Take IPB Out To The Ballgame

Does it really need to be said, Gentle Reader, that we know not a single thing about the current state of Major League Baseball, but that will not stop us from watching — and game diarizing — the 2008 All-Star Game. So gather round, pour yourself a honkin’-assed bowl of crackerjack, start waving those pennants, and get ready for all the thrills and chills that only exhibition baseball can provide.

Fox’s intro. Defies. Description. We are, um, “treated” to a montage of players reading single lines of a vastly overwritten script while sitting in front of an American flag, and the script builds to a climax of everyone repeating the word “America”. We hasten to get out our backpacks and sew Canadian flag patches on them.

Ken Griffey, Jr. is shown in the pregame. Pookie is astonished. “He’s still alive?” Pause. “Ten bucks he injures himself during this game.” No bet.

We are blessed to get to see the respective managers giving their teams pep talks in the clubhouses, and we’re gobsmacked — the Giants’ dressing room reminds us of our grandparents’ country club.

Just as we’re girding ourselves for the oncoming misery, we have to cut away to see an “exclusive” “conversation” between Willie Mays, Derek Jeter and Ken Griffey, Jr. Now, it should be mentioned that we love ourselves some DJ, but what is up with the way he’s sprawled like that? Did they put him in a kindergarten-sized chair? (What’s hilarious? DJ leading us into this “conversation” by saying, “Mr. Mays.”) Griffey at one point makes a funny and contorts with laughter; Pookie suggests, “He just injured himself congratulating himself on that joke.”

Next we get to watch the “Taco Bell Swing For A Million”. On what planet does this promotional baseball Score-O game get televised? Some “lucky” fan gets three swings at a tee to hit a ball into zones worth certain amounts of money. As it turns out, it’s as scintillating as it sounds. He can’t get the first two balls out of the infield, and the third one weakly rolls all the way past the money zones. After he finishes (and it should be pointed out that Pookie failed to pay attention to the rules, and as he stepped up to the plate, she splurted in disgust, “He gets a tee?? God! Fucking pitch to him!”) the Fox announcers are just silent for a moment before awkwardly segueing to the next filler piece.

It hurts how not funny this Simpsons promo is. And on that note, is there going to be baseball after this commercial break? Or more crap? (And how would we tell the difference?)

At long last we get the team intros. The introduction of the coaches alone rivals the catalog of ships from the Iliad. Boomer nearly passes out; “Dear God. How many of them do they need?” We’d talk about the players being introduced, but frankly, we’ve barely heard any of these names before. It’s nice to see most of them look just as awkward with the camera in their faces as NHLers do at their All-Star Game.

This goes on and on, and every anonymous player kind of meekly waves when his turn comes up… until we get to Jorge Posada. And does he ever do like a Yankee should — he smiles squarely, lifts his cap to the crowd, then sets it back down gently atop the crown of his head, just the way Yankees have for hundreds of years. Nicely done, Original Little Bitch!

As Jim Leyland jogs out to the field, trailing into our living room a tangible aroma of cigarettes, in his uniform, it becomes time to roll out Pookie’s Number 1 Reason She Thinks Baseball Is Stupid: managers wearing uniforms. Would it kill anyone to put managers in suits? Why are we subjected to this?

IPB officially has no opinion on Barry Bonds. In case you were wondering. (Unofficially IPB has plenty of opinion about him, but we won’t bore you with the details, Gentle Reader.)

As the lineup announcements conclude with “Ladies and Gentlemen, your 2007 National League All-Stars”, Pookie says, “Well, I’ve memorized them and now I’ll recite them with my evening prayers.”

Chris Isaak does a perfectly respectable job with the national anthem (other than a little “night”/”fight” mix-up with the lyrics) but we’re still disappointed it wasn’t Red Seal Peach. The fighter jet flyby is about a week behind their cue. That, people, is some scintillating television.

