thrown by aging coaches.
There are now 34 players per roster—an all-time high—and there must be at least one player from each MLB team. That means 68 players in all. That is a lot of all-stars. It dilutes the meaning of the term.
The ridiculousness of All-Star competition reached an apex in Milwaukee in 2002, when both teams ran out of pitchers in the 11th inning and Commissioner Bud Selig had to call the game a tie, to the boos and angry jeers of fans who threw beer bottles onto the field. The sports media was highly critical of this unsatisfactory conclusion.
To provide additional incentive for victory, MLB reached an agreement with the MLBPA to award home field advantage for the World Series to the champion of the league that won the All-Star Game. But there is still no guarantee that a repeat of 2002 will not occur.
To avoid future ties due to a lack of available players, managers were instructed to hold back a few select position players and pitchers. However, this has resulted in some fan dissatisfaction and controversy, because some players are then never actually used in a game.
This is questionable for a couple of reasons: the players don’t much care about the All-Star Game, and the combined roster from 30 teams is supposed to somehow affect the fortunes of the two teams that actually meet up in the World Series. That makes little sense. Also, the fact that fans can vote means that players the respective all-star team managers might choose as necessary to win the game might not be on the squad. In effect, the fans are given the power to choose home field advantage in the World Series.
The idea of league all-stars versus league all-stars has greatly diminished in importance with the advent of interleague play, which has become so common throughout the season that fans these days barely notice that, say, a game like Texas Rangers versus Houston Astros is actually a contest between an American League and a National League team. The distinction has become increasingly blurred.
The result of all this is that average viewership for the MLB All-Star Game on TV has declined by 30% over the past seven years.
Japanese fans may be able to brag that their homegrown heroes can perform on this nationwide stage, but their stars’ actual role in the game is increasingly pointless—as is the game itself. It has become one big waste of time and money.
Tokyo Junkie 