Major League Baseball has look of a foreign import

Remember when baseball was as American as sodium-nitrate hot dogs, sugar-laden apple pie and gas-guzzling Chevy Impalas?

Back in Babe Ruth’s day, 99 percent of all major leaguers were born in the United States.

(In 1927, in fact, I believe Julio Franco was the only non-American on a National League roster.)

Even as recently as 20 seasons ago – in 1987 – nearly 90 percent of major leaguers were U.S.-born.

And now?

Well, I went to a Mets game the other day and thought I’d stumbled onto the set of “Casablanca.”

In 2007, only 71 percent of major leaguers were born in the U.S. In other words, nearly three of every 10 players did not grow up watching “American Idol.” And there’s no help on the horizon: Nearly half of minor leaguers know a green card as well as a scorecard.

Heck, there are six Cubans playing Major League Baseball and they’re not even allowed to leave the island.

Half of the New York Yankees roster is foreign-born. I repeat: Half of the New York Yankees roster is foreign-born. This would be like half of the von Trapp family being tone deaf.

The Colorado Rockies have players born in seven different countries or territories outside the United States – Canada, the Dominican Republic, Japan, Korea, Mexico, Panama and Venezuela.

(Note: Two-thirds of the Rockies born in the U.S. cannot identify any of those seven countries or territories on a map; the other one-third born in the U.S. cannot identify Colorado on a map.)

How did we get from Dizzy Dean to Daisuke Matsuzaka?

Wasn’t baseball our national pastime?

As it turns out, even if Abner Doubleday invented the game, it wasn’t on a field of dreams in Cooperstown, N.Y., it was during a semester abroad at Carlos Zambrano’s great-great-great-great grandfather’s cabana in San Fernando de Atabapo.

When I was growing up – and I grew up in the good ole U.S. of A., a stone’s throw from Larry Mondello – every kid wanted to be a big leaguer.

(Actually, I wanted to replace Danny Bonaduce on “The Partridge Family,” but my story is quite tortured and somewhat atypical.)

These days, American kids don’t play baseball anymore – between iPods, text messaging, PSPs, the Cartoon Network and weekend gang activity, who’s got time to play pepper?

Meanwhile, Ellis Island has been overrun by immigrants wearing batting gloves.

Look at the numbers of major leaguers flooding in from abroad – seven from Panama, 13 from Japan, 13 from Mexico, 19 from Canada, 28 from Puerto Rico, 51 from Venezuela, 98 from the Dominican Republic.

That’s 98 from the Dominican Republic! That’s not possible. I love the Dominican Republic – great merengue, no Starbucks – but, geez, the L.A. area is more populated than that entire nation and all we produce are models. How are they generating 98 major leaguers from one island? No lawyers and dentists there? No actuaries or meter maids?

What, everyone in Santo Domingo is walking around with a Louisville Slugger and the Bill James Abstract?

(As legend has it, the Dominican infusion began when the Alou brothers – Felipe, Matty and Jesus – came here one weekend in the 1950s or ‘60s on a Southwest Airlines DING! Fare, attended a game at the Polo Grounds in which all three Giants outfielders were injured on a wind-blown fly ball, ran in straight from the bleachers to replace the fallen starters and led a five-run rally to give San Francisco a 7-6 victory over the Mets.)

This is why we need a wall around all of our borders: to protect our cherished game. I mean, I don’t want to go Lou Dobbs-ballistic on you folks, but this wave of tobacco-chewing refugees is taking away jobs that used to go to the boy next door. Plus, explain this one to me – if the rest of the world plays soccer, then how come they keep sending us baseball players?

Ask The Slouch

Q. Do you believe the recent NBA-referee study is further, long-winded proof of a simple fact of American life – that whites and blacks usually judge each other by the color of their skin? (Matthew George; Millington, Tenn.)

A. Actually, I always thought guys like Rik Smits and Amare Stoudemire just fouled a lot.

Q. Is there a meaning of life, and if so, what is it? (Brian Templeton; Des Moines, Wash.)

A. Life is a play in three acts. Act I: You live. Act II: You die. Act III: The cable guy who said he’d be there between 8 a.m. and noon finally shows up.

Q. Did you shell out $54.95 for the De La Hoya-Mayweather fight on pay-per-view? (Fred Bonner; Rotterdam, N.Y.)

A. No, I decided to fill up the car with gas instead.

Q. When somebody throws a no-hitter against the Nationals this season, will it count? (Danny O’Sullivan; Fairfax, Va.)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.