Why Every MLB Team Deserves An All-Star
By: Will Burchfield
@burchie_kid
When it comes to the All-Star Game, baseball fans love to complain. They take issue with the player selection process, the final rosters and the significance of the outcome. They say it's a worn-out event that's lost its novelty and that the game just isn't what it used to be. And then everyone sits down to watch it and forgets they were ever mad in the first place.
One particularly divisive argument stems from the policy that every team must have at least one representative. Supporters explain that it's only fair in an event designed for the fans and that accommodating an extra player or two hardly detracts from each team's 35-man roster. Opponents claim that it diminishes the game's competitive integrity while costing more deserving players a spot on baseball's biggest midseason stage.
Okay, detractors, you had your say. That's enough out of you.
The case for awarding each team an All-Star begins and ends with the purpose of the event. Since its 1933 inauguration, the All-Star Game has been staged for the fans; it panders to them, openly and happily, as a way of thanking them for their support of the game. It embraces a no-fan-left-behind philosophy, invoking good will from coast to coast.
To include at least one player from each team in the league is to fulfill the event's fundamental aim. That's the only argument one needs to defend the policy. Yet there are further objections still, centered mostly on the game's competitive sanctity.
In 2003, the MLB and the Players' Union decided that the All-Star Game would determine home-field advantage in the World Series. It's an agreement that remains in place today, echoing the slogan hung above the Midsummer Classic all those years ago: This One Counts.
Does it, though?
If it really counted, fans wouldn't be asked to select the starting lineups for each team. That practice has resulted in the most popular players, not always the best ones, representing their respective leagues. It's enabled single fan bases – hats off to you, Kansas City! – to monopolize the selection process and vote half their team into the All-Star Game. Alcides Escobar started at shortstop last year for the American League; he hit .257 on the season with three home runs.
And the game was compromised for including Brian Dozier?
If it really counted, managers wouldn't treat the game like some throwaway affair in the Grapefruit League. The starting pitcher is yanked after recording three outs. Most of the best players are on the bench by the fourth inning. When it comes down to it, the game is ultimately decided by the reserves, who are shuttled in and out of the game like interchangeable Little Leaguers. In the 2014 ASG, Glen Perkins, the 11th AL pitcher, ended the game by getting Charlie Blackmon, the 20th NL hitter, to ground out to Ian Kinsler, the 19th AL fielder.
And the game was discredited for involving Hunter Pence?
The All-Star Game might count, but it's hardly treated that way. Inviting at least one player from each team isn't spoiling some sacrosanct event. There is very little competitive integrity to begin with.
Furthermore, the gap between the players who barely make it and those who narrowly miss out isn't egregiously wide. Did Ian Kinsler have a valid claim to a spot in the All-Star Game? Absolutely – but it wasn't such an injustice to invite Eduardo Nunez instead. Did Marlins' catcher, J.T. Realmuto, deserve to be in San Diego? Sure – but so did the Brewers' Jonathan Lucroy. No matter how big the rosters are, there will always be worthy players left behind. The goal, for the MLB, is to avoid snubbing the fans.
(By the way: if a player is on the margins of an All-Star roster to begin with, chances are his numbers aren't unassailable. It's not like small-market representatives are added at the expense of MVP candidates and Cy Young hopefuls. So let's dial back the indignation.)
Ultimately, the league's policy to include one All-Star from each team comes back to the fans – the younger ones, in particular. The sustainability of the MLB, its continued grip on the national soul, rests in the hands of those who are coming of age. Kids learn to love baseball, in no small part, because of their big-league idols, their hometown stars who perform in bright stadiums and on big TVs. For young fans of losing ballclubs, their favorite player becomes a fierce source of pride. And there is nothing more exciting than watching him join the rest of the league's stars wearing his team's uniform.
So remember that when the All-Stars are introduced tonight, and Nunez takes the field instead of Kinsler or V-Mart or Nick Castellanos. Think back to those lean years for the Tigers, when the team only had one All-Star per season from 1995 to 2003. Through all the losing, the All-Star Game gave Tigers' fans a reason to smile, a much-needed chance to celebrate their team. Watching Damion Easley line up next to Ken Griffey Jr. or Robert Fick pound fists with Manny Ramirez was deliverance from all the disappointment – their personal statistics be damned.
Did Easley and Fick deserve to be on the All-Star team? Maybe not. But did they belong in the event?
Absolutely.