There once was a time when every team in baseball deserved to have an All-Star to call its own. Unfortunately, that time was, oh, about 1957. Not now.
So on Tuesday night, when the 2016 All-Star teams were announced, Eduardo Nunez wound up on this team -- as the Minnesota Twins' mandatory rep -- but Carlos Correa didn't.
And Alex Colome was on this roster -- as the Tampa Bay Rays' designated All-Star -- but Aroldis Chapman wasn't.
The Philadelphia Phillies had to have an All-Star, too, so Odubel Herrera will be jetting to San Diego. Not that he hasn't had a nice year. But Starling Marte won't be there (unless he wins the Final Vote nuttiness). And neither will Gregory Polanco. And that's just crazy.
Now before I go on here and set the Twitterverse ablaze, I want you to understand where I'm coming from. I'm not writing this to dump ice water on Nunez, Colome or Herrera. I'm genuinely happy for all of them. They're about to enjoy the experience of a lifetime. And I guarantee you that not so long ago, they never saw that coming.
Nunez was once stuck behind that Derek Jeter guy in New York and didn't get a chance to play regularly until he was 29 years old. Colome is an emergency closer who probably would have finished about 18th on your preseason list of most likely Rays pitchers to make the All-Star team. And Herrera has now completed that improbable journey from Rule 5 pick to All-Star, which happens about as often as we launch a satellite to Jupiter.
I'm also not writing this to imply that I believe the Twins, Rays and Phillies should have their franchises wiped off the face of the baseball map. I obviously don't think that. I have tremendous respect for the history of those teams, the fans of those teams and the people who run those teams.
So this isn't about them, even though I predict that about 750,000 people who won't bother reading this far will conclude otherwise. You know what this is about? It's about the All-Star Game. About what it means. And about what makes it great.
Well, this just in: What makes it great isn't finding a way to cram a utility guy from a team 27 games under .500 onto the roster, only because somebody wearing that uniform has to be there.
I laid out that scenario to a longtime baseball executive this week. Pointed out that Nunez, fine fellow that he is, was almost certainly going to make this team, but guys such as Correa and Ian Kinsler probably weren't. The exec I was speaking with had an instant, heated reaction.
"That," he said, emphatically, "would be wrong."
And what's so wrong about it? Here's what: This is no longer just a show. No longer just three hours of yuks and big swings. No longer just an evening for the best pitchers in the sport to see what kind of crazy numbers they can hang on the radar board. And you know why?
The. Game. Now. Means. Something.
Doesn't matter how you feel about baseball's decision to use the All-Star Game to determine who gets home-field advantage in the World Series. It's a real thing. It has an actual impact on who rides on the parade floats. So why the heck aren't the 36 biggest stars in each league about to line up on those foul lines Tuesday night?
Well, they won't be. And where's the logic in that?
"If it was just an entertainment thing, then who cares?" the same exec vented. "Put anybody you want out there. But if it matters, put the best players out there."
This really isn't a complicated concept, is it? Does the sport want the game to count for something, or doesn't it? If it does, then the hallowed "every team has to have an All-Star" rule is dumb. Makes no sense. Doesn't fit the narrative.
Big game. Huge game. Not just an exhibition game, like those other sports' All-Star shows. This one counts! (Except for the part in which we overlook some of our biggest stars so other, less-deserving guys can go.)
Where is Kinsler on that American League roster? Where is Adrian Beltre? Where is Dustin Pedroia? Where is Chris Davis? Where is Nelson Cruz? Those men are "Stars" with a capital "S."
Where is Brandon Crawford in the National League? Where is Matt Holliday? Where is Max Scherzer? I'd be fine with Yadi Molina, because I understand the value of 12 years' worth of brilliance. I'd even be cool with Ichiro Suzuki, as he chases his 3,000th hit. Those gentlemen belong in an All-Star Game because they, too, are "Stars."
And if anyone ever elects me as the All-Star Roster Czar, I promise that I will always err on the side of star power. You want to make sure you continue to have the greatest All-Star Game in sports? Keep those stars coming. It's a star-driven society. Feed it.
There must be other ways to acknowledge the best players on the worst teams in baseball besides giving them a real All-Star. How about, if you're on pace to lose 100 games on July 1, you get to send an honorary All-Star to the Midsummer Classic? He can wave to the crowd. He can get an invitation to the gala. He can hang out in the clubhouse. He just can't take up a spot that could be used on a more deserving luminary.
Just follow my simple logic. You want the game to count? Send in the stars.
"And if you want someone there from every team?" mused the exec quoted earlier. "Send the mascots."