Hey, did you know this is the last year of Yankee Stadium‘s existence as a ballpark?

Anyway, as these kids kick off their little exhibition game, and as the Sox faithful remain up in arms about Jermaine Dye, A.J. Pierzynski, John Danks et al having the day off, it’s hard not to chuckle at the two biggest flaws in this ritual’s existence.

For starters, it’s called the All-Star Game. Major League Baseball may not realize this, but such a title automatically defeats both fans’ and the league’s expectations of what the game actually represents. Countless fan favorites are left out, and countless non-stars are either forced or invited in, effectively rendering the game neither consisting of only stars nor being a showcase for every star.

Thinking about it more, MLB has (most likely without thinking about it, unless Bud Selig is more postmodern and lowbrow existentialist than we thought) changed the midsummer “classic” from a nice salary bonus to possibly the greatest platform for the larger debate on the relationship athletic performance and relative fame. Does anyone outside of San Francisco consider Brian Wilson and his 25 dubious 4.58 ERA-riddled saves for a last-place team a “star”? Does Jason Varitek’s name recognition and fan appeal cancel out the fact that he’s having a worse season than our own Juan Uribe?

Moreover, the question for everyone bemoaning the absence of a few choice hometown heroes becomes one not of what will it accomplish, but one of what does it really mean?

When Scott Podsednik was righteously voted in as the 32nd man in 2005, did his half-inning of defensive substitution really contribute anything to the rest of the season? When Esteban Loaiza pitched those two scoreless innings at home in 2003, did the Minnesota Twins become any less superior to the Good Guys? When Ray Ray got that one hit in 2000, did the Mariners suddenly not sweep the ALDS?

No, no, and no.

And yet – and it’s a big yet – take a second and think of White Sox stars past. Think of their time on the South Side. Think of a game or a play or a moment you’ll always remember. How many of those memories come from an All-Star game? How many don’t?

Now ask yourself this: how many times did the rest of America agree with you on that player’s star power? MLB’s ad campaigns may insist otherwise, but in the end the All-Star Game doesn’t count; more importantly it doesn’t matter, either.