The Longest All-Star Game

The 2002 MLB All-Star Game was one to remember.

It was the 73rd Game of Stars.

The one that changed it all.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

July 9.

A 7-7 tie at the end of 11 innings.

Game over.

No winner.

But plenty of losers.

Including the Commissioner of Baseball.

Who called this a “very regrettable situation.”

If a tie is like kissing your sister.

This was like kissing your sister.

In the middle of town square.

With a spotlight on your face.

At high noon.

On national television.

In primetime.

The two managers tried to tell us... 

“Both teams are winners.”

and 

“The show was good for the fans.”

Sure.

If you would’ve preferred a draw between Rocky and Apollo Creed.

Or if you enjoyed the cut to black at the end of The Sopranos.

Baseball got ripped.

Endlessly.

And they pretty much deserved it.

How in the world did the game that has no clock.

Run out of time.

And end in a tie.

That game held special meaning for me.

Not because of the game.

That was not my first midsummer classic.

Not my fourth.

Or fifth.

If my math is right, it was the ninth All-Star Game that I attended.

But the first without my dad.

A massive heart attack took him 10 days earlier.

But whose counting.

Yes, 10 days after my dad died.

Suddenly.

I’m flying cross country.

To go to a baseball game.

Really?

Really!

Of course, “he would’ve wanted it that way.”

Right.

Actually, he would’ve wanted it that way.

Truth be told, he would’ve wanted to be there himself.

But instead he got to watch the game from the clouds.

With the stars.

Babe Ruth.

Lou Gehrig.

It’s hard to believe that was just nine years ago.

It feels like a billion.

In July of 2002 I was working.

In TV.

My job was to cover big sporting events.

And in the second week of July.

On a Tuesday night.

There is no bigger sporting event than the Major League Baseball All-Star Game.

So I got on that plane and went.

2,057 miles.

Give or take.

I remember riding on the bus to get my rental car.

When my phone rang.

I flipped open the phone to see who was calling.

Because that’s what we did before iPhones.

And the caller ID almost made me pass out.

The name that came up on my screen.

Was my dad.

I guess I forgot to change his name in my contact list.

Or maybe he forgot to tell me something before he left.

Actually it was his wife calling.

From their home.

But seeing his name gave me quite the jolt.

My dad was well known in the baseball world.

He worked in the sport for many years.

So being at the All-Star Game.

10 days after he died.

Was kinda like a memorial service.

That wouldn’t end.

Don’t get me wrong.

I certainly appreciated hearing kind words.

From everybody.

But if I was looking for a place to clear my head.

This wasn’t it.

The night before the big game I stopped by the hotel bar.

To get a drink.

Or two.

Well, those drinks took me deep into the AM.

We actually closed down the place.

Or so we thought.

Through a friend of a friend we ended up sitting at the bar with a big time baseball exec.

Who didn’t know me.

And didn’t know my dad.

When everyone was ushered out at 2am.

Or was it 3?

We were ushered in.

To another room.

Where we stayed hydrated.

Until 6 in the morning.

I’m not sure if that’s exactly what I needed.

Or exactly what I didn’t need.

But it seemed to work.

Taking my mind away from where it had lived for the previous ten days.

Once the sun started peering through the closed blinds.

We knew it was time to go.

So we headed out into the lobby.

Where within seconds.

I ran into a former player.

Who knew my dad.

Very well.

And it started all over again.