The All-Star game was played Tuesday night, and if you didn’t have a scorecard handy, you may have thought it was a come-one, come-all for ballplayers — almost every player got time in the All-Star spotlight.

I have decided to submit to you, the readers, various thoughts that ran through my mind while watching the festivities. Here goes:

First of all, how sad is it that the pre-game has a theme? Shouldn’t it just be the starting line-ups, the National Anthem and “Play ball?”

Anyway, this year’s theme was “The Future of Baseball.” The All-Stars’ brought out their sons and daughters in what was designed to be a heartfelt moment. All I could think of was how many of these children were born out of wedlock.

Before the game even started, there were enough superstars injured to fill a hospital ward. But Barry Bonds decided to forego treatment, add some more Demerol and attend the game. What a trooper: Taking in the game even while he endures the trials and tribulations of having a sore thumb.

Really, the All-Star game should come in the middle of MLB’s week off. This way, Randy Johnson could patrol the mound for a full outing, with a scowl on his face and fire in his arm. That may just be worth the price of admission.

His starting counterpart, David Wells, defies conventional wisdom. In this age of physical fitness and mandatory weightlifting for ballplayers, Wells is in the prime of his career, winning 15 games before the break. All of this while enjoying his 37th year of life and carrying a beer belly that would make a Harley rider envious.

If weightlifting and fitness are at such a premium for baseball players, how come the pitchers’ numbers on the mound are not as good as hitters’ numbers at the plate? Are the pitchers denied access to the weightrooms? Have Troy Glass and other potential journeymen like him worked that much harder at becoming better players? Or is it just that the ball is wound tighter, therefore giving it the title of being “juiced?”

Any player from the Rockies, outside of the pitchers, should not be nominated unless his numbers are as good on the road as they are at home.

The entire pitching staff of the Rockies should represent the National League. They don’t all have to pitch, but they should be there as the outcome of a nationwide sympathy vote.

It was refreshing to hear an intelligent voice in the broadcast booth — Bob Costas is the best there is. He is a far cry from the ex-jocks who stutter incoherently between muttering “aaah” and “emmm.” Costas’ knowledge of the game is encyclopedic.

Chipper Jones hit the only home run.

Sammy Sosa hit 26 dingers to win the home run derby. The only way The Tribune Company (the media conglomerate that owns the Cubs) will pay Sosa what he is asking for his contract extension, is if Sosa hits 26 home runs every game for the rest of the season. Cheap bastards.

The home run derby has lost its flare and novelty. If I want to see 50 home runs a night, I can turn on Sportscenter. It would become fresh again if the derby only counted home runs that made it to the upper deck.

The All-Stars who were voted as starters should play the whole game. The last few innings of the game were rendered pointless by the reserves (many of whom were questionable to even be in Atlanta). Any dramatics the ninth could have had was duked out by a bunch of second-stringers. If this is to be the case, the name should be changed from the All-Star Game to the All-Star Exhibition.

After the “thrilling” finish, fireworks rained down on Atlanta. This seemed about as tacked-on and corny as the pre-game theme. Well, at least it went full circle.

And last thought: If Derek Jeter is the first Yankee to win the MVP award, who was taking home the All-Star Game hardware when DiMaggio and Mantle were around?

The All-Star game used to signal the start of the pennant races. Now with the wild card and three divisions per league, pennant races mean nothing. To make it to the post-season, a team need only to be the best of the second-best in their respective leagues. To cut the divisions back to two per league would mean significance in the pennant races, while also giving baseball some of its nostalgic timelessness.

To do this would mean restructuring the divisions, which would mean talking to the players’ union about a possible salary cap or ditching teams, thereby infuriating them, which would in turn make the owners upset that they were left out of the talks, which could mean another strike … Hey, why did I even watch the game?

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Paul Kix is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication from Hubbard.