Fun with tiebreakers

 The American League beat the National League in the regulation nine innings last night, which deprived a nation that loves its gimmickry of its fix. This was an opportunity missed.

Because who wouldn't have wanted to see it tied after nine, in which case the All-Star Game would have been decided by a home-run derby? How awesome would that have been?

Personally I think every extra-inning baseball game should be decided by a home-run derby, or something similar. A sausage race, like they have in Milwaukee. A presidential mascot race, like they have in Washington. A putting contest. A base-running contest. A sunflower-seed spitting contest.

And, yes, I know, that WOULD NOT BE BASEBALL. No, it wouldn't. But it would be fun, and baseball could use some these days. 

A couple of weeks ago, for instance, Julie and I were in Fenway Park for a Yankees-Red Sox game, kind of a bucket-list deal for me. The Yankees beat the home team like a dozen egg whites, 12-5. Several bombs were hit. It was an entertaining game if you like short bursts of action interrupted by long minutes of, frankly, just screwing around.

(This included, but was not limited to, batters calling time between virtually every pitch to adjust various pieces of equipment. This absolutely drives me nuts. If I were the king baseball, this would be outlawed. I would mandate that once you step in the box, you're not allowed to call time and step out for any reason other than injury. If you do, it's the batter's version of a balk and, instead of taking your base, you take a seat in the dugout.)

Anyway ...

I remember thinking, as the game crept past the three-hour mark during the seventh-inning stretch, that baseball is the only sport I can think of that seems designed, at least these days, to run off the casual fan. And especially the young casual fan.

Oh, the seamheads will say "Well, that's just because they don't appreciate the rhythms and nuances of the game." They're probably right. But if you have to be a seamhead to enjoy a drag-assing four-hour baseball game, baseball is in trouble. There simply aren't enough seamheads out there to maintain it, or at least to keep it from becoming an irrelevant relic of the past.

And so: Sausage races. Mascot races.  A brisk game of tag. Something.

After all, it's not as if baseball hasn't already instituted its own gimmicks to speed things along. This season extra innings begin with a baserunner already on second base. This is not called, but should be, the "Beam Me Down To Second, Scotty" Rule. The seamheads hate it. Hell, I  hate it.

But at least I understand it.