Okay, we have been watching for 35 minutes, we’ve had two commercial breaks already, and there’s still no baseball. We get a video commemoration of Willie Mays that makes us wonder if he died between the “conversation” with DJ and Griffey. But no, the man’s still alive, and he gets to walk out from center field to throw out the first pitch… in shallow center. That, um, wasn’t the pitcher’s mound. They practically play “God Save The Queen” as he ambles out to the pitching rubber they set up for him, and then we get to watch Barry Bonds make a big deal of his Willie Mays ownership as he helps the man into a pink cadillac. Then we get to watch the cadillac and Mays drive around the field as he tosses balls into the crowd. This is NOT compelling television, in case you’re wondering. We can only hope the starting pitchers’ arms are cramping up irrevocably during this interminable delay.

Aaaaaand… it’s time for another commercial break.

If Joe Buck is not functionally retarded, we don’t know who is. He leads us in from commercial by saying, all self-satisfied, “You know who the match-up is,” as if baseball (and, by extension, he himself) is the only sport in which you’ll find a mid-season exhibition event pitting two “leagues” or “conferences” against one another.

The action on Fox is non-stop. Tim McCarver and Buck blather at one another vapidly for a few moments, then we cut out to McCovey Cove to see a Diamondback player (who, according to Buck, “Could have been playing tonight,” although understood there is the unspoken, “If he didn’t suck”) who’s all kayaked up to give the unique, never-before-seen journalistic angle of what it’s like to wait for home runs to be hit into the water. It feels like it’s been a good 24 hours since we saw Kenny Mayne doing exactly the same thing during the home run derby, and at least 8 hours since we noticed ESPN.com had a column by Jim Caple about the same thing. Although we guess we should concede that the novel approach this dude is taking of bringing his dog with him (he mentions his dog is with him three times, even though we can all clearly see the dog thinking, “I didn’t sign up for this. I hope to god none of my dog park buddies see this…”).

We get another rundown of the starting lineups, this time read to us stiffly by Cal Ripken, Jr. and Ozzie Smith. Because baseball loves to remind everyone that they’re the only sport with a storied history and great former players or something. (Or maybe they want to remind baby boomers that they once loved this sport without worrying about steroids…) This is just in case we’ve forgotten who the lineups were, something that’s very likely considering it’s been about six hours since they were last introduced to us.

TOP OF THE FIRST

Oh my God! Actual baseball! The first pitch, from Jake Peavy to Ichiro is a ball, just as Buck tells us this game might actually not be as excruciatingly dull as anticipated because, apparently, it’s overcast, which means lots of offense, or something. Ichiro gets a single.

DJ takes a called strike to start things off. And then Peavy makes Pookie’s brain die by throwing over to first base, despite the fact that Ichiro is going nowhere and it’s already 9:00 and nothing’s happened yet. DJ works the count to 2-2 and Peavy throws over to first again. Pookie suggests an improvement to the All-Star format: one ball, one strike, that’s your at bat.

When we were still baseball fans, we had a hearty chuckle at one of our friends, who decided one day that she loved America’s Pastime. She discussed her struggles with figuring out box score shorthand one day with Pookie, and said, “I can’t figure out what ‘GIDP’ means. I figure it must be good, though, because Cal Ripken, Jr. does it a lot.” And in this inning, so does DJ.

David Ortiz grounds to second, but Prince Fielder drops the ball on a routine 4-3 out attempt. Fox then gives us a dazzling “Boxworthy’s POV” camera angle from the grass behind first to let us watch that error in all its glory.

A-Rod is up next, and Boomer declares, “His shoes make him look girly.” Schnookie: “His shoes?” He grounds to third. That was exciting.

BOTTOM OF THE FIRST

Dan Haren is the AL’s pitcher; during his intros Schnookie thought his name was Dan Hairy, which would have been charmingly apt. He gives up a single to Jose Reyes. Buck Pierre McGuires into his pants as Barry Bonds steps to the plate with a man on. “THE FANS VOTED HIM IN!” he says defensively.

