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4 Cases of All-Star Voter Fraud

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When Major League Baseball announced the early vote leaders for the 2015 All-Star Game, something Of the nine available starting positions for the American League, eight first-place spots were held by Kansas City Royals players. If this stands, Angels outfielder Mike Trout will be the only starter for the American League all-stars without a "KC" on his hat.

While many people were quick to call "fraud," Major League Baseball came out and said the results are on the level. This marks the first year that voting is held completely online, and each person is allowed to cast up to 35 ballots. Kansas City fans have taken advantage of this more than their rivals, meaning the secret to their team's dominance on this front is no more complicated than hitting "send" over and over again.

Although the very nature of all-star voting invites trickery, All-Star Game lore is littered with examples of particularly egregious and actual frauds. Here are a few of our favorites.

1. The 1957 Redlegs Become an All-Star Team

cincinnati-redlegs.jpgFans of baseball history would probably know what to expect on a National League All-Star starting roster from the 1950s. Willie Mays and Hank Aaron will be patrolling the outfield, right? Not if the fans had their say in the 1957 game's starters. When the votes were tallied for the game at Sportsman's Park in St. Louis, the NL's starting roster included Cardinals first baseman Stan Musial and seven members of the Cincinnati Redlegs. Sure, the Redlegs had a potent offense that included future Hall of Famer Frank Robinson, but were they almost an entire All-Star team?

Of course not. You have to give the people of Cincinnati credit for one of the most well-organized All-Star campaigns in history, though. Since all of the voting was done on paper, the Cincinnati Enquirer printed filled-out ballots and distributed them with newspapers. All fans needed to do was gather some copies of the pre-marked ballots and turn them in. Rumors swirled that bars in Cincinnati wouldn't serve customers without the patron first filling out a ballot. A commissioner's investigation supposedly learned that over half of the votes cast for the National League's roster originated in Cincinnati.

Sensing something was seriously amiss, Commissioner Ford C. Frick quickly stepped in to rectify the situation. He booted Redlegs outfielder Wally Post from the team entirely and moved Gus Bell to the bench. In their places, Mays and Aaron got starting nods in the outfield. Frick went one step further, too; he stripped the fans of their all-star voting rights entirely. From 1958 to 1970, managers and players chose the rosters with no input from fans.

2. Hacker Gets Behind Nomar

nomar-si.jpgAs the Web spread, the need for those annoying paper ballots where you knock out the chad with your pencil tip started to wane. Tons of fans enjoyed the relative simplicity of sitting down at their computer and casting a ballot or two. Or, in the case of computer programmer and Red Sox fan Chris Nandor in 1999, several thousand. With then-beloved Sox shortstop Nomar Garciaparra trailing Derek Jeter in the AL voting, Nandor took matters into his own hands. He whipped up a little computer program in the programming language Perl that could inundate Major League Baseball's online ballot with votes for Sox players. Within minutes, Nandor cast over 25,000 ballots for Nomar and fellow Sox like Scott Hatteberg and Jose Offerman. MLB eventually figured out Nandor's tomfoolery and disallowed his votes. That didn't matter to Nandor, though; Garciaparra ended up getting enough votes to start the game.

3. Vote for Rory

During the 2007 NHL season, hockey fan Steve Schmid had the idea that it would be fun to see a non-star play in the All-Star Game. He wanted to find just an average old hockey player and try to vote him in. He chose Rory Fitzpatrick, a journeyman defenseman who had enjoyed a long, if fairly unremarkable, career. Since all of the all-star voting was online, it seemed easy to start a grass-roots movement behind Fitzpatrick. And it was. On the strength of the website and a series of funny YouTube videos endorsing his candidacy, Fitzpatrick's vote total surged. The people were finally getting their say!


Actually, the people and a clever computer program were getting their say, and the computer program was doing most of the heavy lifting. After the debacle of Nandor's voting spree in 1999, leagues had started to crack down on vote hacking, but as usual, the hackers were one or two steps ahead. The NHL tried to ward off fraud using CAPTCHA to verify each vote as coming from a human user, but the league only used a handful of phrases in its verification. Each phrase had an easily identifiable file name, so hackers were able to build the Rory Vote-o-Matic, a program that could automatically cast thousands of write-in ballots for Fitzpatrick while still making CAPTCHA happy.

Ultimately, Fitzpatrick finished in third place in the voting behind Scott Niedermayer and Nicklas Lidstrom, so he didn't make the All-Star Game. However, he received an impressive 550,177 votes, and some observers, including Daniel Engber of Slate, thought maybe the NHL monkeyed with the vote totals to keep Fitzpatrick at home.

