Should we O.K. Oki?

I'm not that old, and even I can remember a time when baseball's All-Star Game was the most important sporting event of the summer. Wondering how the stars of each league, who as far as we knew had only seen each other on ESPN highlights, would fare against each other in direct competition provided conversation fodder for weeks. But now with interleague play and the ever-prevalent free agent swapping, the All Star Game has lost its magic. No matter how much Bud Selig tries to convince us that "this time it counts," the All-Star Game is the primary casualty of the unbalanced interleague schedule.

And because this game has lost so much of its luster, I've reached the point in my fandom that I'd much rather see members of the hometown team take a three-day vacation than risk injury in a meaningless pickup game. If the league isn't going to preserve the history of this game, why should I as a fan?

And that is why I will not be voting for Hideki Okajima to be the 32nd man on the American League club.

I'm one of the biggest baseball traditionalists there is. I have been known to let my opinion of a player be dramatically skewed if he wears his socks high. I'll always prefer eye black to sunglasses. I think day games are a gift from the baseball gods and playoff games ending after midnight do nobody any good. I think a well-turned double play is the definition of poetry in motion, and I really believe that the changing of the seasons is a function of the baseball schedule and not the other way around.

And I love the history of the All-Star Game. Hearing those war stories from the old days where the league presidents would give rah-rah speeches before the game and imply this game was secondary in importance only to the World Series. When the All-Star Game was a place for players to showcase their skills on the grandest stage, rather than at the sideshow it has now become. When players actually played during the game, rather than making cameo appearances. And, most importantly, when the All-Star Game presented possibly the only opportunity some players would ever have to face their cross-league rivals.

I understand a lot of this changed with free agency, and I feel that can't be helped. But I can remember the All-Star Game carrying a huge amount of weight as recently as 1993, when a much-younger Randy Johnson unleashed his 6'10" frame on the terrorized National League, culminating with John Kruk's embarrasing four-pitch strikeout. We knew what Randy Johnson had to offer, but the National League hitters had only gotten to see as much of him as I had, sitting in my living room. How would they handle him when he was 60 feet 6 inches away?

But with interleague play, this thrill is gone. How will Barry Bonds handle Josh Beckett? We already saw that. What about Greg Maddux hooking up with David Ortiz? Been there.

Major League Baseball sacrificed the Midsummer Classic at the altar of increased revenue, and I'm sure they have no regrets. Television ratings for these games are sky-high, after all. So perhaps congratulations are in order. But the price has been paid, and I for one hope to enjoy the performance of Jeremy Bonderman, Kelvim Escobar, Roy Halladay, or Pat Neshek in a couple of weeks.

I'd rather reward Oki's All-Star first-half with a vacation. And he can take Beckett with him.