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The Wild Card: This time it does not count

I'm here to talk to you about something very important.

Hannah Foslien

Oh hi, I didn't see you there. Oh, I'm just working in my shop on this nice, wooden canoe, good for fun and leisure on the many large lakes here in Arizona. Hi, I'm Clefo, you might remember be from such things as Pit Your Wits, The Wild Card, and, That one actually exhaustively researched and well-formed opinionated article about Triple-A Baseball in Tucson, Arizona that not many people read because it wasn't a Cat Listicle not that I'm bitter about that or anything. You know, I like to have a lot of fun here, and I bet you do too, but I'm here to talk about the All-Star Game.

You see, when I was a kid, the All-Star game was a fun exhibition that allowed you to see players who do not normally face off against each other, face off against each other. The novelty of Roger Clemens pitching to Craig Biggio was fun, and clean and wholesome for the entire family, and you could go on with your lives afterwards.

Of course, we all know what happened next. 2002. The tie, Milwaukee, Bud Selig shrugging, Benito Santiago, random phrases that seem unconnected if weren't already aware of the connection. Then of course, it all sort of went wrong from there. "This Time It Counts" became a thing, and the possibility of somebody on a terrible Royals team eventually deciding a Yankees World Series title became a possibility.

Then the fan voting. Richard Daley probably thinks the fan voting is a bit much, in terms of ballot-box stuffing, as we Diamondback fans saw this season with the campaign for Paul Goldschmidt to, rightfully so I should say, start the All-Star Game.

Kids, you might think this makes the world a frightening place, but at least it stops there, right? HA HA NOPE! Then you have to choose a "Final Vote" person from each league, consisting of five deserving people that didn't initially get in because fans thought that Ozzie Smith and Lou Gehrig were still in the league. "Well, at least it's a self-contained to the website kind of thing, right?" HA HA NOPE AGAIN! See, with Hashtags and Twitter and whatnot, people tweeting #ILikeIkeDavis or whatever can also get it on the fun.

(As an aside to that, some of y'all, and you know who you are and there's many of you, are waaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy weird about Justin Upton. He's gone, guys, he's probably not coming back, stop calling him, let him live his own life and find his own happiness, it's creepy.)

So kids, the All-Star game has basically morphed from a fun exhibition to an over saturated exercise in "Trying a little bit too hard and maybe missing the point." that has become the hallmark for so many  Bud Selig decisions (HOT TAKE!) late in his tenure.

You might be thinking "Wow, with this new All-Star Game reality, is there any hope and light left on this planet, or are we just on a dying rock, hurtling through space?" Definitely the latter, everything returns to nothingness, life is meaningless kids. Enjoy four hours of Derek Jeter worship and career highlights. Maybe they'll show him flailing helplessly at Gonzo's Game 7 single.

Did that make you feel better, kids? Is a glimmer of hope returning to your young, naive hearts? Well snuff it out, because Harold Reynolds is one of the color announcers on FOX.

Now go away, Clefo needs some bourbon time.