And Allen’s real claim to fame?
He invented a game called “All-Star Baseball” that was manufactured by Cadaco-Ellis and became the best-selling baseball board game of all time.
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Before the Ping-BOOM-Splat!-Bonk of the video age, sports games for children involved throwing dice, spinning a wheel or pointing a piece in the right direction. No quick hands or hand-eye coordination were necessary. The games were durable. More than a few baby boomers still have their old Monopoly and Scrabble sets in a closet, not to mention chess and checkers. They’re a halfcentury old and remain in vintage working order. Kids never had to buy new software or a new operating system.
In a 1983 interview with Bill Madden of The Sporting News, Allen recalled, “I had this idea, even when I was playing, that you could put a man’s playing record on a disc. While I was with the Cubs, I went to various manufacturers with the hope of selling the idea to them as a game, only to have most of them practically kick me out of their offices.”
In 1941, five years after his quest began, Allen brought his concept to Charles Mazer (head of Cadaco-Ellis, a Chicago-based game manufacturer). Ellis liked the idea, and All-Star Baseball was born.
The first edition, manufactured in 1941, sold for $1.25. It had a cardboard playing field that fit snugly into the game box, a scoreboard, two cardboard blocks with spinners attached (one for each team) and 40 round cardboard discs with die-cut centers.
Each disc represented a different All-Star player from the 1941 season. They were designed like pie charts and were the key to the game. Sections numbered “1” through “14” were irregularly arranged around the circumference of each disc — “1” represented a home run, “10” was a strike out. The design of each disc reflected probabilities based on the player’s real-life batting statistics. For example, Babe Ruth had the largest home run zone of any player. He also walked and struck out a lot.
In choosing teams, the two players (managers, if you will) usually divided the discs into American League vs. National League. But if they preferred, they could hold their own draft. There was a designated field position for each player. Under the rules of the game, each position had to be included in the line-up.
In terms of strategy, managers wanted their best hitters in the line-up. Babe Ruth (who hit for average and power) was an obvious choice. So was Ted Williams. Ty Cobb was a good bet too. If the opposing manager allowed it, playing Ruth as a pitcher (even though his disc designated him as a right fielder) was a smart move because it removed a weak-hitting pitcher from the lineup in favor of another good-hitting outfielder.
Once the managers had chosen their lineups and put their hitters in order, they placed their player discs on the spinner block batter by batter to determine each batter’s fate. The manager flicked the spinner with a forefinger. Whatever number the point of the spinner came to rest on dictated the result of a given at-bat. If the spinner landed directly on the line between two numbers, the resolution went in favor of the batter just as, in baseball, a tie traditionally goes to the runner.
The manager of the team at bat could also choose to insert one of two strategy discs for steals, hit-and-run plays, squeeze plays and sacrifice bunts. If a weak hitter was at bat, advanced strategy made sense. But not if Babe Ruth was at the plate.
Later editions of the game incorporated a third specialty disk to determine the result of fly balls, ground balls and singles (for example, the possibility of an error or the batter being thrown out trying to stretch a single into a double).
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Baseball is unique among team games in that the defense has the ball at the start of each play and initiates the play when the pitcher chooses to do so. But “All-Star Baseball” was all about the batter. The skill of the opposing pitcher was irrelevant. So was speed. When stealing a base, the fleet-of-foot Ty Cobb had no more of an edge than the legendarily slow Ernie Lombardi.
The initial target audience for the game was boys ages 9 through 12. It allowed them to manage their own big league baseball team. And just as important, “All-Star Baseball” was a level playing field where a boy could compete with his older brother on even terms and the class klutz was the equal of his most athletically gifted schoolmates.
Each year, Cadaco-Ellis manufactured new player discs, adding some players and replacing others. The latest set of player discs could be purchased annually by mail directly from Cadaco.
