Good food, good company, good baseball.

And it will be no different this year ... or will it?

"Hey, Mike," I'll ask, "will you pass the celery?"

"Sure, Dad," he'll say. "And how about some more carrots, too?"

Carrots? Celery? There's no celery in baseball!

Hot dogs. Peanuts. Malts. Now, that's baseball food. But celery? Carrots? That's rabbit food, not baseball food. Or at least it never used to be—not in the days of BFC ... Before Fat Content.

For more than two decades, All-Star Tuesday has been a pretty big event in our household. And the food we would eat during the game was a big part of it.

My son and I started the family tradition back when he was just a little squirt—maybe 4 or 5. Even at his young age he had a great appreciation for the game, and an even greater appreciation for hot dogs, root beer and peanut M&Ms.

So I'd hustle home from work early that day and we'd rush to the grocery store—just the two of us—to stock up with provisions for the night.

We had no list ... guys don't need lists to go shopping. We'd start out on the ice cream aisle with a half-gallon of chocolate chip, then take off for a package of dogs. We'd double back to find the hot dog buns, and I'd fire a perfect strike to him halfway down the aisle (sometimes he even caught it!).

We'd snatch up a six-pack of root beer for him and a different six-pack for me; cut back to the candy aisle for the M&Ms; jog to the other side of the store for a jar of pickles and a squeeze bottle of Gulden's; snatch up a couple of bags of chips on our way to the baked beans; and, oh yeah, don't forget the peanuts!

We'd hustle home with the fruits of our labors—only a figure of speech, of course, because there were no fruits or vegetables involved ... just three grocery bags loaded with junk food.

We'd unpack the bags as quickly as possible, for two reasons—to get to the TV as soon as we could, and to keep his mom from seeing what we bought. We were never quick enough.

"There's absolutely no food value in anything you bought!" she'd say, just slightly outraged that I was planning to stuff her young child full of all of this garbage. We'd just give her that "get real" look and go about our business.

But she would persist. "How much did all of this cost?"

Suddenly my blood ran cold. I immediately lost all color in my face as I scrambled to find the receipt. "Quick, Mike, eat this," I would say, handing him a tag longer than his little arm.

"Seventy-eight dollars!" she'd scream as she pulled the tape out of his throat. "You spent $78 on junk food!"

But I'd snarl back, "Hey, we didn't even get hot fudge for the ice cream." Great defense, huh?

She'd head upstairs in a huff, and we'd settle down to watch the game.

Ah, those were the days.

But that was way back in a time before we knew how important it was to limit the fat intake in our diets—like last year or the year before.

Now, of course, we know better. Do you know that there are about 8,000 grams of fat in every hot dog you eat? And I don't even want to think about the fat content in peanuts!

So when the boys and I settle down to watch the All-Star Game on Tuesday, there will be no hot dogs at the banquet—we'll barbecue skinless chicken breasts. No beer, just caffeine-free Diet Pepsi. No malts, just no-fat, sugar-free frozen yogurt.

And naturally, since we'll be eating heart-healthy, there will be no salted peanuts to crack open and munch throughout the game, just carrot sticks and celery.

Yeah, right! Will someone please pass the Crunch and Munch?

Want to talk? Call me at 408.354.3110, ext. 31, or drop me a note at dsparrer@svcn.com.