It was called off three days before the first pitch, which is pretty standard procedure these days. You know how it goes.

According to MLB Commissioner Gary N. H. Potts III, the cancellation came down to a “procedural disagreement regarding the narrative weight of pre-game entertainment.” Translation: Home Run Derby coordinator Braden King, who’s been working at Fenway Park for 17 years and knows where the first-baseman’s elbow is more intimately than anyone has a right to know, refused to run the Home Run Derby because the stadium’s digital scoreboard “didn’t adequately acknowledge the Home Run Derby’s contribution to the American Dream.”

King’s statement read in part, “The Home Run Derby is not a warm-up. It’s not an appetizer. It’s not a suggestion. It’s the reason you’re all still standing here, breathing, and not currently under house arrest for the sheer absurdity of what we’ve become.” (He’s currently under a cloud of probation for his earlier tweet declaring the 2023 Winter Classic ’the most emotionally repressive sporting event in human history.')

The real kicker was discovered during a press conference at which both the Red Sox and Boston Globe refused to attend. When asked why the game was being cancelled, Commissioner Potts III opened with the standard corporate speak: “Today, we’ve made the difficult decision to… let me finish. Let me be clear. The Red Sox fans have a valid point. We’re canceling the All-Star Game because…” and then he just stopped. He stopped because the stadium’s PA system, controlled by a unionized group of audio engineers who haven’t had a raise since 2014, collectively decided to play nothing but elevator music for the remainder of the briefing.

Here’s the thing about baseball: you think you know it, but you don’t. You think you know how the rules work, you think you know why the umpires make certain calls, but you don’t know anything about the bureaucracy that runs the sport. You think the All-Star Game is a baseball thing, but it’s not. It’s a compliance nightmare disguised as a sporting event.

The problem started with the Red Sox trying to pitch the idea of a “narrative-enhanced Home Run Derby” where each round would be themed around American history, starting with the 19th century and ending with the 1920s. The MLB’s legal department rejected the idea because “the home run derby is not a period piece. It is not a living museum. It is a narrative vacuum.”

Then the umpires’ union filed a grievance because the Home Run Derby’s scoring system “created an artificial sense of competition among participants who were clearly competing for the same narrative resources.”

Finally, the stadium’s audio engineers refused to play the home theme song because it “lacked sufficient emotional resonance to justify the licensing fees.”

And that’s when it all came apart. The Red Sox said they’d cancel. The White Sox said they’d cancel. The broadcasters said they’d cancel. The only thing left to do was cancel the entire thing.

Here’s what’s weird about baseball: you think the game is about hitting a ball, but it’s not. It’s about form-filling. It’s about compliance. It’s about making sure that every aspect of the game has been properly documented, filed, and approved by a committee of experts who have never seen a baseball but have seen enough forms to make your head spin.

I think about the All-Star Game being cancelled because of a bureaucratic dispute, and I think about the players who will be disappointed, the fans who will be upset, and the broadcasters who will have nothing to say. And I think about the absurdity of it all. And I think: what a waste of time.