Nineteen of the 40 players from the 1941 edition also appeared in the 40-player 1942 edition. Succeeding years brought further personnel changes and slightly altered pie charts based on updated career statistics. A 1946 edition added Hall of Fame immortals to the player lineup.
“All-Star Baseball” fired the imagination. In the first decades of its existence, there were few if any sports events on television and, except for films, no other available video images. Thus, for generations of children, a small, round cardboard disc 3-1/2 inches in diameter was the physical embodiment of Babe Ruth. The wide No. 1 sector on his disc stood out as boldly as the record 714 career home runs that The Babe had walloped.
The game was also an entry point into baseball history for boys who were unfamiliar with Hall of Fame greats like Rogers Hornsby and Honus Wagner.
Ultimately, tens of millions of sets were sold. As sales mounted, Mazur was acclaimed as a “genius” for having had the foresight to purchase rights to “All-Star Baseball.” But he eschewed the label, ruefully acknowledging that, a decade earlier, he’d passed on the opportunity to buy and manufacture a board game called “Monopoly.”
Eventually, “All-Star Baseball” player discs were manufactured annually for every team in the major leagues. In 1968, the cut-out was eliminated from each disc and the spinner blocks were replaced by plastic sleeves. But by then, the game’s long run of success was nearing an end.
Strat-O-Matic — a new dice game — had begun production in 1961 and was eating away at sales of “All-Star Baseball.” Then the video game revolution began. In 1989, “All-Star Baseball” added photographs to the player discs in an effort to make them attractive to collectors. But the new “collectibles” never caught on.
Meanwhile, another problem loomed. For a half-century, Ethan Allen had contacted each player represented on an “All-Star Baseball” disc to get permission to use his name and statistics. As noted by Bernard Crowley of the Society for American Baseball Research, “The players, many of whom felt honored to be included in the game, were not paid.”
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In 1993, the Major League Baseball Players Association demanded licensing fees for the use of players’ names, statistics and images. At that point, economic reality dictated an end to new editions of “All-Star Baseball.” A 2003 agreement with the MLBPA led to one more year of manufacture but that was all. The arrival of fantasy baseball shoveled dirt on the grave.
Vintage editions of “All-Star Baseball” are now sold on eBay. Some independent entrepreneurs (in apparent violation of licensing and trademark laws) design, print and sell player discs from all eras, including the present, which they sell online today.
That brings us to contemporary times. My 1950s edition of “All-Star Baseball” has been in a hall closet for decades. Recently, I decided to revisit my youth by playing a game.
Steve Albert is the youngest of three Albert brothers, who comprise the first generation of one of sportscasting’s royal families. Steve’s stint as an MLB commentator began in 1979 when he replaced Lindsey Nelson as a TV and radio play-by-play announcer for the New York Mets. The job lasted for three years, during which he shared a microphone with Bob Murphy and Ralph Kiner. Steve has also called NFL, NBA and NHL games, and spent two decades as a blow-by-blow commentator for “Showtime Championship Boxing.” I can’t think of another announcer with all five of these credits on his resume.
" ‘All-Star Baseball’ was my favorite game when I was a boy,” Steve told me when I raised the possibility of our playing against each other. “I didn’t play it much with Marv because of the age difference between us. But I played it with Al all the time.”
Several days later, I brought my “All-Star Baseball” game to Steve’s apartment. That meant he was the home team. Clearly, Steve was into the spirit of things. When I arrived, he was wearing an old Brooklyn Dodgers game jersey with what looked like a tobacco stain on the front.
“Not tobacco, guacamole,” he explained.
Steve had also rummaged through a closet and taken out an old Louisville Slugger baseball bat and two gloves, one of which looked like it had been used as a teething ring by a family of pitbulls.
“That’s the first glove I ever had,” he told me.
Rather than play American League vs. National League, we divided the discs into two teams based on the era in which the players played. Steve had choice of team and chose the modern All-Stars (“modern” being a relative term). I had the old-timers.
