YES, MRS. ROBINSON, JOLTIN' JOE HAS LEFT AND GONE AWAY

The GG turned on the MLB All-Star Game last night but, alas, there were hardly any stars. Only a few that I was familiar with or had ever heard of. Whatever happened to the Mantles, the Mays, the Musials, the Williams, the Kiners, the Kalines, the Fellers anyway? Where did they all go? As I watched the pre-game introductions of the players, it struck me that "introductions" is a proper term, since I recognized only a few of the players, and those only vaguely. And then I realized that every one of those "unknowns" is probably pulling down $5 to $10 Million per year. I no longer watch MLB regularly. Time was when I never missed the game of the day on the radio or the game of the week on television. I knew every player, could name the starting players for each league before they were even chosen, by the players or the fans. I could tell you when and where they were born, their height and weight, whether they were righties or lefties (no, not their politics), their hair color, their favorite breakfast food. I could do that for most any year between about 1949 and 1960. Somewhere along the line after that, everything changed. To be sure, the GG changed, too -- I left my childhood behind, along with most of its diversions. But my love for the game of baseball endured until it was taken from me by the triumphirate of free agency (thanks, Curt Flood), television money and greedy owners. Now there ae too many teams, too many names, too many pitching changes, too many players changing teams too often, too much money, too many games played late into the night, too many this, too many that. I could go on and on. I forced myself to watch the All-Star game, and as I sat there, bored, all the reasons I came to reject the major league version of the game played themselves out. One is the fact that today's players no longer look like ballplayers. I'm talking about those pants with legs down to the top of their shoes. No more high elasticized pants with sock leggings like the old days. Heck, today you could never tell the Red Sox, White Sox or Redlegs apart by looking at their sock color, as once was the case. That's why my favorite player today is Hunter Pence of the SF Giants, who still wears those old time socks, making him look like a ballplayer. And Pence is one of the few who play the game the way the old timers played -- hard, and with enthusiasm and joy -- and not just going through the motions. Another is that starting pitchers are now just that and never anything more; they're seldom given the chance to finish what they start. The advent of the relief specialist for every situation took away the quest of the 20-game winner, or the rare flirtation with 30. Yet another is the way the ball is protected. Today, every time the ball touches the dirt in any way, it is replaced with a new ball. Just watch a game on TV and look for the number of times the catcher gets a fresh ball from the umpire. No wonder ticket prices are so high -- we have to pay for all those balls. And what, pray tell, ever became of the bunt and the hit and run. Those skills, which used to be so much a part of the game and its strategy, now seem like lost arts. I'll just mention one more: the fact that games are now played almost exclusively at night. A night game typically starts about the time that most kids -- those whom baseball should be wooing -- need to be in bed. This is particularly true of the Playoff and World Series games and the All-Star game. This year's All Star Game lasted until after 11 p.m. in the Central Time Zone. I know it's all about money, money, and more money, but I believe the game was better when it was about something else -- when it was a pasttime. These days, when I want to watch a good ball game, where the players play like they're having fun and enjoying themselves because they truly are, and where they bunt and use the same ball the whole game through, I go to a high school or college field. (I would add little league field, but there you have the problem of excessive parental involvement, which could be the subject of another blog post.) Several months ago, Mrs. GG and I went to a game at a AAA minor league ballpark in Central Texas. Got two seats behind home plate for about $15 a piece. I could also afford the peanuts and cokes. The environment and the game itself seemed less like the major leagues and more like a high school or college game though with generally better overall players. I actually saw batters run hard to first base. Only problem was they still wore those damn long pants. Other than that, it was a bad day -- I had nothing to grouch about. GG