By JimR
THE 2012 ALL-STAR GAME
On Tuesday, Major League Baseball will celebrate itself by playing the 83rd All-Star Game. In theory, this game features the best players from the American League and the National League and is designed to determine League supremacy on an annual basis. The 2012 incarnation of best versus best will be played at Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City and can be watched at home on Fox. First played in 1933 and quickly dubbed the “Midsummer Classic,” the All-Star Game has a rich history and tradition for baseball fans of a certain generation. Memorable moments from past games include Carl Hubbell’s five consecutive strikeouts of future Hall of Famers in 1934, Ted Williams’ walk-off three-run homer in 1941, Williams’ long home run off the “eephus” pitch in 1946, Jackie Robinson and three other Black players in 1949, Stan Musial’s walk-off 12th inning homer in 1955, Pete Rose’s shoulder-first “slide” dismantling Ray Fosse with the winning run in 1970, and the scoreless tie until the 13th inning in 1987.
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We started as friends, she and I. Only a name on an employee roster to me, we stood beside each other at a law firm happy hour and began talking. I liked her instantly and hoped to talk to her again. Over time we did talk again, and I learned her life story. I admired immensely her determination and perseverance because life had thrown boulders at her. Seemingly unscathed, she raised three children, largely alone, and she obtained a four-year college degree while working two and three jobs to support her family. Unhappy marriages and unhappier occurrences had scarred her, however, and she dealt with demons. My life had fallen apart as well, and I divorced after 32 years. We leaned on our friendship and each other to get through the days. Talking with her became important to me, and we closed our conversations with “soon” so that each would know that we would be back in touch soon.
We began a romance, she and I. Slowly but surely, our friendship deepened into something more. We began as social companions because I was lonely, and perhaps she was also. I was fearful and hesitant at times. I had not dated in over 30 years, and I was nervous that I would do or say something wrong. She went to baseball games with me and said she loved them. We did simple things I could afford, and Saturday breakfasts for migas at different places all around Austin became our special tradition. We liked movies and kicker dancing at the Broken Spoke. She cooked dinner for me and made my favorite dishes. She said I was “wonderful;” I knew I was not, but I loved that she thought so. She helped me deal with my loneliness and lost relationship, and I tried to help her exorcise her demons. We had fun together, and it was the best relationship I ever had.
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The original All-Star Game was meant to be a one-time event to be played as a part of Chicago’s Century of Progress Exposition. Arch Ward, then Sports Editor for The Chicago Tribune, conceived the idea for the game, and its great success resulted in MLB’s making it an annual showcase of big league baseball’s most talented players. In 1933 and 1934, the managers and fans selected the teams, but from 1935 through 1946, only the managers selected the teams. From 1947 to 1957, fans selected the starters and the manager chose the pitchers and remaining members.
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We fell in love, she and I. We seemed so compatible and spent each evening together watching TV, reading or talking. She listened when I talked and was attentive and loving. I enjoyed giving her gifts and making her smile. I told her I loved her many times each day. We began attending law firm events as a couple, and my friends became her friends too. She invited me to family meals, and I tried to convince her children that their mom was in good hands. I wanted to be her hero, her knight in shining armor and her guy on a white horse all rolled into one. We had problems, sure, but they seemed manageable, and I knew she loved me.
One night we became lovers, she and I. It was completely unplanned and completely wonderful. We spent that night together, and I never experienced such pleasure from sleeping. We slept a peaceful sleep of contented and happy people, holding and being held all night long. I began to think of forever for the first time. I am too old fashioned to live with someone so we continued to live apart with occasional “sleepovers.” Each time our sleeping was an extraordinary aspect of being lovers. I loved her fiercely and looked forward to each tomorrow with her.
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Ballot-box stuffing by overzealous Cincinnati fans resulted in seven Reds being selected to start the 1957 game, and as a result, managers, players and coaches selected the entire teams from 1958 through 1969. Fan balloting for starters returned in 1970 and remains today. From 1959 through 1962, MLB had two All-Star Games each year for reasons known only to the baseball executive who thought more is better. The abominable Designated Hitter now is used in every game regardless whether the venue is an American League ballpark. Beginning in 2003, “this time it counts;” the winner of the All-Star Game determines home field advantage for the World Series.
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We decided to marry, she and I. We had discussed marriage at length, of course, and we went ring shopping together. Even so, I surprised her with my proposal, to which she replied, “Are you kidding?” “Yes!” followed quickly. We decided there was no reason to wait and picked June 16, 2005 as our wedding day. Our best friends stood up for us, and a close friend performed the ceremony. It was an exciting day at a beautiful location, and I was giddy with delight to marry her. This marriage I would get right. We were husband and wife, she and I.