4. The WNBA Revels in "Punch Parties"

If anyone ever tells you the WNBA doesn't have any fans, show the 2007 all-star voting numbers. Thousands and thousands of votes were cast for various WNBA stars, and you should be able to prove just how beloved the WNBA is. Thanks to the always-intrepid investigative work of Dan Steinberg of the D.C. Sports Bog, though, you can look beyond the numbers. Steinberg picked up on a piece from the Detroit Shock's website advertising a "Punch Party" in which fans would come together to punch Detroit players' names on all-star ballots. Fans who punched 15 ballots were given the chance to meet and get autographs from Deanna Nolan, and filling out 100 ballots got them the right to meet Kara Braxton and head coach Bill Laimbeer. Everyone who filled out ballots got entries into a raffle for Shock memorabilia.

While teams usually encourage their fans to vote early and often, it's tough to find much precedent for outright bribery to get them to do so. Whatever your stance on the tactic, it worked: Nolan, Braxton, and Shock forward Cheryl Ford all got starting nods for the game.

A version of this story was originally published in 2008.

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15 Heartwarming Facts About Mister Rogers
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Fred Rogers—who was born in Latrobe, Pennsylvania on March 20, 1928—remains an icon of kindness for the ages. An innovator of children’s television, his salt-of-the-earth demeanor and genuinely gentle nature taught a generation of kids the value of kindness. In celebration of what would have been his 90th birthday, here are 15 things you might not have known about everyone’s favorite “neighbor.”


According to Benjamin Wagner, who directed the 2010 documentary Mister Rogers & Me—and was, in fact, Rogers’s neighbor on Nantucket—Rogers was overweight and shy as a child, and often taunted by his classmates when he walked home from school. “I used to cry to myself when I was alone,” Rogers said. “And I would cry through my fingers and make up songs on the piano.” It was this experience that led Rogers to want to look below the surface of everyone he met to what he called the “essential invisible” within them.


Rogers was an ordained minister and, as such, a man of tremendous faith who preached tolerance wherever he went. When Amy Melder, a six-year-old Christian viewer, sent Rogers a drawing she made for him with a letter that promised “he was going to heaven,” Rogers wrote back to his young fan:

“You told me that you have accepted Jesus as your Savior. It means a lot to me to know that. And, I appreciated the scripture verse that you sent. I am an ordained Presbyterian minister, and I want you to know that Jesus is important to me, too. I hope that God’s love and peace come through my work on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”


Responding to fan mail was part of Rogers’s very regimented daily routine, which began at 5 a.m. with a prayer and included time for studying, writing, making phone calls, swimming, weighing himself, and responding to every fan who had taken the time to reach out to him.

“He respected the kids who wrote [those letters],” Heather Arnet, an assistant on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette in 2005. “He never thought about throwing out a drawing or letter. They were sacred."

According to Arnet, the fan mail he received wasn’t just a bunch of young kids gushing to their idol. Kids would tell Rogers about a pet or family member who died, or other issues with which they were grappling. “No child ever received a form letter from Mister Rogers," Arnet said, noting that he received between 50 and 100 letters per day.


It wasn’t just kids and their parents who loved Mister Rogers. Koko, the Stanford-educated gorilla who understands 2000 English words and can also converse in American Sign Language, was an avid Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood watcher, too. When Rogers visited her, she immediately gave him a hug—and took his shoes off.


Though Rogers began his education in the Ivy League, at Dartmouth, he transferred to Rollins College following his freshman year in order to pursue a degree in music (he graduated Magna cum laude). In addition to being a talented piano player, he was also a wonderful songwriter and wrote all the songs for Mister Rogers' Neighborhood—plus hundreds more.


Rogers’s decision to enter into the television world wasn’t out of a passion for the medium—far from it. "When I first saw children's television, I thought it was perfectly horrible," Rogers told Pittsburgh Magazine. "And I thought there was some way of using this fabulous medium to be of nurture to those who would watch and listen."


A Yale study pitted fans of Sesame Street against Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood watchers and found that kids who watched Mister Rogers tended to remember more of the story lines, and had a much higher “tolerance of delay,” meaning they were more patient.


If watching an episode of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood gives you sweater envy, we’ve got bad news: You’d never be able to find his sweaters in a store. All of those comfy-looking cardigans were knitted by Fred’s mom, Nancy. In an interview with the Archive of American Television, Rogers explained how his mother would knit sweaters for all of her loved ones every year as Christmas gifts. “And so until she died, those zippered sweaters I wear on the Neighborhood were all made by my mother,” he explained.


