MY ALL-STAR ADVENTURE PART IV

The All-Star Game has been a mid-summer tradition since 1933, when a sports reporter for the Chicago Tribune thought it would be great to get the days best Major League Baseball players to get together for a showcasing of the stars for the World’s Fair in Chicago, which is the first (and to my knowledge) only positive thing that the city of Chicago has ever produced for society. The game was played at the first Comiskey Park with the American League defeating the National League 4-2. After that summer, a tradition was born.

Voting has changed here and there, but the game is still referred to as “The Fan’s Game” because of the massive amount of weight put on fan voting. This is great as the players that the majority of people want to see usually make the call. This also creates a negative effect as players having great seasons, but are not as well known, are sometimes overlooked (see stats for Ian Kinsler for 2009 as opposed to Dustin “I can’t hit the high fastball” Pedroia who was voted in). Either way, the game is the greatest spectacle and the greatest collection of baseball stars any fan will ever see in their entire life.

The game traditionally has periods where one league dominates the other. From 1962 till 1983, the National League went 19-1 in that 20 year span. However, recent fortunes have been reversed as the National League hasn’t won the game since 1996 in Philadelphia. Because the game traditionally flip-flops through the decades, the overall records are fairly close with the National League barely clinging to a two game lead in the overall standings.

2009 in St. Louis was supposed to change all that. But a miracle catch at the wall made it clear that a National League victory may not be in the cards.

PART IV: LOOK MOM! I CRAPPED ALL-STAR TICKETS!!

All-Star Game day started as any other day. I woke up at the early hour of 10:30am (someone find me a job so I have a reason to get up in the morning), went for my usual three mile run and spent the rest of the day at the pool. I had essentially given up on a set of game tickets finding their way to me, but in my heart I still had a feeling something was going to happen (that feeling ended up being heartburn, but in my gut I KNEW I was going to get to go).

As the day grew shorter, my hopes started to fade away, to the point that I made plans with friends to go watch the game at a venue of their choosing. I wouldn’t say I was heartbroken, just disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to fully experience what I had waited my entire life for.
After an early family dinner, I went to the bathroom to clear my head along with various other body parts. (For those of you expecting a string of poop jokes here, shame on you. I’m really anal about stuff like that. Jokes like that are just absolute crap and they are below me. I turn a brown eye to fart jokes. No ifs, ands or butts about it.)

About two minutes into my work, my little brother comes running up the stairs completely out of breath. In between sucking in air, he managed to belt out, “MARTY…(huff, huff,)…DO…(huff)…YOU….WANT TO…(huff, huff, huff)….GO TO THE ALL…(huff, huff)….STAR GAME?!?!

“Umm…duh, I want to go to the All-Star Game,” I responded. “Can you please go get me some toilet paper? I only have one square. Not a single extra square to spare.”

“WELL MOM’S BUYING TICKETS,” he belted out.

“Yeah, sure she is Dan.”

“NO! SERIOUSLY! SHE’S BUYING TICKETS RIGHT…NOW!”

“Yeah. OK, Dan.”

“NO! WHY DON’T YOU BELIEVE ME? WE’RE GOING TO THE ALL-STAR GAME!”

“You’re crapping me Dan!”

“NO! I’M SERIOUS! MOM’S BUYING TICKETS!”

By this point you get the picture. Turns out my brother wasn’t full of it (and by this point, neither was I). I quickly hopped in the shower, put on my Albert Pujols jersey and my St. Louis Cardinals All-Star cap and we headed down to Busch Stadium with less than two hours until the scheduled first pitch.

We parked in my favorite lot and walked quickly towards the stadium. My jaw dropped when I saw the massive amount of people still trying to get into the stadium. Apparently President Barack Obama was throwing out the first pitch of the game and that required extremely heavy security, which meant walking through medal detectors just in case Al Qaeda showed up to see some baseball.

After getting our tickets from the will call window, my brother and I took our place in the long line on the opposite side of the street from the stadium where I began talking with two guys in front of me. My mom went off elsewhere to see if there was a shorter line anywhere around the stadium. She found one, called me, and we moved and got into the stadium within five minutes. The guys I was talking to decided to follow us to the shorter line as well. To those two guys, you’re welcome.

The time was 6:45pm. Busch was buzzing with anticipation as the night’s festivities were scheduled to start in approximately 20 minutes. We headed for our seats, which ended up being on the first base side, loge section. Not bad seats considering we didn’t get the tickets until about two hours until game time.

Waiting for us on our seats were commemorative seat cushions with the All-Star logo on it. Something told me that even if there was a walk-off victory that night, not many people would be throwing their seat cushions in celebration. I considered it for a brief moment though.

The opening ceremonies began roughly on time. As each player was introduced, the anticipation grew more and more thick. When it came time for Albert Pujols to be introduced, the crowd erupted into a three minute frenzy. Pujols seemed to be overcome with emotion and was all smiles the rest of the night. The same went for first time All-Star, Yadier Molina.