Oops. Hairy should have tried some lame pick-off attempts; Reyes steals second without much effort. Although we ardently protest that DJ had the tag.

After Buck repeats a billion times that “fans want to see him at the plate”, Bonds thanks him for the PR boost by flying to shallow right. He doesn’t even advance the runner.

Next up: Carlos Beltran. We are told that Hairy’s in for a grueling evening — Leyland plans to make him pitch two entire innings. Beltran probably wishes he hadn’t started, though, since Hairy strikes him out.

Griffey steps up to the plate and Buck announces, “This is his 8th season with Cincinnati”, and Boomer finishes for him, “But he’s only played in enough games to count for two.” In a discussion of how he might injure himself during this at-bat, Boomer suggests he might slip on a banana peel in the basepath. We dismiss that idea, though, because it would be too interesting.

Color us shocked — Griffey drives a ball into center and Beltran scores. 1-0 NL. Be still our beating hearts.

David Wright is up next, and on an 0-1 count he rips a ball foul. Pookie declares her second All-Star Game rule improvement: “One foul ball and you’re out. Of the game.” He grounds into an inning-ending fielder’s choice to Jeter.

Does Apple really think it needs to advertise the iPhone? Everyone already wants one, so why the commercial?

TOP OF THE SECOND

Brad Penny’s pitching for the NL now (it remains to be seen how long we’re going to keep you apprised, Gentle Reader, of the pitching changes), and as Fox teases us with Vlad Guerrero home run highlights from Mid-Season Classics past, the live action involves nothing sexier than a broken-bat groundout. Thanks, Vlad.

IPB’s MLB mascot, Magglio “Mags” Ordonez flies out. We don’t even have time to talk about whether he’s also a retarded, polyglot number-cruncher, or if that’s just the real Mags.

Pudge Rodriguez helps keep this from being interesting by grounding to short. There’s nothing like three-up, three-down exhibition baseball to keep one’s pulse kicking!

BOTTOM OF THE SECOND

We jump to life during the commercial break when we see an ad for “The Bourne Ultimatum”. What’s a sure-fire recipe for making the -ookies happy, happy campers? Add David Strathairn to our favorite movie franchise.

We get a pitch from Buck for a charity called “The Little League Urban Initiative”. Pookie snorts, “That money goes straight to Chris Drury’s drinking problem.”

Prince Fielder gets his crack at Hairy, and things aren’t going well for our hirsute pitching hero. The rotund Prince “works” a four-pitch walk, then makes David Ortiz look petite while standing at first.

Russell Martin (who?) is up next and McCarver gives us a lengthy, marvelling discussion of Martin’s father, who was, apparently, a busker. McCarver buffoons, “I had never heard that word before, B-U-S-K-E-R, until I read it in Michael Farber’s column about Russell Martin.” Pookie: “I had never heard that word before, D-O-U-C-H-E-R-O-C-K-E-T, until I had to watch a game called by Tim McCarver.” (Martin flies out to third, breaking his bat.)

Chase Utley flies deep to center. Hey, isn’t he the guy Philly women are hot for?

Miguel Cabrera appears as a pinch hitter. WTF? He apparently jammed his shoulder or something, so he’s too hurt to be able to actually play. Poor baby. (And if it hurts too much for him to be able to field, why is he still in the lineup? That’s every which kind of assy, if you ask us.) Strikeout swinging. Fun.

TOP OF THE THIRD

Now the NL is fielding Ben Sheets on the mound, and he gets Placido Polanco to ground out to short on the second pitch. At this rate, we’ll be done by 10:00! Keep it up, NL pitchers!

Manny Ramirez, being Manny (of course we were going to say it, and we feel dirty now for having done it), comes to the plate. He quickly flies a ball along the right-field line, and Griffey gimps over to catch it. We wait for his arm to shatter or something, but if it does, Fox doesn’t share it with us.

