Major League Baseball struggles to turn player selection into spectacle.

The NFL Draft gets bigger each year—more gurus, more tickers, more consecutive hours of exhaustive coverage on ESPN. Millions tune in to the NBA draft to watch tall men with long names in bright suits. And the baseball draft? None of the hype, none of the spectacle, none of the helmet phones.

MLB.com's "exclusive coverage" of Tuesday's early rounds consists of a herky-jerky, 2-inch-by-3-inch Webcast. The host, the heavily gelled Casey Stern, looks like he's in his parents' basement. The only on-set décor is a giant MLB logo, and Stern appears to be reading players' names off of his laptop. There's no budget for a green room stocked with teary-eyed moms in Easter dresses. In a preview package on draft-day memories, Oakland A's reliever Huston Street says he heard his name called while listening in on his computer.

At 1 p.m. Eastern time, Stern tosses to MLB's senior director of operations for the first pick. Instead, we're treated to a few seconds of lilting country music. The Major League Baseball draft is nothing but a massive conference call, and like most conference calls it hasn't started on time. Everyone's on hold.

Two minutes later, Stern apologizes for the delay and says that all systems are go. "Roy," he says, "this time really take it away." Dead air. Stern turns to his sidekick, an ersatz Mel Kiper Jr. named Jonathan Mayo, and asks about a "polished right-hander" named Lance Broadway. He looks "like more of a sandwich pick," Mayo says.

1:06 p.m.: "Hopefully, the third time's the charm." And … still nothing. Stern finally gets the word—everybody's on hold because the Yankees haven't called in yet.

At 1:07, the Diamondbacks finally talk into the speakerphone. "Arizona selects draft No. 8526, Upton, Justin." Stern is incredulous. "Number eight-three-seven-point-nine?" he asks. "I don't know what that number means."

The Webcast transitions to washed-out footage of the high-school shortstop. What's touted as a "scouting video" looks like a home movie shot by a proud Little League dad. There's Justin taking a couple of halfhearted swings in the batting cage. Here's Justin fielding while wearing a Windbreaker. When Kansas City selects third-baseman Alex Gordon, he's shown standing, listless, while a coach hits him grounders. * The Royals, it seems, have invested millions in a beer-league softball player.

In lieu of 500-foot home runs, each scouting video includes a glowing, digital readout on the bottom right-hand corner that tracks the runner's progress toward first base. The scouts, though, have neglected to record plays that require hustle. Perhaps they're evaluating "speed while running indifferently." If so, high-school outfielder Cameron Maybin is the champ of fast slow running—he goldbricks his way to the bag in 4.79 seconds.

The NFL builds suspense by allowing teams to spend 15 minutes fussing over their first-round picks. Each baseball team takes about 15 seconds to decide on its future star. The first round is finished in 25 minutes.

When you strip away the graphics, the suits, the 40 times, and the pundits talking about upsides and mean streaks, it turns out that a draft is nothing but a list of people you've never heard of. All of those balloons and bunting may seem like overkill, but they're the NFL's and NBA's gift to us all. The baseball draft is a soggy chip without the seven-layer dip.