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Tune into the only All Star Game that matters

Do you compile Pro Bowl memories like MLB All-Star Game ones? Of course not.
 
Published July 16, 2018|Updated July 16, 2018

Summer was for beach days and watermelons and shorty pajamas and fighting with my brother over who gets to sleep in front of the fan.

And summer was for the MLB All-Star Game.

They'll hold the Midsummer Classic on Tuesday night at Washington's Nationals Park, and I have to tune in, because that's what I do in July. That's July. It's the All-Star Game.

It doesn't matter that baseball has changed. Maybe it's the money. Maybe it's the past steroids atrocities. Who really looks at baseball the same anymore?

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I'll watch anyway because, for one thing, baseball's All-Star Game is the only one that matters, and not just because nothing else is on. The NFL shouldn't even play the Pro Bowl. The NHL All-Star Game is silly, even with its revised format. They jump over cars blindfolded and dunk basketballs in and around the preposterous NBA All-Star Game.

Only baseball. The game resembles the game, at least, pitcher against batter, same matchups. Who doesn't want to watch Mike Trout? Who doesn't want to see Justin Verlander?

Most important: They wear their own uniforms.

Okay, so it isn't like it used to be. Player loyalty and loyalty to players is fleeting. Hank Aaron was a Brave and Willie Mays was a Giant. I realize now that it was an evil thing, the reserve clause, and that this is progress. But today's All-Stars change teams now like they change undershirts. I don' even know half these guys.

Growing up, there was nothing bigger than wanting to see your guys — on your team — introduced before the game, that half step off the foul line, maybe a smile and a tip of the cap. That was must-see. The All-Star Game was must-see.

When I was a kid, that meant waiting on Yankees to get in the game. It meant cheering at the TV as a tottering Mickey Mantle came out of the dugout. It sometimes meant waiting all night for quiet, unassuming Roy White to get in the game, then he didn't.

It meant hanging on every pitch, hoping the American League would beat the National League, as if it was the Cold War or something. It meant everything but a street celebration when Fred Lynn's grand slam helped the AL plaster the NL at Comiskey Park in 1983.

The All-Star Game meant Pete Rose barreling over Ray Fosse. It meant watching Reggie Jackson hit one off the roof at Tiger Stadium or Dave Parker cutting down baserunners in Seattle.

American League All-Star Carl Crawford of the Tampa Bay Rays robs a home run from National League All-Star Brad Hawpe of the Colorado Rockies during the 2009 MLB All-Star Game at Busch Stadium. (Photo by Dilip Vishwanat/Getty Images)

Rays fans might understand. In 2008, rookie third baseman Evan Longoria was a hero, singling home a run to tie what became a marathon. In 2009, Carl Crawford was voted game MVP, mostly for a dazzling catch that took away a home run.

Only baseball's All-Star Game has real history.

Why don't you count up all your Pro Bowl memories?

Go ahead. I'll wait.

Baseball has 1934, Carl Hubbell striking out five Hall of Famers in a row — Ruth, Gehrig, Foxx, Simmons, Cronin.

Baseball has Ted Williams and Stan Musial winning all-star games with home runs.

Baseball has 1992, John Kruk flailing at Randy Johnson, laughing as he did. Everyone else laughed, too.

Baseball has 1999, All-Stars gathered around that same Ted Williams at Fenway Park as Teddy Ballgame threw out the ceremonial first pitch.

Baseball has 2008, Josh Hamilton's spectacular exhibition in the home run derby. Baseball has last year, Giancarlo Stanton. A Marlin at the time, winning the derby in Miami

Baseball and its All-Star Game. There is no substitute. Rays star left-hander Blake Snell will be on the AL roster Tuesday night (Rays catcher Wilson Ramos, voted a starter, will miss the game because of an injury). Who knows if Snell will pitch, but he'll be out there for intros. A step forward, a tip of the cap. Rays fans should smile. That used to be a good midsummer for me. Still is, really. Nothing much has changed.

Except for the shorty pajamas.

Contact Martin Fennelly at mfennelly@tampabay.com or (813) 731-8029.