Sidelines
Can baseball
save itself this time?THE all-stars played last night, played under the cloud of an impending strike, played under the suspicion that half the hulks out there are doing drugs. Played until Major League commissioner Bud Selig told them that there is, indeed, tying in baseball.
Things were not looking good.
The recent death of the great Ted Williams might have added a little gravity, a little dignity, a little class to baseball, circa 2002. But now comes word that Williams' crazy son, John Henry, has decided to freeze his dad's body for later use, like in "Austin Powers."
When I think of such a giant of the game, such a towering, swaggering presence, such a fierce hitter, such a defiant man treated in such a manner, one deep down, heartfelt thought comes to mind: hahahahahaha!
Sorry. Just thinking about the same thing happening to Albert Belle.
No, seriously, we should take this as a life lesson to pay attention to our kids now, make them a part of our lives while we can. Let's not wait too long to embrace them, trying to make up for it all in our old age. Some people worry about their ingrate kids someday getting back at them by putting them in a home. No, now we have to worry that they'll exploit us for cash, cut us off from all our friends and finally, in death, turn us into a late night punch line.
The commercials tell us that baseball will announce its most memorable moment at the 2002 World Series. Tell me: Will you ever forget where you were when you heard about Ted Williams on Ice?
No, I am not happy with baseball right now. The magic is gone, the thrill has left us. We know too many dirty secrets, we see too much soiled laundry. We understand economics and business and labor statistics better than any innocent ever should.
And on top of all that, the Yankees are winning.
And so the question in these dire times is this. Can baseball save itself?
No, probably not.
But I watched the All-Star Game on TV last night anyway. Yes, mainly I did so because if I see another commercial for the "ESPYs" I will shoot my television, the way legend has it Elvis once did. (With Fox, you trade those for ads for Geraldo, "30 Seconds to Fame" and a beer commercial that featured Kid Rock arm wrestling a woman with no teeth.)
Luckily, the All-Star Game, the Midsummer Classic, is a traditionally time of fantasy and renewal, when we can be kids again for a few hours, when, for a day, we can pretend that the Good Old Days are now.
Did it work? Am I excited about baseball again? Well, not as excited as I am about the new Adam Sandler movie.
Still too much hype, still too much strife, not enough Ichiro. The storm was still coming. Barry Bonds is still bigger than the Phillie Phanatic.
But the All-Star Game couldn't hurt, could it?
Bob Uecker was there in uniform. Jorge Posada sent out his own personal Mini-Me. The giant scoreboard in center field said "Miller Time."
For an at-bat, the soothing tones of Ernie Harwell held the clouds at bay.
Uecker told the broadcast crew stories about catching fly balls with a tuba.
Yes, it ended bizarrely. But any time the man from "Mr. Belvedere" makes an appearance, you know there is hope.
Kalani Simpson can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com