By Sean Grogan
Baseball’s All Star Game will be played in Washington this coming Tuesday. Since I’m still in the area, I’ll probably go. I’ve been to three such games over the years, Washington in 1969, Baltimore in 1993, and Philadelphia in 1996. So I thought four would make a nice, even number.
My memories are pretty strong for each one. Baltimore’s Camden Yards, wit
h its new-old look, was in its second year. The Star Spangled Banner was recited, not sung, by James Earl Jones. Fitting, I suppose, since Ft. McHenry, where it was written, was close by. And one section over, in his Cubs hat, was Bill Murray.
I recall a young Barry Bonds gliding into second base after hitting the ball down the right field line. Ivan Rodriguez hit a ball that actually stuck in the outfield padding and Randy Johnson sailed a pitch over John Kruk’s head, providing everyone with some entertainment, Kruk especially.
So three years later the game was in Philadelphia, which was a little less memorable. 
Kelsey Grammar sang the anthem. I heard Will Smith was there, and Mike Piazza and Ken Caminiti hit home runs. Caminiti was aided; I’m sure, as he had a reputation.
Those two games took place in what I consider a grey period for Washington baseball fans, the time from 1972-2004 that there was no team here. The great sportswriter Shirley Povich put it so aptly when he said he felt like a man with his face pressed against a window, watching a party that he was not invited to. So I watched those as a somewhat detached fan, enjoying the play but without a real interest in any team.
Going back, however, the first All Star Game I saw was in 1969 at the newly renamed RF
K Stadium. I was eleven years old, with a passion for the game only one who has watched for four years would have. The Senators were still around, and my favorite Frank Howard played and hit a long home run.
My strongest memories are from that day. That game also provided my favorite All Star moment, one that didn’t even occur during the game. We got there early, looking on from the upper deck in left field, where our seats were. The game was to be played on a Tuesday night, but it poured rain so it was rescheduled for the next day. It turns out we were seeing the last such game played in the daytime. Matty Alou of the Pirates was running and stretching on the wet grass below. A friend called out, “Hey, Mateo Rojas!” Alou turned, smiled and waved back. And when batting practice took place, we noticed the 38 year old Willie Mays stepping to the plate. Already a legend, Mays hit one over the left center field fence. There was a loud cheer. Then, on the next pitch, he did it again. The cheering grew louder. And, remarkably, he hit the third straight pitch thrown to him out of the park. The crowd roared. We were witnessing greatness. Anyone who has swung a bat knows how difficult t
hat is.
It was one of those times that you truly wish for something to happen but you don’t really believe it will. It did. My nephew Daniel once said to me, “Sports is about moments.” I fully believe that. You can have your analytics, sabermetrics, fantasy sports,DraftKings, etc. But we watch for those moments, the chance to see something we haven’t seen before. And for the roar of the crowd.