With the teams introduced and the honorees of MLB’s Go Beyond campaign receiving their recognition, it was time for Stan “The Man” Musial to make his grand entrance to Busch. Unfortunately, the appearance of the President took away from what was supposed to be a grand welcoming and thank you to Musial. On behalf of St. Louis, Stan, we love you and know you deserved better. It’s a shame that we can’t do it all over again and won’t get the chance to make up for a lost opportunity.

After Musial’s grand ride down the right field foul line towards the infield, it was time for Obama to make his appearance wearing a White Sox jacket in Cardinal Country and 1980 acid-wash jeans. He is so trendy!

After Pujols plucked the first pitch out of the dirt, it was time for baseball!

The American League (as usual) got off to a quick start, scoring twice in the opening frame off of 2008 NL Cy Young Award Winner, Tim Linceceum. However, this set the stage for a Cardinal to be the hero.

In the bottom of the third, with two men on, Yadier Molina singled up the middle that lead to two runs to tie the game. Prince Fielder, your 2009 Home Run Derby Champion, doubled down the left field line to give the National League a 3-2 lead in what was his only appearance of the game. Sorry Prince, but this was Albert’s night.


The lead was short lived as two innings later, the American League tied the game on a string of base hits. They eventually took the lead when Adam Jones of the Baltimore Orioles hit a sacrifice fly off of Heath Bell of the San Diego Padres. It’s so comforting to know that players on the Padres and Orioles, who live at the bottom of their divisions, ended up deciding who gets home field advantage in the World Series. This isn’t wrong at all.

Brad Hawpe of the Colorado Rockies tried to make the most of his All-Star appearance as he hit a long drive into deep left-center field. Somehow, Carl Crawford was able to bring the ball back on to the field and rob Hawpe of what should have been the game tying home run. It looked like the National League was done for again. But they got one more shot when St. Louis native and Philadelphia Phillies first baseman, Ryan Howard came to the plate with two men in scoring position and two out. But Howard decided to strike out on a ball in the dirt that would have hit him had he not swung, essentially ending all hopes for the National League.

Before leaving, Dan wanted to head to the Cardinal Team Store for a little souvenir. The place was a zoo and the inept cashiers were not helping the situation. As I waited in line to buy my over-priced Cardinal sandals, the young woman running the cash register was having a little trouble trying to run a debit card (she ended up charging a lady twice for an official jersey. How you end up doing this I have no idea. There was something missing in that cashier’s head. A brain perhaps?) She didn’t bother to tell anyone in line that she was having trouble until we had been waiting for roughly twenty minutes. After this, I give her the silent finger and find a new line, at which point she has finally solved her situation and begins taking other customers. I leisurely walk in front of everyone and demand that I be allowed to pay for my sandals immediately. I normally don’t do this, but ignorance just pisses me off to no end.

My aunt and uncle (the same aunt and uncle from Part II) ended up taking us home. As we arrived at their car they had White Castle waiting for us (like I said, they ALWAYS have their own food. They brought biscuits once for crying out loud!). We ate the sliders and traded stories from the night and then made the long journey home. As we shut the doors to their car and headed on our way, we immediately regretted the decision to eat White Castle.

Overall, All-Star Week 2009 was an experience I will never ever be able to forget. And how could I? For five days, the eyes of the baseball world were on St. Louis, the proclaimed best baseball city in the world. For a week, an entire city banded together for one common goal: Put on a great show for an entire nation. I believe we all did just that. Bud Selig himself stated in an interview that, “St. Louis is making a strong case to be the permanent host of the Mid-Summer Classic.” Thanks for the recognition Bud. Try not to wait another 40 plus years before you bring the All-Star Game back to the Gateway City.

Now, two weeks later, the lights of the All-Star Game are beginning to fade. The banners are gone. The media trucks have driven away and the logo painted on the field has almost been washed away. But being able to experience all of it first hand has helped me realize what makes the All-Star Game so special. For one night, your team’s place in the standing doesn’t matter. Trying to make that one trade to put your team over the top is insignificant. It’s a celebration of the game we grew up loving and playing and for one night, you’re allowed to go back to being a kid with Major League dreams again. It makes you just want to smell your glove, clothes your eyes and just listen to the sound of the ball hitting hard leather or here the sound of timber cracking. It’s baseball as we want to see it: A game instead of a business. You’re allowed to be 23 and go up to your favorite superstar and ask him to autograph your baseball.

If the All-Star Game taught me anything, it’s that I’m still a kid at heart. I still have the urge to go to batting practice with my brother and start shouting to players to throw me a baseball. I still want to bring my glove to a game, even though I’m in the upper deck. I still want to believe I can still make it to the Majors and play for my favorite team.

And to think, I would have never learned any of this without a trip to the bathroom.

THE END