The Devils fans in us enjoy very much the junkball hitting of Ichiro; he digs a pitch right out of the dirt and flips it up between the shortstop and left fielder (although seriously, it’s not like Barry Bonds was going to run and catch anything not hit directly to him). That’s a nice little bit of small-ball, which seems super-Devil-riffic.

DJ dedicates his next at-bat to us, and gets a hasty single up center. Fox doesn’t show it, but he probably winked at us when he got to first.

Ortiz brings his reputation as the clutchest of the clutch to the plate… and lines out to Griffey. Luckily for the Rangers, Chris Drury now gets to keep his “Captain Clutch” title for another 8 at-bats.

BOTTOM OF THE THIRD

MLB gives us a commercial touting their postseason, and we consider quitting this entire endeavor and finding something better to do when they mention The Bloody Sock. “It took them an hour and a half to mention it, at least,” says Pookie sadly.

Just as we’re wondering what could make this more dynamic, Fox answers our question for us by interviewing Leyland. As he’s droning inaudibly on, Jose Reyes squibs a ball past A-Rod (and his girly shoes), but Buck doesn’t want to talk about the play — he’s got Barry Bonds to talk about with Leyland.

(The pitcher now is Beckett, for those keeping score.)

When he’s asked about Bonds approaching the HR record, Leyland flatlines, “I’m excited. I’m worked up.” It’s very convincing, Jim. Meanwhile, Bonds lofts a towering flyout to left, and the fans react like the only thing any of them would care about is a home run from Barry, just demonstrating how the emphasis on home runs in baseball cheapens and diminishes the rest of the game.

Beltran grounds out, but we’re barely paying attention because the cues we’re getting from Buck’s deft announcing all suggest we shouldn’t be watching unless the batter is Bonds.

Griffey’s up next, and he fouls a ball off his foot. Considering that probably caused his foot to fall off, he’s keeping a very brave face. We’re told that Beckett has been bothered by “a situation on his pitching hand.” A situation? That counts as an injury? Further explanation by Buck reveals the situation in question is eczema. No. Fucking. Way. Is it just us or are baseball players getting wimpier with every passing year? (Griffey strikes out swinging.)

TOP OF THE FOURTH

Are you impressed, Gentle Reader, that we haven’t expounded yet on how epically stupid it is that home field advantage in the World Series is decided by this exhibition game?

A-Rod leads off the inning, facing someone called Cole Hamels. He looks exactly like Hairy, only without a goatee. Are they just rotating the same guy through different costumes to pitch this whole game? Schnookie also thinks Buck calls him “Camels”. Oh well, Hamels/Camels, it doesn’t matter. A-Rod rips a single between the shortstop and the thirdbaseman, then steals second on the first pitch of the next at-bat.

Speaking of the next at-bat, it’s Guerrero, who grounds to short. The shortstop takes a few pump fakes as if to throw to second to catch A-Rod off the bag, and A-Rod responds by waving his hands around his head like a girl. Ultimately the shortstop decides A-Rod’s not worth his time and completes the 6-3 instead.

Mags chops to short for the groundout.

While this inning is going on, Bonds is being interviewed in the dugout, and we’ll be damned if we have any idea what he was talking about.

The next batter, whose identity we missed, drives a ball to right, and A-Rod, jogging femininely, gets thrown out at home by a mile. Buck praises Griffey for the throw, but honestly, the way A-Rod was running, we suspect one of our cats could have thrown him out there.

BOTTOM OF THE FOURTH

As David Wright is leading off, Buck and McCarver talk up A-Rod’s poor, sore little hamstring. Somehow we’re supposed to be impressed that he at least tried to run home on that third out; way to know your limitations, A-Rod. That didn’t cost your team at all. Because Buck hasn’t spent enough time tonight being excited about Bonds knocking on the HR record’s door, he now speculates about which players will fly to witness the event when A-Rod ultimately breaks Bond’s record. Zzzz… Meanwhile, Wright bounces the ball off the mound but gets thrown out by the second baseman.

