Competition In The All-Star Game

Alasdair MacIntyre recounts an anecdote in After Virtue, his book arguing for a return to a sort of Aristotelian ethics:

“Yet perhaps explanations are not needed, for perhaps the failure that the dominant tradition tries to explain is like King Charles II’s dead fish. Charles II once invited the members of the Royal Society to explain to him why a dead fish weighs more than the same fish alive; a number of subtle explanations were offered to him. He then pointed out that it does not.”

I bring this up because I’m still trying to figure out why in the hell the All-Star game will decide who gets home field advantage in the World Series.

Allowing for exceptions, many members of the sports media often seem like the Royal Society members -- they can develop explanations for anything on the fly and prattle on. Most of us call this bullshit (unless we happen to agree). The problem, of course, is that the given reasons don’t form a valid argument; conclusions don’t follow from true premises. All the explanations I’ve heard for why we need the All-Star game to be competitive are like explanations for why a dead fish is heavier: we don’t actually need it, at least not like this.

So, are there any arguments regarding the All-Star game worth considering, or is it all just bullshit?

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It all started, of course, when the All-Star game ended in a tie in 2002 because each team ran out of pitchers. Then, outcry! because there are no ties in baseball; this is as fundamental to its pastoral attraction as the notion that there is no clock winding down. The tie happened because the character of the All-Star game had evolved to the point where it was more important that everyone play than for the team to win. To trace the history of how this happened is to trace the evolution of modern baseball.

I watched a documentary narrated by James Earl Jones the other evening called “There Was Always Sun Shining Someplace: Life in the Negro Baseball Leagues.” It came out in 1989, long before any of this mess. Even so, the writer took extra care to focus on the Negro Leagues All-Star games (the East-West games), emphasizing their significance to Negro League baseball, as well as to American culture at large (and in particular, the culture of “Black America” as it is called in the documentary). In interviews, former Negro League players remember that the All-Star game was the highlight of many player’s careers. Many of these players traveled all winter long to South America and to the Latin American countries in order to play all year round; that’s the documentary’s focus. Yet, it was the All-Star game where players made their name, as Comiskey Park filled beyond capacity for the contests.

The Negro League Baseball website also describes this:

“Contributing greatly to the ever-growing national popularity of Negro League baseball during the 1930s and 1940s was the East-West All-Star game played annually at Chicago's Comiskey Park. Originally conceived as a promotional tool by Gus Greenlee in 1933, the game quickly became black baseball's most popular attraction and biggest money maker. From the first game forward the East-West classic regularly packed Comiskey Park while showcasing the Negro League's finest talent.”

(The only games more significant to the players, perhaps, were the games where Negro League teams played Major League teams in Yankee Stadium. Yankee owner Colonel Jacob Ruppert was willing to use Yankee Stadium for these exhibition double-headers. It was in these games that Satchel Paige earned his reputation as perhaps the greatest pitcher of the era. It is interesting to note, though, that on September 9, 1934, one such exhibition game in which Satchel Paige dueled Slim Jones to a 1-1 tie was called on account of darkness.)

The Major League All-Star game tradition also began in 1933, in June. (The Negro League East-West game followed in September.) It also drew huge crowds right from its inception, and became an instant tradition. More significant though is that the game was not a friendly exhibition; it was competitive, and it stayed that way for decades. In 1977, commenting about the game, Sparky Anderson said , "The only reason we're here is to kick the living hell out of those guys." I can’t imagine anyone saying that in 2005.

By the end of the ‘90s, however, the game stopped feeling its importance, and became much less competitive. It became more of a celebration, a tribute, than an actual baseball game. As such, inclusion became important because no one should feel neglected in a celebration. Thus, the notion crept in that everyone should get to play, as it followed easily from the game’s new climate.

