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On golden balls, or: Climbing Mount Abreu: The 2013 Home Run Derby chatspace

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Welcome to the most bloated, masturbatory, operatically pointless night of baseball: the Home Run Derby!

Citi Field, arrayed in her bloated, operatic splendor. Let's go to the Met!
Citi Field, arrayed in her bloated, operatic splendor. Let's go to the Met!
USA TODAY Sports

Such a headline may have you believe I don't like the Home Run Derby. Ha! Wrong, because both opera and masturbation have their enjoyable moments. It's just that depending on the night, you just have to work a heck of a lot harder than you wanted to in order to reach the climax. And when it's all over, you're generally left preferring something way better.

Interesting parallels exist. For spectacle, it works for about five minutes. If you watch longer, you start to examine the many flaws, such as:

  • Who the hell are those people on the field/stage? How did they rate?
  • What if the Futures Game Outfielders actually played the outfield, and they counted real outs? That would be way better.
  • When is halftime? Why is Prince Fielder wearing a blond wig? Why is David Wright wearing a magical helmet with horns?
  • This should be a drinking game. And lo and behold, SB Nation comes to the rescue!
  • If you close your eyes and imagine Bobby Abreu, it gets very, very strange indeed. And yet, he remains the all time king of the Home Run Derby.

Discuss the show below. Drink lots.