Those brightly colored sweaters were a trademark of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, but the colorblind host might not have always noticed. In a 2003 article, just a few days after his passing, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette wrote that:

Among the forgotten details about Fred Rogers is that he was so colorblind he could not distinguish between tomato soup and pea soup.

He liked both, but at lunch one day 50 years ago, he asked his television partner Josie Carey to taste it for him and tell him which it was.

Why did he need her to do this, Carey asked him. Rogers liked both, so why not just dip in?

"If it's tomato soup, I'll put sugar in it," he told her.


According to Wagner, Rogers’s decision to change into sneakers for each episode of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was about production, not comfort. “His trademark sneakers were born when he found them to be quieter than his dress shoes as he moved about the set,” wrote Wagner.


Oscar-nominated actor Michael Keaton's first job was as a stagehand on Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, manning Picture, Picture, and appearing as Purple Panda.


It's hard to imagine a gentle, soft-spoken, children's education advocate like Rogers sitting down to enjoy a gory, violent zombie movie like Dawn of the Dead, but it actually aligns perfectly with Rogers's brand of thoughtfulness. He checked out the horror flick to show his support for then-up-and-coming filmmaker George Romero, whose first paying job was with everyone's favorite neighbor.

“Fred was the first guy who trusted me enough to hire me to actually shoot film,” Romero said. As a young man just out of college, Romero honed his filmmaking skills making a series of short segments for Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, creating a dozen or so titles such as “How Lightbulbs Are Made” and “Mr. Rogers Gets a Tonsillectomy.” The zombie king, who passed away in 2017, considered the latter his first big production, shot in a working hospital: “I still joke that 'Mr. Rogers Gets a Tonsillectomy' is the scariest film I’ve ever made. What I really mean is that I was scared sh*tless while I was trying to pull it off.”


In 1969, Rogers—who was relatively unknown at the time—went before the Senate to plead for a $20 million grant for public broadcasting, which had been proposed by President Johnson but was in danger of being sliced in half by Richard Nixon. His passionate plea about how television had the potential to turn kids into productive citizens worked; instead of cutting the budget, funding for public TV increased from $9 million to $22 million.


Years later, Rogers also managed to convince the Supreme Court that using VCRs to record TV shows at home shouldn’t be considered a form of copyright infringement (which was the argument of some in this contentious debate). Rogers argued that recording a program like his allowed working parents to sit down with their children and watch shows as a family. Again, he was convincing.


In 1984, Rogers donated one of his iconic sweaters to the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History.

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The World's Last Male Northern White Rhino Has Died, But Could He Still Help Save the Species?
Tony Karumba, AFP/Getty Images
Tony Karumba, AFP/Getty Images

Following age-related complications, Sudan the northern white rhinoceros was euthanized by a team of vets in Kenya at 45 years old, CNN reports. He was one of only three northern white rhinos left on Earth and the last male of his subspecies. For years, Sudan had represented the final hope for the survival of his kind, but now scientists have a back-up plan: Using Sudan's sperm, they may be able to continue his genetic line even after his death.

Northern white rhino numbers from dwindled from 2000 in 1960 to only three in recent years. Those last survivors, Sudan, his daughter Najin, and granddaughter Fatu, lived together at the Ol Pejeta Conservancy in Kenya. Each animal had physical issues making it difficult for them to breed, and now with Sudan gone, a new generation of northern white rhinos looks even less likely.

But there is one way the story of these animals doesn't end in extinction. Before Sudan died, researchers were able to save some of his genetic material, which means it's still possible for him to father offspring. Scientists may either use the sperm to artificially inseminate one of the surviving females (even though they're related) or, due to their age and ailments, fertilize one of their eggs and implant the embryo into a female of a similar subspecies, like the southern white rhino, using in vitro fertilization.

"We must take advantage of the unique situation in which cellular technologies are utilized for conservation of critically endangered species," Jan Stejskal, an official at the Dvur Kralove Zoo in the Czech Republic where Sudan lived until 2009, told AFP. "It may sound unbelievable, but thanks to the newly developed techniques even Sudan could still have an offspring."

Poaching has been a major contributor to the northern white rhino's decline over the past century. Rhinos are often hunted for their horns, which are believed to have medicinal properties in some Asian cultures. (Other people just view the horn as a sign of wealth and status). Procreating is the biggest issue threatening the northern white rhinoceros at the moment. If such poaching continues, other rhino species in the wild could end up in the same situation.

[h/t CNN]


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