For one night, Major League Baseball ruled the sports world.
That’s how it’s supposed to be every summer. But in a sport built on regional loyalty, it’s tough to make the casual fan care about anything beyond their local team. The All-Star Game exists to bridge that gap. So does the Home Run Derby. And despite some production missteps, the Derby actually drew a ratings bump this year.
But the real story wasn’t Monday’s Derby. It was Tuesday’s swing-off.
MLB has come a long way since the embarrassment of the 2002 All-Star Game — the night Bud Selig waved his arms and called a tie after the National League went quietly in the 11th inning. That debacle broke trust. It also led to the league’s over-correction: awarding home-field advantage in the World Series based on the outcome of a glorified exhibition.
These days, the game doesn’t carry those kinds of stakes. But it doesn’t need to. Unlike the sleepwalking NBA All-Star Game, baseball’s Midsummer Classic still features players who care. And on Tuesday night in Atlanta, that effort collided with the swing-off.
Under the current CBA, any All-Star Game tied after nine innings goes straight to a home run derby shootout. Each player gets three swings (not pitches, swings) to hit as many home runs as possible. The twist has been in place since 2022, but this was the first time MLB actually needed it.
And nobody knew what was happening.
Because of travel plans and injuries, some stars like Aaron Judge and Shohei Ohtani weren’t in the swing-off. Instead, the National League sent Kyle Stowers (filling in for Eugenio Suárez), Kyle Schwarber, and Pete Alonso. The American League countered with Brent Rooker, Randy Arozarena, and Jonathan Aranda. Aranda couldn’t come through, so the showdown never reached Alonso, a two-time Derby champ waiting in the wings.
And yet, it worked.
For a handful of minutes, the All-Star Game turned into baseball’s version of an overtime Slam Dunk Contest. It was wild, unpredictable, and totally addictive — everything baseball wants to be but rarely is. Not because it can’t, but because it usually refuses to get out of its own way.
Not only did Rob Manfred and Major League Baseball find a way to protect pitchers from unnecessary innings, but in doing so, they inadvertently crafted a moment perfectly suited for how we consume sports today. There’s an entire generation built on short attention spans and nonstop stimulation. That’s why MLB installed a pitch clock, limited mound visits, and trimmed every ounce of dead time it could.
Baseball will never be as popular as football in this country. But there’s been a flicker of resurgence. And maybe that’s because, after years of tuning fans out, the league is finally starting to listen.
It’ll never be the NFL. But maybe it doesn’t have to be.
Because for one night, baseball wasn’t trying to sell you on why it mattered.
You could just feel it.