Baseball has finally done it— it’s found a way to make even the All-Star Game feel like a court deposition. In its quest for perfection, MLB has turned to cold algorithms and blinking lights, because who needs nuance when you’ve got “accuracy”? Tarik Skubal, the fireballing ace and noted connoisseur of adrenaline, isn’t exactly applauding from the mound. His reaction to the league’s latest experiment is anything but automated.

Yes, the ABS for MLB is more of a need than a want, not because the players want it, but because the umpires are making a case for it. But not everyone is a fan of it. While some say bring it back, the pitchers and the catchers say it does not help us. Even Tarik Skubal, one of the best this season, is vouching for the pitchers and catchers.

With the All-Star Game just a day away, both the managers and the starting pitchers of both the AL and the NL came on the Pat McAfee Show and talked about the upcoming event. One of the reporters asked Tarik Skubal about the Abs, and the pitcher said, “I know it’s going to be implemented… I don’t plan on using them. I probably am not going to use them in the future… There are some pitches that you think are strikes and you want them… It’s part of the game, and I love the human element of the game.”

Tarik Skubal has made it clear he won’t be rushing to use the ABS. He trusts his catcher, Cal Raleigh, to handle challenges and manage the strike zone effectively. Skubal believes every pitch is a strike until proven otherwise, showing confidence in his battery mate’s judgment. The Tigers’ lefty sees pitch-calling as a shared art, not something to be second-guessed by technology.

The ABS, tested during spring training, led to measurable shifts in offensive outcomes. Walks went up slightly, strikeouts dipped, and overall run scoring increased modestly across games. These changes hint at a tighter, more consistent zone that doesn’t favor pitchers as generously. The strike zone, now defined by precise geometry, may no longer reward borderline execution or catcher deception.

This shift could quietly rewrite the role of catchers and affect how pitchers attack hitters. Detroit’s Jake Rogers noted the strike zone felt smaller, adding another wrinkle for pitch strategy. J.T. Realmuto, meanwhile, expressed concern that framing may no longer hold its former value. If accuracy replaces instinct, pitchers may need to adapt their late-count risk-taking and zone manipulation accordingly.

So while the All-Star Game flashes lights and flaunts tech, the game’s soul sits quietly in the dugout. The players may smile for cameras, but behind the gear, they’re adjusting to a rulebook written in binary. In its effort to eliminate error, MLB might just be automating the art out of baseball. Tarik Skubal and his peers aren’t anti-progress—they’re just pro-feel, pro-trust, and occasionally, pro-human mistake. After all, what’s next—AI throwing the first pitch?

Amid ABS mayhem, Tarik Skubal has a convo with Max Fried.

Baseball’s strike zone isn’t the only thing losing its human touch. As the Automated Ball-Strike system continues to zap feel from the game, two of the sport’s sharpest minds reminded us that respect still lives beyond the algorithm. In a rare moment of grace amid the robotic chaos, Tarik Skubal and Max Fried showed that not everything needs to be decided by blinking lights and backend code.

In a season where precision is outsourced to robots, the All-Star Game starter call felt refreshingly human. Tarik Skubal, fresh off a Cy Young campaign, earned the nod with a 10-3 record and 2.23 ERA. But it was Max Fried—sporting 11 wins and a 2.43 ERA—who made the call that mattered most.

The Yankees ace phoned Skubal before the decision and said, “Do you want to take the ball first?” Skubal, humbled, initially deferred, but Fried insisted: “It’s yours.” Skubal later said, “It’s a very professional thing to do… I’ve got a ton of respect.”

This wasn’t just about stats—it was about grace, humility, and baseball’s fading code of honor. Fried had every reason to start but chose to elevate a peer instead. In a league chasing perfection, their exchange was perfectly imperfect—and beautifully human.

In an era where decisions are outsourced to circuits and strike zones blink back in binary, Skubal and Fried reminded us that baseball still runs on character. The ABS may know the edges of the plate, but it can’t measure the heart. No algorithm would’ve predicted Fried’s call—or respected it. When the machines finish calculating, it’s the human moments that still make the game worth watching.