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We watched last night's All-Star Game -- well, most of it -- and have to say that we enjoyed it much more than we thought we would. It was all you could hope for in a big game, mainly that it was a tight, exciting game and had a few big and totally out-of-nowhere plays that make baseball such a fun sport. We mean, an inside-the-park home run? Go, go, Ichiro. And one of the best parts of the game was reconfirming why we have an intense dislike of Tony LaRussa. Leaving Pujols on the bench? LaRussa would pull double switches and go for pitching matchups in Tee Ball.
We love seeing these games on TV for reasons already spelled out, mainly because it's a great way to show off the city and our little jewel of a park. And while watching it, we remembered why we loved the All-Star Game as a kid: seeing all the colors and uniforms, the bunting, and--God, we love our new HDTV. We have to admit that this whole thing filled us with a weird sensation that we couldn’t quite put a finger on. You know, like when you made that ashtray in fifth grade art class and everyone was in awe of your kilning skills? Except instead of an ashtray, it’s the whole city. (And do kids make ashtrays anymore when you do pottery in art class? Maybe they do figures representing endangered species these days.) Anyway, we’re so gosh darn proud of our little city for being so gosh darn picturesque whenever broadcast sporting events show the same three or four attractions over and over again that somehow features no homeless people or hippies.
But our favorite moment of the game happened before the game. We were listening to Tom Tolbert and he started wondering what was the point of the third base coach box. After all, it's not really needed as nobody sticks to it and most coaches know where to position themselves anyway. The only reason why it's there is because decades and decades ago it was created for God knows what reason, and since baseball is baseball and as tradition rules all, it's still there. And then we thought about it and we realized the third base coach box is one of the things we loved most about baseball. Just like we enjoy how managers wear uniforms, the seventh-inning stretch, and the singing of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." It's quirky and silly and kind of hokey and completely unique to the sport. It exists now because it existed years ago and it'll still exist even after the polar ice caps melt and the New York Yankees win their 150th World Series at home in their floating stadium (the House A Rod Built).
So thank you, All-Star Game, for making us remember why we love the game. Bring on the second half.
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In the Mission, and points thereabout, the coolest part of the game was watching the fighter jets fly over the ballpark on television, and then hearing them thunder over our heads.
I can't believe La Russa didn't use Pujols as a pinch hitter in the ninth! I was screaming at the TV during those last two at-bats. The stage was set: bottom of the ninth of the All Star game, the winning run is on base, Francisco Rodriguez is pitching. A Pujols/K-Rod battle would have been an epic finale. Instead La Russa let Orlando Hudson and Aaron Rowand hit? Lame.
Coaching boxes date from 1886; scroll down to entry for November 16th.