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As kids, we’d played “All-Star baseball” sitting on the floor. Now, as a concession to aging muscles, tendons and ligaments, we sat on a sofa and set the playing field and discs out on the coffee table in front of us.
Our game was scheduled for five innings since a nine-inning game seemed a bit long for our attention span.
The starting line-up for my Old-Timers team was:
LF: Ty Cobb
2B: Rogers Hornsby
RF: Babe Ruth
1B: Lou Gehrig
CF: Joe DiMaggio
SS: Honus Wagner
C: Bill Dickey
3B: Pie Traynor
P: Walter Johnson
Steve’s Modern All-Stars were:
2B: Jackie Robinson
SS: Ernie Banks
1B: Stan Musial
CF: Mickey Mantle
LF: Ted Williams
C: Yogi Berra
3B: Eddie Mathews
RF: Al Kaline
P: Bob Feller
“It pains me to leave Hank Aaron out of my starting line-up,” Steve said. “But I have to go with Ted Williams.”
Before the first spin, we stood for the national anthem, which was sung via laptop by James Taylor.
I placed my Ty Cobb disc on the spinning block.
Steve segued to play-by-play mode: “Top of the frst inning. Leading off for the Old-Timers … Ty Cobb.”
Cobb flied out.
Rogers Hornsby drew a walk.
Babe Ruth advanced to the spinning block.
I spun . . . Round and round the spinner went . . .
YES!!!
The point of the spinner came to rest in the middle of the sector labeled “#1” . . . HOME RUN!!! The Old-Timers led 2-0.
Lou Gehrig singled and advanced to second on a groundout by Joe DiMaggio. Honus Wagner doubled Gehrig home, and I was up 3-0.
When the top of the first inning ended, Steve and I sang a beer commercial from our younger days: “Schaefer is the one beer to have when you’re having more than one.”
Then it was Steve’s turn at bat. Or to be more precise, Jackie Robinson at the plate.
“This is my first ‘All-Star Baseball’ spin in more than 50 years,” Steve noted.
Robinson singled. Ernie Banks was up next and also singled. But Robinson was thrown out when he went too far while rounding second base.
“Jackie Robinson making a base-running mistake? Never!” Steve groused.
Stan Musial singled Banks to third. But Mickey Mantle and Ted Williams flied out to end the inning.
“The Mick had a rough night last night,” Steve hypothesized. “He was out late drinking.”
I scored two more runs in the top of the second inning on RBI singles by Ruth and Gehrig. Steve picked up a run on a solo homer by Eddie Mathews in the bottom of the frame. The score stood 5-1 in my favor.
Top of the third inning. Bill Dickey, my catcher, came to the plate. Dickey was playing injured. At least, that’s what we presumed because his disc was held together by yellowing scotch tape. Dickey tripled and was singled home by Pie Traynor, who then scored on a triple by Nap Lajoie . . . 7-1.
“The crowd is not in a great mood right now,” Steve informed me. “I’m getting annihilated.”
There was a break in the action while we sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
Then the roof caved in on my head. Steve sent 11 batters to the plate in the bottom of the third inning and scored six runs to knot the game at seven runs apiece.
Now, suddenly, the Old-Timers’ bats were cold. And the Modern All-Stars stayed hot, scoring two more runs in the bottom of the fourth to take a 9-7 lead.
“This could be a comeback of historic proportions,” Steve proclaimed.
Top of the fifth inning. My final at-bat. I was trailing by two runs.
Strike out . . . Fly out . . . Down to my last out . . .
Steve began to applaud rhythmically and stomp his feet.
George Sisler, who was pinch-hitting, grounded out. Game over.
“Don’t feel bad,” Steve told me over dinner that night. “I’ll give you a rematch in 50 years.”
Thomas Hauser can be reached at [email protected] His most recent book — “Protect Yourself at All Times” — was published by the University of Arkansas Press. In 2004, the Boxing Writers Association of America honored Hauser with the Nat Fleischer Award for career excellence in boxing journalism.