Fielder lines to center, as Buck and a sideline reporter spin their wheels about steroids, and how fans have to just accept a certain amount of suspicion, and the sanctity of the record book, and how “this isn’t just baseball’s problem” and OH MY GOD JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!!!

A Dodger strikes out swinging, but McCarver and Buck are too busy ping-ponging from being outraged by the thought of steroids in baseball to making it sound like baseball’s awesome because of steroids to tell us anything about it. And we can’t be bothered to really watch.

TOP OF THE FIFTH

We have fielding changes, but we are not going to pay enough attention to register who they are.

Brian Roberts leads off against a Padres pitcher named Young (we don’t catch his first name); we perk up considerably when McCarver, duly impressed, tells us he’s a Princeton guy. We are delighted to see some footage of this former Tiger in a baseball fight; he’s 700 feet tall, and he’s there swinging randomly and totally missing his fellow combatant. Baseball fights are so cute. And pathetic.

Roberts gets a walk, and Posada steps in. The Original Little Bitch must be some kind of threatening, because the catcher trots out to converse with Tiger Young, and is literally half Young’s height. McCarver is blathering about how Posada “has saved his best baseball for his 35th year,” and Boomer mutters, “Jorge Posada has not been playing baseball for 35 years.” Schnookie and Pookie chorus, “He’s Jorge Posada. Yes he has been playing for 35 years.” He flies to shallow center.

We check in with our intrepid kayak player/reporter in McCovey Cove and this is, we shit you not, the most exciting thing we’ve seen all night. He’s quit kayaking, and is now on the back of a boat showing off his dog. He insists the dog is dying to chase a baseball, so he tosses it a few feet from the boat deck and the dog totally doesn’t notice. “Go get it!” he encourages the dog, “Go get the ball!” Utterly confused, the dog leaps into the water, swims away from the ball, and circles a kayak to get out into open water. A fleet of Fox kayaking producer types start rowing after him, and the dog huffs, “FREEDOM!” as he chugs farther and farther away. This is why live sports will always beat the pants off scripted television for sheer entertainment value.

It’s as if the dog swimming to freedom kicked up the excitement level on the field, too — Ichiro drives a ball off the centerfield wall, and Griffey fields the ball about as well as the dog did out in the water. That, Gentle Reader, is a 2-run inside-the-park homerun, and the first inside-the-park-er in All-Star history. Sweet! 2-1 AL.

Because DJ knows we can’t handle much more of this, he flies out, and the next batter does the same. We wouldn’t want too much excitement; Bud Selig might get lightheaded or something.

BOTTOM OF THE FIFTH

Now we get to listen to the dulcet tones of coaching genius Tony LaRussa as Chase Utley grounds out against a new pitcher (some dude from Cleveland). LaRussa tells us for some reason, “That’s why you play the game. So you can get more runs than they do.” We are staggered by his brilliance.

A Met (we thought it was Reyes, but when he steps up to bat next, we decide perhaps that wasn’t Reyes after all) lines to left, and McCarver folksies of the catch, “Sometimes you catch the ball, and sometimes the ball catches you.”

The real Reyes gets a single, but it’s all moot because the next batter (a Cub) gets out.

As we go to commercial, we see footage of a kayaking man with a tambourine and wearing a gold cape returns the escaping dog to his rightful boat. The dog looks crushed.

TOP OF THE SIXTH

We are actually looking up in time to catch the new pitcher’s name, but in the time it takes us to type that, we’ve already forgotten it. A-Rod and his mary janes go down without a fight and fly out to center.

Guerrero, still not living up to those homerun highlights from earlier, flies to center. Buck takes this opportunity to tell us that this ballpark is his favorite baseball park, not just in baseball — in all of sports. Because those other sports’ ballparks are piles of puke.

A fellow named Crawford is batting now. Buck is now rambling on about how someone on the field right now “does things, athletically, that will amaze you.” Pookie: “God! Any sport where you have to specify that the feats you’re talking about are athletic is not a sport.” Crawford amazes us with his athleticism by hitting a homerun to center. 3-1 AL.