But oh, the celebrations! In 2001, it was all about Cal Ripken. After giving up the homerun that would make Ripken the game’s MVP, Chan Ho Park said , "It was an amazing moment. The first pitch I ever threw in an All-Star Game was the last home run for Mr. Ripken. It’s a big gift for him. It made him MVP, that’s pretty good." (Doesn’t sound like Sparky, does it?) In 2002 (the tie game), it was all about Ted Williams, with a huge tribute following his recent death. On that night Major League Baseball did its best to link itself to its sense of tradition, going so far as to name the MVP trophy after Ted Williams. It was a grand celebration, too. Except there was no MVP because the game was declared a tie. It’s hard to imagine a more poignant moment to illustrate how much baseball had actually deviated from this part of its tradition.

It’s not to say that this is a bad thing, or a good thing; it’s just true, cold and objective. I don’t mean to pronounce judgment, because I’m not willing to take the angle that change in baseball is inherently bad, or that tradition is inherently good. Sometimes change means improvement, sometimes it detracts. Sometimes a change hurts the game, but avoiding that change might have been even worse. All of this is to say that I’m not bothering to argue whether changing conditions have been good or bad. It’s just to show what conditions the All-Star game now has as its context, in order to figure out whether it still has meaning enough to deserve to have something of importance attached to it, like the World Series home field advantage.

I know most of you probably already agree that this was a stupid decision by Major League Baseball, but maybe it’s still worth thinking about how the game has changed, and what sorts of arguments these changes produce. (If you don’t think it’s worth reading, bail now.)

The American League and National League blend much more now. Players switch leagues with more frequency. Umpires even call games for each league. Add in the big one, Interleague play, and it’s no longer the case that star players will never compete against stars from the other league. A player is bound to play against just about everyone over the course of a few years now. We can speculate, perhaps, that this erodes the sense of pride in winning the All-Star game. If you are a National League star hitter, and you hear about how great an American League pitcher is, I have to figure that you feel some sense of wanting to face him to see if he’s so great after all. There’s a sense that you want to show him up, and assert yourself. How can there not be in a competitive sport? The All-Star game used to be your chance; now, there are plenty of chances.

There’s also the injury risk. Most of the quotes after the 2002 game revolved around the notion that it would have been worse to continue playing -- and to risk someone getting hurt -- than to piss everyone off by declaring a tie. Selig said this, as did the players themselves. There is no disputing their line of reasoning, either, but it does show another way that the game has changed.

Most All-Stars are somewhere between 1 and 3 years away from a new contract, and there’s no doubt that any major injury at any point in those three years will cost them millions of dollars. That’s a lot to put at risk. Baseball has always been a livelihood to its players, and a livelihood-threatening injury has always been a great fear, but now there is a disconnect: baseball is the only way for most of these players to earn such wealth. Before the wealth, it was probably worth the risk to play as hard as possible in an exhibition because that’s the game you’ve chosen, and to play as hard as possible is the only way to play it right. Factor in the wealth -- or, more so, the chance of losing future wealth -- and it’s not worth it anymore. There is a risk to an athlete’s health every time he suits up, but this generation has never known a situation where teams did not reward successful ballplayers with huge salaries. To expect a player from this generation to ignore this fact for the All-Star game, which has always been front and center in his worldview, is impossible (and selfish on our part).

The counterargument to this line of reasoning is that it’s the fans who collectively provide the wealth to these players, the players should feel appreciative for this wealth, the All-Star game is the fans’ game, and therefore the players should lay it out on the line to show appreciation. The weak premise in this argument is that the All-Star game is the fans’ game. It used to be that fans’ also never got to see the stars from the other league, but that’s not true any more, either. With television, a subscription package and a TiVo, one could watch nearly every game for any particular team. Even without the extra stuff, television stations cover every single team with highlights. There’s certinaly a small measure of enjoyment in seeing someone like Roger Clemens pitch to someone like Manny Ramirez in a close All-Star game, because of their histories with the Red Sox, but this small measure of enjoyment is not enough to convince me that the players owe us a competitive All-Star game. Moreover, one might be tempted to extend the argument to say that the players should compete like they would in a regular season or playoff game because of the prices the fans are paying to see the All-Star game itself. Yet, if I were to pay to attend, I would know what I am getting, and mostly I would be paying for the carnival aspect, not for a competition.

