A week ago today, the rosters for Tuesday’s MLB All-Star Game were announced — and met with the usual hue and cry.
It’s such a tired act now. It’s trite. Cliché. Rote. All too predictable.
Announce team. Brace for cries of favoritism, criticism of “the process,” and grumbling about snubs. Rinse. Repeat.
It happened again this year, of course. Baseball is as tradition-bound as any sport, and All-Star sniveling goes back a long, long time. Only now we get sniveling about internet ballots, and disgruntled GMs crying rivers via Twitter.
Enough already. No matter the process, it’ll be imperfect, so isn’t it time we all just accept that fact and move on. There will ALWAYS be questionable selections and snubs. Duh. Human being are involved. We’re imperfect and biased. You expected driven-snow purity in the process?
Better yet, get out a pen and write to Bud Selig, whose idea to make home-field advantage in the World Series tied to the Midsummer Classic might be the dumbest thing a major-sports commissioner has ever done.
Tell him the team with the best regular-season record, among the two that make it through to the Fall Classic, should get home field. Right now, home field could be determined by some middle reliever you’ve never heard of from a last-place team.
Why is he an All-Star? Because every team has to be represented. Another stupid rule.
Those are two changes you can make and see tangible, positive, immediate results.
Changing the All-Star selection process won’t really change a damn thing.
So why don’t I feel like it’s a playoff team next year?
Three words: Steph Curry’s ankle.
The latest surgery showed there was nothing structurally wrong with it. It was spun by the Dubs as good news.
But is it? If there’s nothing wrong, why does it keep breaking down?
Not so fast on those “Timmy’s Back” proclamations. Lincecum was nothing short of awful against the Washington Nationals on Tuesday, so it’s back to the drawing board.
He’s an idea: Pick a playing weight and stay there. No more fluctuating. Ditto a training regimen. And for god’s sake start icing your arm. You’re not the Freakish kid who can do whatever you want and dominate anymore, OK?
You’re a 28-year-old man with a lot of miles on your arm.
Time to start acting like it and get some stability in your life.
So, what did you do on the Fourth of July? Oh, I crammed 68 hot dogs down my gullet on national television in front of an adoring live crowd and made about $10,000.
Only in America. Shameful on so many levels. No wonder the more cultured countries of the world view us as a gluttonist bunch of boobs.
Mychael Urban, a frequent co-host of The Wheelhouse (10 a.m.-2 p.m.) on 95.7 FM The Game, can be followed on Twitter @BigUrbSports. His website is UrbsUnchained.com.