At second, Chase Utley takes a momentary break from thinking about how hot he is and makes a good sliding stop of a groundball hit by Carlos Guillen (we were pretty sure he’d retired years ago. Are we thinking of a different Carlos Guillen?) and throws the runner out at first.

BOTTOM OF THE SIXTH

Justin Verlander, who we think we’ve heard of, is pitching now. We think he’s written “I [heart] Steph” on his glove. He and his Guy Smiley triangular nose are facing Beltran. Beltran hits the ball to the same spot Ichiro hit, but he was only moseying to first and squeezes just a triple. We are disappointed — we want more inside-the-park homerun action!

Griffey steps in and Fox realizes we’d all rather hear DJ talking about meeting Willie Mays than watch Junior. DJ’s charm necklace, in case you were wondering, Gentle Reader, has a pendant on it with “I [heart] the -ookies” written in diamond-like gemstones (that are actually petrified Don Zimmer tears). Griffey gets another RBI with a sacrifice fly. 3-2 AL.

David Wright furthers the beating up on Verlander by getting a broken-bat single while McCarver and Buck are buzzing like white noise in the background about the chances of Griffey being traded.

Matt Holliday is up next. Is this the guy we’re supposed to be watching for? We hope not, because he does a lousy job and grounds to first.

Russell Martin is next, and as he steps in we get a “Separated at Birth?” graphic suggesting he looks like “Turtle” from Entourage. We are suddenly nostalgic for a non-game-appropriate “Name That Squirt”. Just after Fox shows us a group hug in one of the dugouts, Martin pops up.

TOP OF THE SEVENTH

Reams of new players are in the field now, indicating, we suppose, that it’s now the boring part of tonight’s game. Or rather, more boring. Roberts steps in against a Dodgers pitcher named Saito, and Buck drones on about the home plate umpire. Pookie tunes in just to hear him say, “He couldn’t fit mine in his pocket, it’s so big.” She says, “I don’t even want to know.” Roberts grounds out, equally disgusted by Joe Buck.

We are treated to Sounds of the Game: LaRussa giving his player changes to the umpire, and it’s every bit as exciting as listening to someone spelling last names over the telephone.

The Original Little Bitch comes up, and lines out to first. McCarver is telling us that Saito is a thousand years old and making his first All-Star appearance. Oh.

Torii Hunter is up next, and he bores Buck, who decides to pitch instead the promise of more of that DJ/Griffey/Mays interview if you tune in next weekend to Fox’s hot MLB lineup. Hunter doesn’t make him look stupid for ignoring him, flying out to shallow left.

SEVENTH INNING STRETCH

Because baseball seems to operate under the belief that “God Bless America” should be treated as our national anthem, the crowd is instructed to stand and remove their caps while Paula Cole takes six weeks to plug in her electric keyboard. The crowd boos, and we are all rewarded for our patience with a schmaltzarama, soporific rendition of what is not a compelling song even at its best. (Whatever happened to “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”? Whatever happened to baseball being about having fun instead of being about chest-thumping patriotism?)

And it probably doesn’t need to be mentioned that any sport that requires a break two-thirds of the way through to let the spectators stand up and get blood flowing back into their legs is not a sport.

BOTTOM OF THE SEVENTH

Carlos Lee leads off now, facing Johan Santana. Carlos shows off his foul power to both fields on his first two pitches. By Pookie’s rules, he’d not only be out of this game, he’d be out of next year’s All-Star Game, too. Aaaaaand… he strikes out swinging at a pitch that bounced in the dirt.

Soriano steps in and Schnookie asks, “Who’s this guy?” Pookie answers pertly, “A Met.” A close-up shows her that is not, in fact, a Mets uniform at all — it’s a Cubs uni. Nice one, Pookie. Soriano strikes out looking.