Factor in also the rather new notion that in terms of winning, only a championship really matters to anyone anymore, not an individual game for a losing team, and certainly not an exhibition game. It follows that only games that increase one’s chances of winning the championship are worth risking injury. That’s not to say that players don’t (or shouldn’t) feel duty to fulfill their contracts by playing as hard as possible and trying to win as much as possible if they are on losing teams, because duty is duty and a contract is a contract, but games that don’t contribute to a playoff run go straight to the wayside.

The factors against the All-Star game being allowed to matter are thus stacked pretty persuasively. They owe largely to the new climate of Major League baseball and one can certainly argue that perhaps the powers that be should change the climate. That’s a fine argument, but also irrelevant. So, given the situation, why would anyone try to force meaning to the All-Star game like Major League Baseball has done?

It took this line of reasoning to attribute such meaning: there can be no ties in baseball. Ties offend fans. To force teams to avoid a tie at all costs, the game must significantly matter. For the game to matter, something of importance must hinge on a win. So, either we admit that the game doesn’t matter and develop a mid-season classic to reflect that admission, or we figure out something of importance to attach to it.

Of all the things to hinge on the game, though, the World Series home field advantage is one of the more absurd. It works in the sense that both the All-Star game and the World Series pit one league against the other, sort of, but that’s it. There is no real connection between the two other than this invention, which makes it hard to take because home field advantage in the World Series matters. In fact, I think most people would rather see their team have a chance to earn home field advantage than see their team’s league win the All-Star game. In effect, Major League Baseball is telling the players that the All-Star game matters because we say it matters, and if you aren’t willing to play like it matters then we will force you through an indirect reward or an obscure penalty.

To see how there is no real connection for the players between the All-Star game and the rest of the season that follows, consider this: What if the MVP of the All-Star game is traded to a team in the other league shortly after? He could end up having helped his new team lose home field advantage in the World Series. That’s pretty screwed up, but easily follows from the logic of the situation.

There’s another line of reasoning that suggests that home field advantage in the World Series is already arbitrary, so it’s no worse to tie it to the outcome of the All-Star game than to anything else. Other traditional ways of awarding it aren’t really justified, either. Team records meet imbalanced schedules, and alternating years is as arbitrary as can be.

Arbitrary isn’t necessarily bad, though, so alternating years isn’t all that bad, either. You can still be certain of earning home field advantage. If you want to be sure of earning home field advantage, just be sure to go to the World Series two years in a row. Similarly, rewarding the best record at least lets teams have a chance to earn the advantage. Imbalanced schedules or no, every team can still win any game.

Or, why not award home field advantage to the league from which the previous World Series winner came? Either the defending champions will be at an advantage (which they earned) or the team that defeated the defending champions to make it to the World Series gets to represent the winning league. That might even bring back some semblance of importance or allegiance to the leagues, and might just in turn bring back a little bit of league pride such that players want to win the All-Star game again. It’s a stretch, I know, but I’m just throwing it out there.

Back to the matter at hand, the only way I can think of to make the All-Star game competitive is to attach prize money to it. Get a sponsor, trim the rosters, and pay every player on the winning team around half a million dollars. Don’t let managers pick who will play -- leave it to fan balloting. Improve the ballots, and get rid of internet voting (vote-flooding). A half a million dollars is worth risking a very unlikely injury. If teams don’t like it because their assets (players) are at risk without compensating them, tell them to shove off because they’ll increase sales revenue just from having the notoriety of an All-Star on their team.

But, even if that isn't a feasible idea, for the love of everything good in the tradition of baseball, please remove this horrid idea to award home field advantage in the World Series to the league that wins the All-Star game. A competitive All-Star game would be great. I love baseball’s tradition, and I wish baseball was still in an era when this would happen naturally, but it’s not. Forcing that end does not justify these means.

It just doesn’t make sense.