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| 1991 Donruss - Jack Armstrong |
As noted earlier, the All-Star Game is an exhibition, which on its own should not necessarily be a disqualifying characteristic for any sporting event. After all, plenty of people tune in to watch soccer friendlies in which the U.S. Women's National Team win impressively and the U.S. Men's National Team lose in humorous fashion, yet none of those contests count in the way that World Cup results do (with the USWNT still winning impressively and the USMNT still losing in humorous fashion). In the grand scheme of things, how much do any of the games that we watch truly matter, anyway? So much of sports culture today tends to solely be focused on playoffs and championships, which would seem to invalidate much of the action that takes place. Then again, the attitude that games that do not involve likely playoff teams are pointless has frequently been used to disparage the accomplishments of brilliant performers like Mike Trout, so perhaps it is not terribly unique.
There tend to be two primary trains of thought regarding the All-Star Game's decline in prominence in stature - which, again, still requires one to ignore that it receives an exceptionally large amount of attention despite its supposed irrelevance. The first argument often centers around the fact that the initial allure of the All-Star Game was that it brought together players from all Major League teams in an era in which fans would often only get to see players from the league in which their local teams played. The distinction between American and National Leagues remained stark even through the 1990s until being blurred by interleague play's introduction in 1997. Combined with a massively broader media environment that can allow fans to see highlights of any player at any time, a once-per-year event could probably be fairly described as not being necessary in order to, say, allow NL fans to know that Trout exists. The additional criticism of the All-Star Game falls back to the notion that it does not count and therefore should not matter. Much of this sentiment is likely a response to Bud Selig's ham-fisted response to the debacle that was the 2002 All-Star Game tie, with the outsized reward of home field in the World Series that went to the winner of future iterations being as knee-jerk a response as one could make. Pretty much any anti-Selig sentiment is good by me, although a poor incentivization system would seem to be what merits receiving flak rather that the game itself.
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The 1990 All-Star Game was an event to which I greatly looked forward, as I had become hooked on the sport over the course of the previous year and had read a great deal about how supposedly magical it was that Bo Jackson and Wade Boggs had cracked consecutive homers in the bottom of the 1st inning of the 1989 All-Star Game with former President Ronald Reagan in the booth (the lattermost aspect is most certainly less magical now, particularly given the possibility that Reagan's semi-rambling commentary was affected by dementia). At seven years of age, though, staying up late to watch pretty much anything was effectively a non-starter, much less a nine-inning baseball game. This was a shame, as, in my seven-year-old wisdom, I knew that this was truly a contest for the ages. Just look at the pitching matchup, after all. Bob Welch of the A's was 13-3 on the way to a 27-win season and, as any 1990 AL Cy Young winner worth their salt would tell you, wins are the preeminent method of determining pitcher value (and not at all affected by defense or run support). On the other side, the Reds' Jack Armstrong had posted an 11-3 record and a 2.28 ERA in pushing his club to a brilliant start to the season. Armstrong was most certainly a future superstar who stood no chance of, say, pitching to a 5.96 ERA after the break and being dropped from Cincinnati's rotation during its postseason run.
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| 1991 Score - Bob Welch |
I was dejected to miss the game, yet awoke to a surprise. Not only had my grandfather (Papa, as I called him) taped the game, he had made a point to bring it to our house prior to me even getting out of bed the next morning. When we lived with my grandparents during 1991 and 1997, Papa would often tape games for me, even without my asking. I recall watching the epic end of Game 7 of the 1991 World Series before heading off to 4th grade class, while purposely skipping out on a lot of the 1997 Series due to apathy over the matchup between Cleveland and Florida. During that same time, I did request that Papa record another show for me, an upstart program on Comedy Central called South Park. I highly doubt that Papa ever had any idea as to what the show was about or that his initial taping was an episode focused around attempts to cross-breed an elephant and a pig. It was probably for the best.
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For me, awakening to having a tape of a game that I assumed that I would never see was akin to Christmas day. I am fairly certain that the tape went immediately into the VCR and I watched in awe at the spectacle that unfolded in front of me. The pregame introductions were seemingly interminable as I waited for the announcer to finally - *finally* - get to the Mets who had been selected. John Franco! Darryl Strawberry! Frank Viola! Other players. Probably.
There is a sense of irony to my level of excitement, as the high-scoring fireworks that characterized ensuing All-Star contests tended to cause the 1990 game to be considered one of the most "boring" in recent history given its 2-0 final score and lone run-scoring hit. There was nothing boring about the spectacle to me, however, as I no doubt drove my family nuts recounting the minutia that had unfolded on my three-hour-long videotape.
"Did you know that the NL only got two hits in the game? Will Clark singled in the 1st and Lenny Dykstra singled in the 9th!"
"Julio Franco hit a two-run double off of Rob Dibble, but then Darryl Strawberry threw him out at the plate after catching a fly ball!"
"Catchers scored both of the runs, but they are really slow!"
Credit to my mom primarily for listening to all of my excited and largely inconsequential ramblings. I try to be more aware of my audience when talking now, but there are still times in which it feels important that everyone know that Ken Griffey, Jr. is going to be a really good player one day.
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Getting to see so many amazing players and Greg Olson in one place, most of whom I only knew from baseball cards, was remarkable and I am still struck by that spectacle. Yes, with internet access I can now find with ease video of tape measure homeruns by Cody Bellinger and wipeout sliders delivered by José Berríos. Seeing those guys face off with the best of the best playing on one field featuring 30 different uniforms still elicits a positive emotional response in me, even with the knowledge that the game is just a one-off with no major stakes. And I think that is a good thing. Not every game has to be life or death and carry on its shoulders the weight of the world. Thanks to Papa, this will be the 30th year in a row that I will be watching the All-Star Game and I still hold out hope that things will work out for Jack Armstrong.
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