Reyes (in a Mets uniform) is up for what seems like the zillionth time tonight. Buck is discussing the inside-the-park homerun and assures us that ball “is on its way to the Hall of Fame as we speak.” We have mental images of some old man running to an olde-tyme train station while waving the ball in the air and shouting, “Wait! This ball must be on that train!” (Reyes grounds to third.)

TOP OF THE EIGHTH

IPB is now officially tired of this. We are keeping our fingers crossed that the hitters are all planning to swing at pitches early in the count.

Mike Lowell, who, contradictingly, looks like he went to the Scott Niedermayer School Of Hoary as well as the Mike Piazza School Of Effete Facial Hair, gets a single off Billy Wagner.

Justin Morneau, alleged hockey fan, comes up as Buck gives us a “profile” of David Ortiz. The profile includes such fun factoids as “his hobby is cooking”, “his favorite NFL team is the Packers”, and “he has written a book.” Buck sounds as interested in all of this as we are. Morneau fouls out to third out of sheer boredom.

Grady Sizemore comes next, and is the first ALer to strike out tonight. He is nowhere near as cute as the name “Grady Sizemore” suggested he would have been.

Victor Martinez, who is apparently a Cleveland Indian, steps in and rips a line-drive homerun over the left field wall. 5-2 AL. Fox brings us the exciting news that that’s the 18th pinch-hit HR in All-Star history. The last one was in 2003.

Crawford grounds to third, and we creep closer, ever closer, to the end of this affair.

BOTTOM OF THE EIGHTH

Jonathan Papelbon, who looks like a girlier Chris Osgood, is facing Derrek Lee. We are dismayed that his first pitch doesn’t result in a quick out. McCarver tells us that Papelbon has a “wonderful, whimsical way”. Pookie says she expects now to see him pitching in Rochester Amerks “At-Your-Service” Dinner feather boa and fairy wings. He gives up a bloopy single to center.

Orlando Hudson has the misfortune to be batting while Buck gives us a “profile” of Chase Utley, in which Utley claims that he enjoys dancing at weddings. Buck veers off into “Wedding Crashers” joke territory; it should be said, if a movie is safe enough for Sid Crosby to list it as his favorite, it’s not as edgy and hip a cultural reference as Joe Buck thinks it is. (This is all ridiculous, though, because we all know Utley’s hobby is “thinking about how hot I am”.) Hudson strikes out as Lee successfully steals second. How dare he beat the rocket arm of The Original Little Bitch!

Up next? Aaron Rowand, a Phillie who is also rocking Mike Piazza gay-pride facial hair. We are treated to footage of him chasing a ball in a regular-season game and face-planting into the outfield fence. It is a great catch, no doubt, but McCarver cracks us up as he praises Rowand for playing hard, and reckless, and suffering “facial lacerations and a broken nose”. Considering he probably went on the 60-day DL for that, we’re not sure how impressed to be. (Watch he stuffed cotton up his nose just kept playing, now that we’ve cast aspersions on his toughness.) (Just kidding.)

A Papelbon pitch sails wide and Lee takes third.

Rowand strikes out swinging, just as McCarver is discussing, circuitously, how superior the AL is to the NL. We don’t even watch baseball and we knew that, so why McCarver thinks he needs to back this statement up with stats is beyond us.

Freddy Sanchez steps in and is IPB’s MLB All-Star hero — he flies out on the first pitch! Well played, Sanchez!

TOP OF THE NINTH

Is it the ninth already? Where has the time gone? (We might not know where the time went, but we know how it went — slowly.)

Trevor Hoffman is pitching now to Guillen. Pookie just now realizes the bad news: “Oh no! The NL has home field. They’re probably going to tie it up or something.” The AL does not extend its lead on Guillen’s at-bat, as he grounds out.

Baseball thinks it’s cool for offering a Hybrid Tahoe as the prize for the MVP. Considering that that’s just a car that uses the electric part of the hybrid engine to make a smaller engine more powerful, instead of being designed specifically to be a more environmentally-friendly car, we won’t concede anything to MLB for the gesture.

