Columnist Ron Kantowski: Would Ted have kissed his sister?

Thursday, July 11, 2002 | 10:19 a.m.

Ron Kantowski's insider notes column appears Tuesday and his Page One column appears Thursday. He can be reached at ron@lasvegassun.com or (702) 259-4088.

Say this about the baseball All-Star Game: At least there's no need to keep its memory alive in a cryonics tank.

In fact, if Ted Williams ever makes it to his grave, he might roll over in it. Teddy Ballgame, according to my old man and ESPN Sports Century, played to win, not to tie.

American League 7, National League 7. Somehow, I don't think that's what Arch Ward had in mind.

Ward was the Chicago sports writer who came up with the idea for the All-Star Game in 1933. Back then, interleague play was known by another name -- the World Series. It was the only time the leagues got together to decide who was best, and fans yearned for more.

Over time, the All-Star game evolved into more than a showcase for the game's best players. A rivalry ensued, and sometimes it was more intense than Bob Gibson with a 2-1 lead.

Like in 1970, when Pete Rose bulldozed Ray Fosse at home plate to score the winning run. The collision turned Fosse's shoulder into linguini, more or less ending his career.

Meaningless exhibition game? I don't think so.

But the rancor between the leagues started to subside with the advent of free agency. Interleague play might have doused the competitive fires even further. Now the size of the SUVs they drive to the ballpark is a bigger source of pride to the players than representing their side.

Maybe that's why unlike most of my brethren in the media, I don't have a huge problem with Tuesday's game going down as a tie. It's an exhibition, so how did the fans get cheated? As far as I'm concerned, they got two additional innings they didn't pay for.

What does bother me more than a flannel uniform on a hot day is Bud Selig taking the fall for a development that was none of his doing. If anything, blame Joe Torre and Bob Brenly for managing their rosters in the manner of Little League coaches -- you know, everybody gets to play.

Before the All-Star game turned into an MTV lovefest, 25-man rosters were sufficient to get through the game. Now, 30 guys a side apparently aren't enough.

The 1967 game at Anaheim Stadium lasted 15 innings, yet they didn't have to pull guys out of the bleachers to finish it. The National League used seven pitchers, the American League just five. Catfish Hunter worked the last five innings for the Junior Circuit, finally serving up Tony Perez's game-winning tater.

Roberto Clemente played all 15 innings. So did Orlando Cepeda. Even Gene Alley batted five times.

On Tuesday, Barry Zito threw a grand total of three pitches. That's only three more than I threw, and I don't drive an SUV.

All baseball needs is one volunteer -- a starting pitcher with four days' rest from each side who is willing to sit out -- in the event of extra innings. Even if the game lasts 16 innings, which none has, it would be the equivalent of nothing more than a quality start for the sacrificial lambs.

It's either that, or just make Chan Ho Park and Cal Ripken perennial honorary All-Stars. Then the next time the game goes to the bottom of the ninth tied, Park comes out of the bullpen and serves up a cantaloupe to Ripken, who sees how far he can hit it.

Then everybody goes home to watch Cal trot around the bases on SportsCenter.