During my formative years, there was no interleague play in MLB. The only time our league, the American League, faced off against NL opponents, took place during the World Series – with one exception. The Midsummer Classic. Major League Baseball’s All-Star Game.
It was then when we caught a glimpse of the big names in the “Senior Circuit” who we rarely saw. Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente, Willie McCovey, Johnny Bench, Lou Brock, Bob Gibson, Pete Rose – the list goes on. ESPN didn’t exist. The Game of the Week did, along with “This Week in Baseball”. And it was there where we might see these great players in action, albeit briefly.
More times than not, the best place to discover how the NL stars were doing was to pour through the box scores, and of course the complete list of player stats which were published every Sunday. That said, when the All-Star Game was scheduled – this treasured Tuesday in July, it was an absolute treat for a starry-eyed boy hoping to one day follow in the footsteps of these legendary athletes.
But not only did we get a chance to watch these Senior Circuit performers on the field, for one summer night, we could root for the players we hoped to beat during the other 162 regular season games. During this special event, rivals were part of OUR team – the American League All-Stars. Yaz, Reggie Jackson, Harmon Killebrew, Mickey Mantle, Vida Blue – for one night in July, they became US!
Things seemed so much simpler back then…
Our neighborhood was filled with families enjoying their backyards. Some grilled; others had steamed crabs; some fried chicken; corn on the cob; and practically all had watermelon and beer, while several others brought their portable TV’s outside to watch the big game.
Summertime in Baltimore.
A few kids might play with sparklers left over from the July 4th celebration; others may be enjoying a night swim in their above ground pools; picnic tables with red, white and blue covers kept the celebration of country alive; accordion-shaped lights of green, blue, yellow, orange and red lined fences and awnings, adding to the festive atmosphere.
I can still see the look on Dad’s face – watching me; feeling my excitement; taking in the game vicariously through his boy’s eyes. It was the same look I felt during Christmas mornings and for all intents and purposes, this celebration was Christmas in July!
Times have changed. Technology has taken the game to unprecedented levels. We can watch any game whenever and wherever we want, not just during the solitary Game of the Week. Stats and box scores are perpetually available at our fingertips, not just in The Sun on Sunday. Interleague play is a thing, and there’s no looking back.
But still, I do…
I remember those days fondly and wish things were the same so that my kids and one day my grandkids could live those moments the way I did. And as I write this, I think of the days when Dad was here, describing his youth growing up in Little Italy, wishing that I could experience what a real neighborhood felt like. But I’m good. I have my own fond memories and my kids have theirs. And while things are different for each generation, the Midsummer Classic, after the home plate ump shouts, “Play ball!”, is still the same game.
We once rooted for Brooks Robinson, Frank Robinson, Boog Powell and Jim Palmer to be the game’s stars. Tonight, we’ll root for Gunnar Henderson, Adley Rutschman, Corbin Burnes, Anthony Santander and Jordan Westburg.
Like we did as children, we’ll still cheer for our hometown heroes.
One of my favorite baseball movies, Field of Dreams, feature several touchstone moments, the most poignant of which was shared by James Earl Jones, playing the role of Terrence Mann:
“The one constant through all the years, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again.”
As we lick our wounds as a country, as we try to heal, here’s to tonight’s Midsummer Classic, Major League Baseball’s All-Star Game, the best of its kind in all professional sports. May it be the warm reminder that James Earl Jones described.
May it be a reminder of simpler times and of all that could be again.
Thank you, Dad!