Brian Roberts also fails to pad the lead. Bastard.

Come on, Original Little Bitch. Make this lead insurmountable!

Fox is fixating on a fan in the stands wearing an elaborate, stupid, rubber pirate mask. Pookie splutters, “Why would you wear that…” and trails off for a moment. Then, “Oh. He’s a Pirates fan.” Pause. “It’s probably Doc.”

Posada hits a stand-up double to center field. That wasn’t what we meant when we asked him to extend the lead — we wanted another run on one swing of the bat. None of this “manufacturing” runs shit. That takes too long!

Torii Hunter is up next. We no longer care about extending the lead. Come on Hoffman, get him out! Hunter gets a piece of a ball and the foul tip drills the umpire on the hand. McCarver and Buck yammer on about how, shockingly, it hurts to get hit by baseballs. We’re so glad they’re here to spice up this event with such insightful commentary.

As this at-bat boringly rolls along, Pookie declares with no small surprise, “It’s amazing to me how much more palpably exciting the Spelling Bee was than this.” She’s right.

At long last it ends, as Hunter grounds to third. Hockey Gods willing, we’ve got just three outs to go.

BOTTOM OF THE NINTH

We would be laughing uproariously right now if we weren’t braindead, because the pitcher’s name is Putz.

Holliday hits the umpire with another foul tip, and we get to hear him on mic’d up saying, “GodDAMN!” Pookie adds for him a gravelly, “My balls!”

Putz might just be the winner of the IPB MLB All-Star Game Imaginary Hybrid Imaginary Car — if he can keep getting outs as easily as that one, we’ll love him. In as much as we can love a baseball player, let alone a closer.

A Brave with a DiPietro “bear” beard steps in now. Surely Putz can take a guy with Pretty Ricky facial hair.

We take encouragement, in this time of dire boredom and need, that Buck is now reading the Fox crew closing credits.

We take further encouragement at the Brave’s popup.

As Dmitri Young steps up, Pookie says, “Is this it? Is this the final out? Ten bucks says he gets at least four foul balls.” No bet.

The groans of dismay rock stately IPB Manor’s walls as Young gets a cheap single on a ball that handcuffs the second baseman. That blows.

Soriano now has the chance to be our favorite goat. But… no. Fucker hits a two-run homerun to right. This is disgusting. Putz is really living up to his name. (Yes, it’s getting late, and we’re tired of this. You knew we were going to say it.) 5-4 AL.

All our hopes of ending this now fall on a batter named J.J. Hardy. That’s a name that inspires confidence that he’ll strike out meekly, but instead he draws a fucking walk. For the love of God, Leyland, take Putz out! No, wait! Leave him in — a walk-off homerun is as good as an out now.

We go to commercial as Leyland makes a switch.

Derrek Lee can be the hero now, facing pitcher Francisco Rodriguez. It’s mano-a-mano, to see who loves IPB best. Will Rodriguez end it with an out? Will Lee end it with a homerun? The tension is utterly bearable, almost to the point of being nonexistent.

adfkaopjeadglajproehtweitangfda Lee got a walk. This is killing us. This game started four fucking hours ago. Enough is enough, Fox.

The batter now is a Diamondback whose name escapes us. We are, at this point, too delirious to read. Oh, McCarver tells us his name is Hudson. Then Buck breaks our hearts by informing us of what we can’t see through our tears — the count is 3-0. Rodriguez is the pukiest pile of puke ever, and has now walked the bases loaded. If the NL can’t get two runs out of this, we can’t be held responsible for our actions.

Aaron Rowand and his meticulous goatee get their chance at the IPB Imaginary Hybrid Imaginary Car. End this with a swing of the bat, face-plant-into-the-fence boy. And he does! He flies out to right field! Hand that man a set of Imaginary IPB Car Keys!

We’d tell you, Gentle Reader, about the postgame crap going on, but we can’t bear even another second of this. Over and out.