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For the modern fan, the All-Star Game likely is a fun event with its carnival-like atmosphere, Home Run Derby, Futures Game, Celebrity Softball Game and Fan Fest. To the long-time fan, however, today’s All-Star Game is nothing more than a flashy media event that is empty and meaningless. Players look for any hangnail or twinge to call an injury so that they can have the days off rather than play. Replacements for the “injured” All-Stars are commonplace, and the game looks to be about as serious as the average company softball game.
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We enjoyed life together, she and I. We began each morning with coffee and conversation, and our days and evenings were full. Plays, shows, museums, concerts, symphonies, lectures, sporting events, restaurants, happy hours, family outings, kids’ sports, holiday celebrations: we did all of these and more. We enjoyed the same activities, and, best of all, we enjoyed each other’s company. When she joined me at a restaurant or another place I reached first, she kissed me before she took her seat. She made me feel like a king. I loved the things we did, but I loved being with her most of all. My life was complete because she was with me.
We travelled the world, she and I. She lived in Germany in another life and convinced me to travel there with her. I loved Bavaria instantly and wanted to return with her again and again. We visited many places, on cruise ships, by train and by plane. Together we experienced the Panama Canal, the breadth of Canada, the Caribbean, Alaska, the Normandy beaches, the Eagles Nest, a transatlantic crossing on the Queen Mary 2, a train ride across Canada, being in the midst of 82 whales in Puget Sound, Niagara Falls, Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, the Eiffel Tower, the Romantic Road, Oktoberfest, the Charles Bridge and, wonder of wonders, Red Square and the Winter Palace in Russia. No one has ever planned a trip as well as she, and I never experienced such joy as travelling with her. Each trip was better than the one before, and I thought we would travel to the end of my days. She enriched my life beyond measure.
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The “who cares” approach to winning the game culminated in the infamous tie in 2002 when both teams ran out of pitchers because neither manager was trying to win, and the Commissioner ended the game after 11 innings amidst a chorus of boos from the cheated fans. No more are the days when the outcome truly mattered to the players in each league, and the games were as fiercely played and were as highly competitive as any World Series contest. The All-Star Game has become an exhibition of high-priced, bored talent and nothing more.
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We are no longer together, she and I. Our happiness is no more, and angry fighting consumes our waking moments. We live separately under the same roof and rarely are in the same room at the same time. We do not sleep in the same bed, and we hold only our pillows as we sleep. We drink our coffee apart and do not plan our days in pleasant conversation. We do not get ready for work together, and we eat our meals on opposite sides of our house. Angry words have replaced “I love you today,” and the end is inevitable. I mourn the death of our relationship as I mourn our fathers’ deaths, and I do not know what is next for me. This end was unthinkable when we were in Russia, and our demise will surprise those who know us. She has fallen out of love with me and sees only my many faults. I love everything about her except a single issue, but I can no longer live with that issue. There is no warmth, no tenderness, no softness and no vulnerability. There is only stubborn pride and bitter resentment. Has love died?
We will divorce, she and I. I made a selfish decision in her time of need that she cannot forgive, and she said angry words to me that cannot be taken back. We will sell our house and divide our property, our joint funds, our debts and our joint possessions. We will end our life together with a stroke of a pen. Finally, we will go our separate ways, stepping over the wreckage of our life and perhaps never looking back. Our lifetime together will be a mere seven years. There may be someone else for her, and there may be someone else for me, but we will no longer be she and I. We could not overcome the issues that each of us saw in the other, and those issues destroyed us.
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Today’s All-Star Game is a watered-down love fest between players who change teams and leagues often, who have no strong allegiance to either League, and who sometimes leave the ballpark early so they can beat the traffic home. Simply put, the modern player appears to not care about winning or even playing in this game. MLB’s All-Star Game does not capture the rapt attention of fans who remember nostalgically the Game as an exciting, hard-fought contest between great players who were going all out to win. Many, perhaps most, of these fans who remember fondly the game of their youth no longer watch today’s All-Star Game. Like a lost love, the meaningful All-Star Game of our past is long gone, but not forgotten, and is never to return.
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We will not grow old together, she and I. We will leave each other to be alone, but the memories of our life will never leave us. We were one only yesterday, it seems. How one can become two so quickly and so completely is unfathomable. How love can turn to hate in the blink of an eye cannot be explained. Forever in my heart will be words she spoke only a few months ago: “We are so lucky to have the life we have.” Yes, we were lucky, she and I.
We had a great life together, she and I.
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If you care, follow the 83rd All-Star Game in the Game Zone