EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS

Back in 1976, when the MLB All-Star Game made its first Philadelphia appearance since 1952, El Hombre and his trusted compatriot, Magic Dick, had two nosebleed seats for the Midsummer Classic. It was a magical time to be a Phillies fan, since the team had finally awakened from its long somnolence and was playing exciting, winning baseball. Standouts like Mike Schmidt, Steve Carlton and Greg Luzinski had the Phils on their way to the NL East title. Unfortunately, Cincinnati was in the National League also, and the hometown heroes were no match for the Big Red Machine.

They couldn’t handle the Reds on the field – or in the voting booth, either. Even though the Phillies were hosting the game as part of the city’s Bicentennial celebration, only one member of the local nine was voted into a starting role: Luzinski. Meanwhile, five Reds – Johnny Bench, Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Dave Concepcion and George Foster – were in the starting lineup. Two others, Ken Griffey (Senior) and Doggie Perez were named to the squad by Reds manager Sparky Anderson, the NL skipper. Shocking!

Magic Dick was particularly incensed about the surfeit of Reds on the starting roster and decided to do something about it. So, he took a white bed sheet and concocted a highly creative sign. It featured the state of Ohio with a long arm extending out of it, stuffing papers into a box. The sign read, “CINCINNATI STUFFS THE BALLOT BOX!” and it was affixed to a pair of long poles. Now, this caused a little trouble for Magic Dick, for although he was about 6-2, even at the age of 14, he had some trouble smuggling the big sign into Veterans Stadium. Though he had put the big thing down his shirt and the leg of his pants, he was stopped at the gate by a concerned security guard, who on the lookout for trouble had mistaken it for a rifle. Since president Gerald Ford was scheduled be in attendance, tensions were high. But Magic Dick convinced the man that his intentions were pure, and he even got a chuckle for the sign’s message.

We booed every Reds player who was announced. Lustily. And in about the third inning, we started walking around the upper deck with our sign, much to the delight of the assembled throng. The National League won, 7-1, its fifth triumph in a row and 13th in the previous 14 years. It would be another six seasons until the American League finally broke through and won a game, ending a tremendous string of Senior Circuit dominance. Of course, now that the AL has won 10 in a row, it appears as if that record is in a bit of jeopardy.

The trip down Memory Lane comes as we approach yet another All-Star Game and its surrounding hype. Since it is being played in the most famous sporting venue on the continent – don’t even start with the Lambeau Field stuff, or Ivor Wynne Stadium – and it happens to be Yankee Stadium’s final season, there will be some magic in the air. The expected attendance of dozens of Hall of Famers (Sorry, no Mark McGwire) adds some nostalgia and is sure to trigger some memories. But the game itself is a shell of its former self. Forget the baloney leading up to the first pitch, from the XM All-Star Futures Game and the Taco Bell All-Star Legends and Celebrity Softball Game to the Milk of Magnesia Chris Berman Nickname Vomit-Off. (Okay, El Hombre made up the last one.) That disgusting made-for-corporate-fluffing lineup certainly devalues the event. And the Home Run Derby, which had to end its sponsorship deal last year with Winstrol, is no longer compelling, especially since the old-style juiced-up bombardiers aren’t taking part, much less abusing their bodies with illegal drugs any more.

The worst part of it is that the game doesn’t matter a bit to the players. Sure, they’re excited to get their bonuses, but there isn’t the same go-for-the-throat mentality that there was in the ‘70s, when NL All-Star holdovers told newbies that they had better play to win, or they would have to make amends during the regular season. The big names played six or seven innings a game back then, and they did so to make sure their side won. And today? The fact that Bud Sellout had to create a contrived way of making the sides care, by giving home field advantage in the World Series to the winner – and see how much the reserve outfielder from the Royals is concerned about that – shows just how little the game means. Okay, so it’s an exhibition, and none of the other major sports’ All-Star games matter. In fact, the Pro Bowl should be euthanized. But it never meant anything to begin with. For a while, the NBA showcase mattered, but it’s just a shoe fashion show now.

The baseball All-Star Game is different. For decades, it mattered. It made teenagers scream about the voting tendencies of other fans. It made players threaten All-Star teammates to play for league pride. Imagine that, somebody caring about more than just the paycheck or the endorsement. At some point next week – or many times, if espn has its way – you’ll hear somebody prattle on about how this is “the greatest All-Star Game ever.” If you don’t wretch, you don’t know. The players aren’t as good. They don’t care, and no amount of propaganda can overcome the fact that this is a three-hour sales pitch for baseball, not a game that matters. That’s the case with most of professional sports. El Hombre knows that. But there was a time when this was different. Anybody who can remember that can’t stomach this version of the Midsummer’s Classic. As a chronicler and analyst of the sporting world, El Hombre will tune in. Were he not required to comment, he wouldn’t watch an inning. Let’s hope Magic Dick can refrain, too.

And that he still has the sign.

EL HOMBRE SEZ: There are going to be some pretty angry voters out there when they realize they sent Evan Longoria, not Mrs. Tony Parker, to the All-Star Game as the AL’s final roster member…So Elton Brand left the Clippers for Philadelphia, and the folks in L.A. can’t understand why. What the hell is the matter with you people? We’re talking about one of the most chronically mismanaged, cheapest, lowest-rent franchises in recent sports history, and no one can figure out why Brand wants to leave. Guess MENSA doesn’t have to worry about trolling for members in that part of Staples Center…Phil Mickelson had a hole-in-one at the Scottish Open on Friday. Big deal. Tiger would have made it in a half-stroke…They’re making a huge mistake calling last Sunday’s Wimbledon final between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal “the greatest match ever.” Sorry, but it comes in at 2,456th, behind a 2,455-way tie at the top between every match ever involving Gabriela Sabatini.

AND ANOTHER THING: Everybody had better lay off Dara Torres, or there’s going to be some trouble. The 41-year old mother made the Olympic team fair and square. She trained like a banshee, swam like a dolphin and belongs in Beijing. Her story is inspirational and an example that the Olympic ideal hasn’t been totally crushed by over-sponsorship and professionalism. That’s the feel-good story here, and El Hombre is sticking with it, even if he knows it’s practically impossible for a 41-year old to swim faster than she did 10 years earlier, unless she was as heavy as an anchor back then. Even if he knows that her odds-defying story could be more a by-product of pharmaceuticals than pixie dust in the pool. Isn’t there anything out there anymore that’s pure and clean and wonderful? Please, Dara, don’t have cheated. We old folks need a hero, too.