By Bob Ryan, Globe Staff, 07/16/98
They held a luncheon at Fenway yesterday to trumpet the 1999 baseball All-Star Game, and the ratio of non-baseball people to baseball people in attendance was about 10-1. In other words, just about the modern norm.
It's not exactly the way it was the first time around, back in '46. At that time the attraction was baseball, baseball, and, in case you were tired of that, how 'bout a little baseball? The idea that Stan Musial and Rapid Robert Feller and Joe D were coming to town was enough. There was no attendant folderol, just baseball, the greatest game ever to spring from the mind of mortal man.
That was Tom Yawkey's opinion, anyway. As relayed by the Globe's Gerry Moore, here was Yawkey's basic outlook on the 1946 All-Star Game, the first ever played in Fenway: "Because host Tom Yawkey feels fans are interested mainly in baseball, the extracurricular activities will not be too lengthy.''
So I wonder what Mr. Yawkey was thinking around noontime yesterday as he gazed down from Diamond Heaven at the Fenway Park proceedings. For every Dominic "Little Professor'' DiMaggio, there were five guys in suits. Marketing guys. Advertising guys. Broadcast guys. Guys who, in some cases, wouldn't know third base from a naval base, I'm sure. And when there weren't suits, there were skirts. (Not that there's anything wrong with that).
There were nice little welcoming speeches by the likes of Dan Duquette, American League president Dr. Gene Budig, mayor Tom Menino, and Pat Moscaritolo, the Cheese of the Greater Boston Convention and Visitors Bureau. Of course, this being 1998, the dissertations were mainly about m-o-n-e-y. Specifically, the economic impact of the All-Star Game, which will apparently be considerable, how much so depending on which version you favor.
Menino: "$40 to $60 million.''
Moscaritolo: "Over $50 million.''
Budig: "Significantly better than that (i.e., $50 million).'' The AL prexy also paid Hizzoner a stunning compliment. "You are,'' he said, "an interesting politican because you understated how good it is going to be, because it is off the charts.''
Baseball? What's that?
I mean, it's nobody's fault; it's just the way it is. Don't ask if it makes any sense to have an All-Star Game in a park that seats 33,000 and change. The All-Star Game is irresistible, because it means major moolah for the local economy. Let's just hope we get through the day without anyone being forced to acknowledge that there will be no public sale of tickets for the game in question, or that there is not even a guaranteed seat for every current season ticket holder.
There would be if the game had anything whatsoever to do with baseball. It does not. The game itself has to do with taking care of sponsors. It has zero to do with the baseball fans whose interests are theoretically being served by bringing the best baseball players in the world to Boston.
Having the final All-Star Game of the 20th century in Updike's "lyric little bandbox of a ballpark'' (or Clark Booth's "Baseball Basillica,'' take your pick) is a wonderfully romantic notion. Not too long ago they went to Wrigley, Fenway's soul brother. So why not go to Fenway?
"It was the right thing to do,'' says Dr. Budig. "The people in this community clearly deserve an All-Star Game. The time was right.''
What exactly will Joe Fan get out of it? There are two possibilities. The first would be the Home Run Contest. I am assuming there will be some sort of ticket possibilities there (or am I being naive?). The second is "Fan Fest.''
The latter is the interactive exhibit that is an integral part of the All-Star deal these days. People will be sold the idea that "Fan Fest'' is their All-Star Game. And I do hear good things about "Fan Fest.'' People returning from Denver spoke only in superlatives.
They're hoping to get Hynes Auditorium for "Fan Fest.'' That would make good geographic sense. Problem is, they have what you call your prior committments. Let's just say that the folks at the Hynes are working on it.
Back to yesterday. We're waiting for the good baseball talk. The supposed highlight of the day was the unveiling of the official logo. Who can get excited about a logo? To me, a logo is about as exciting as American cheese on white, hold the everything. And a glass of water.
In 1946 and 1961 no one knew from logos. Geez, it was just a baseball game. The issue in 1946 was how many of the eight Red Sox players on the 25-man American League roster would start (the answer was four). The issue 15 years later was weather. Nobody was talking about anything a year before the game. Aside from getting the needed hotel rooms (and the total was a bit shy of the estimated 14,000 they'll need next year) and planning a little dinner, what else was there to do? Oh, yeah, print the ducats. By the way, bleacher tickets were available the day before the '46 game.
In '46 and '61 it was all baseball, not "the economic impact on the community.'' It was the All-Star Game, not just another convention for Pat Moscaritolo's people to hype. Baseball, like, for example, the idea that only one man played in both previous Fenway All-Star Games and that was Stan Musial. Baseball, as in did you know that in 18 innings of Fenway Park All-Star baseball a National League player has yet to hit a ball either off or over The Wall?
So let me throw out a baseball thought. Will they even bother to invite a lefthanded hitter into the Home Run contest? "Thome and Griffey,'' says Dan Duquette, "I don't think even Yellowstone can hold those guys.''
Oh, Danny, I love it when you talk dirty like that. Lighten up on the money chatter. Lemme hear more of that good baseball banter. We are talking about the All-Star Game.
