ARLINGTON, Texas – It is almost like someone within the apparel cabal of Major League Baseball decided they, too, hated the notion of All-Stars wearing generic uniforms in the Midsummer Classic and that there was only one option to make them stop.

Sabotage.

Tuesday night, a national television audience, on arguably the biggest night of the year for the sport, got a gander at the Nike-designed, Fanatics-produced togs. This is America 2024, and we all seem to exist in alternate spheres and in this one, comprised of the small sample of My Twitter Feed and Group Texts, these uniforms are utterly putrid.

We’re looking, mostly, at the 2024 home American League fits, because they resemble a shade best described as The Morning After A Rough Night Out. Not quite creamsicle trim, not quite tan, not quite sure exactly what they were going for.

A year ago we explored this issue in Seattle, where natives bought the pretty green uniforms eagerly. More important, they were a vibe. The home greens evoked evergreen forests, rugged coastline, overpriced outdoor gear at REI, multinational coffee chains. The road navys let you know you were undoubtedly in the Pacific Northwest.

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But these 2024 AL fits? You look down on the field and see peach and cream and think, how, exactly, does this suggest we are deep in the heart of Texas?

"I’m not sure where it came from. Last year it did seem kind of Seattle-themed," says Mariners right-hander and AL All-Star Logan Gilbert.

"But this is definitely unique."

Why, actually, are the National Leaguers decked out in black and aqua, looking not like All-Stars but rather like the eighth runner-ups in the quest to design Miami Marlins City Connects?

Where am I? Who is that on the field, the AL or the NL? Why do people buy these jerseys?

Well, we can at least get the answer to one question. Wandering the concourse of this massive revenue-generating warehouse known as Globe Life Field, a theme became clear: You could throw just about anything on the shelves and fans, attending a truly once-in-a-lifetime event, will buy them.

“That’s exactly why I bought the jersey,” says Dani Ayala, who made the six-hour drive from Laredo and clad in a Yankees cap, copped a nameless American League jersey. “It’s rare that the All-Star Game is in Texas, or any state close to home.

“So I decided to buy one because I love baseball and it’s rare I’d come to an All-Star Game.”

At this point, our most cynical instincts take over, and we imagine that MLB and the Nike-designed, Fanatics-produced (not a good sign if you have that boilerplate memorized) jersey industry says just give them the cheapest, grimmest thing possible. Because even at $175 for a jersey and $55 for a cap, they will fly off the shelves.

And then we met Rob Eitelman posted up beyond the left field fence at Globe Life.

The Longview, Texas resident and avid Rangers fan didn’t just swipe his Mastercard – at least MLB hopes he used the presenting sponsor of the All-Star Game – to take home a keepsake.

He likes the jerseys. Loves the jerseys.

“I love the design. This year’s colors were fantastic. The bright corals, the baby blues even,” says Eitelman, a beverage in his commemorative cup yet apparently totally sober.

“The scheme is something that’s never been seen before.”

For a moment, Eitelman seems like MLB commissioner Rob Manfred’s vision of an ideal customer. And then we glance down at his feet – and he’s got on a pair of coral Reeboks.

Big coral guy.

“I’ve had these for years,” he says. “I’ve always loved these colors. As much as I love the Rangers, as much as I love the American League and the red, white and blues, these color schemes are different.

“That’s what compelled me to buy this jersey. I bought the hat the day they were released. The color schemes is what sold it for me.”

Sigh.

If someone truly wanted to see how low they can go with jersey design, and how direly to test the whims of consumers, consider this the apparel version of The Producers. They’re a big hit?

Maybe we’re just old, or stuck in a long-gone past, or wish that streaming services would unite to create something like cable television, the great world in which we grew up. Alas.

Still, we could opt for a better world. On the concourse, a fan was rocking a 2016 Padres All-Star Game jersey, back when the world was reversed and they wore the localized jerseys on Home Run Derby Day and a fancified version of their regular jerseys in the game.

And that was back when the jerseys were better, period, with nice round numbers and thick lettering and didn’t look like a player’s road jersey was carrying 12 ounces of sweat after one inning on a slightly warm day. Nothing like the current Nike-designed, Fanatics-produced threads we see every day of the regular season.

But this train has probably left the station for good. The consumer has spoken, and it loves to consume, regardless of what the brand to which it is so loyal tosses on the shelf for $230 for a simple jersey and cap set.

Tuesday, Manfred indicated the league might revisit the concept of All-Stars wearing their own jerseys in the game. Perhaps it will revert back, as the Mariners' Gilbert remembers from his childhood, to players wearing their own jerseys. Maybe not. "It's all good, either way," says Gilbert.

And sure to make the cash registers ring – regardless of what's on the shelves for consumers.

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Even if we come here every year, this is a once-in-a-lifetime event,” says Fort Worth’s Samantha Laing, at the game with her husband, Garrett.

“Orange kind of clashes with me a bit. But I’d say nine times out of 10, sure, I’d buy it.”