The Game That Ended Tied!

Over the last couple weeks we’ve been taking a look at what MLB teams will do leading up to the MLB trading deadline on July 31st. Since we are a few days from the MLB All-Star Break today’s article is a comedic look back at the 2002 All-Star Game.

Gather ’round, baseball fans, and let me tell you the tale of the 2002 MLB All-Star Game, a night when the brightest stars of the baseball universe aligned in Milwaukee, only to end in a cosmic blunder so absurd, it could have been scripted by the writers of a slapstick comedy. It was a game that had everything: home runs, diving catches, a sausage race, and a conclusion that left everyone scratching their heads, wondering if they’d somehow stumbled into an alternate dimension where baseball games don’t actually have winners.

Our story begins at Miller Park, home of the Milwaukee Brewers, where the game’s first twist of irony occurred: Commissioner Bud Selig, who would soon become the game’s accidental protagonist (or perhaps antagonist), was hosting the event in his hometown. Fans were buzzing, the smell of brats and beer filled the air, and the stadium was packed to the brim with eager spectators ready to witness a mid-summer classic.

Before we dive into the game itself, let’s take a moment to appreciate the All-Star festivities. There’s the Home Run Derby, where sluggers take turns smashing baseballs into orbit while their teammates pretend to be very serious about shagging flies in the outfield. In 2002, Jason Giambi won the Derby, launching moonshots that made you wonder if he was auditioning for NASA rather than MLB.

Then there’s the Celebrity Softball Game, which is essentially an opportunity to watch actors and musicians try to remember which end of the bat to hold. In 2002, we had the likes of Drew Carey and David Justice taking the field, which was a bit like watching a Shakespearean actor try stand-up comedy. You admire the effort, but you’re also cringing just a little.

As the All-Star Game began, everything seemed to be going smoothly. The starting pitchers were Curt Schilling for the National League and Derek Lowe for the American League, two aces ready to show off their stuff. The first few innings were a showcase of pitching prowess, with Schilling and Lowe dealing heat like they were pitching in a midsummer’s dream.

Of course, the real fun of the All-Star Game is watching the best hitters in the world take their hacks. Barry Bonds, the Sultan of Swat in the early 2000s, stepped to the plate and promptly hit a ball so hard it nearly left a dent in the sky. Then, Torii Hunter, not to be outdone, made a catch so spectacular he probably could’ve applied for superhero status afterward. Bonds, ever the showman, actually picked up Hunter in a mock wrestling move after the catch, showing that even baseball’s biggest stars can have a sense of humor.

As we moved into the middle innings, the game started to heat up. The AL and NL traded runs like kids swapping baseball cards. It was classic All-Star action, with runs being scored off doubles, dingers, and sac flies, the kind of baseball that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

But as the innings wore on, managers Joe Torre and Bob Brenly began to face a conundrum that would soon become the game’s central farce: they were running out of players. In the All-Star Game, it’s tradition to get everyone into the game, and both managers had dutifully followed this unwritten rule. Little did they know, this would come back to bite them in the most embarrassing way possible.

Fast forward to the eleventh inning. The score was tied 7-7, and the game was still going strong. But Torre and Brenly had a problem: they had used up all their pitchers. All of them. And unlike your typical game, there was no backup plan. In a regular season game, you might call up some poor soul from the bullpen or even consider a position player to pitch. But this was the All-Star Game, and the idea of bringing in, say, Mike Piazza to pitch was both hilarious and terrifying.

Enter Commissioner Bud Selig, our beleaguered hero. With the game dragging on and the possibility of running out of players looming, Selig did what any baseball commissioner would do: he panicked. He consulted with the managers, the umpires, probably even a hot dog vendor or two or ten, and made a decision that would go down in infamy: the game would end in a tie if no one scored in the bottom of the eleventh.

When the final out was recorded and the game was officially declared a tie, the reaction was swift and brutal. Fans booed, players looked bewildered, and somewhere, the spirit of General Robert Worley probably wept. A tie? In baseball? It was like finding out Santa Claus wasn’t real or that your favorite pizza place had run out of cheese.

Selig, standing in his hometown stadium, tried to explain the decision, but it was like trying to convince a pack of wolves to go vegan. The boos rained down, and the headlines the next day were merciless. “Selig Ties One On” and “All-Star Game Ends in All-Time Low” were just a couple of the more colorful critiques.

In the wake of the 2002 debacle, Major League Baseball knew it had to act. The next year, they introduced the “This Time It Counts” rule which was used for fourteen years before being abolished for the 2017 All-Star game. The rule game the winning league would earn home-field advantage in the World Series. It was a controversial decision, but it showed that baseball was willing to learn from its mistakes, even if those mistakes were the equivalent of slipping on a banana peel in front of a sold-out crowd.

Looking back, the 2002 MLB All-Star Game is remembered less for its stellar plays and more for its spectacular absurdity. It’s a reminder that even in a sport with as much tradition and reverence as baseball, there’s always room for a little chaos and comedy. It’s a story we can tell with a chuckle, knowing that sometimes the best-laid plans of mice and men (and baseball commissioners) often go awry.

So, next time you’re at a game and the unexpected happens—an odd delay occurs at the start of a game on a sunny day, a bird gets hit by a pitch, a squirrel runs onto the field, or the lights go out—just remember the 2002 All-Star Game. Remember the laughter, the confusion, and the sheer joy of knowing that baseball, for all its seriousness, can still surprise us in the funniest ways possible. And who knows? Maybe the next great baseball comedy is just one pitch away.

With that… Let’s go National League!

If you cannot play with them, then root for them!