Seattle Mariners postsSaturday February 04, 2017
My All-Time Seattle Mariners Team
The other day, via social media the Seattle Mariners organization encouraged fans to vote for their all-time Mariners team as the 40th anniversary of the team that has never been to the World Series nears.
So I bit.
Right away it was tougher than I thought. We got four options for 1B and none were overwhelming choices:
- Bruce Bochte
- Alvin Davis
- Tino Martinez
- John Olerud
I suppose if I was going off the Mariners-only record, I would go with Davis, since he was with the team the longest. He was also before my time. I arrived in Seattle in '91. I might also go with Tino for his fierce determination to win—a determination which wound up benefiting our enemies. But in the end I went for the calm grace, good glove and high OBP of Washington's own Johnny O.
Second base wasn't any easier:
- Bret Boone
- Robinson Cano
- Joey Cora
- Harold Reynolds
Reynolds was with the team the longest, Boone had that suspect Rogers Hornsby-esque year, but I had to go Cano. I figure he'll make up any difference in a year or two.
I'll cut to the chase: Here's my lineup:
- Ichiro Suzuki (LF)
- Robinson Cano (2B)
- Alex Rodriguez (SS)
- Ken Griffey Jr. (CF)
- Edgar Martinez (DH)
- John Olerud (1B)
- Jay Buhner (RF)
- Kyle Seager (3B)
- Dan Wilson (C)
- Randy Johnson (LHP)
- Felix Hernandez (RHP)
The biggest internal debate was third base: Seager vs. Adrian Beltre. Adrian's going in the Hall, Seager most likely no; but Adrian had his worst years here. Couldn't do it.
Then I got to closer. Good god. The options:
- Norm Charlton
- J.J. Putz
- Kasuhiro Sasaki
- Mike Schooler
I wound up tossing in the towel. I couldn't in all conscience choose any of them.
Closer nothwithstanding, I'd put this all-time team up against many. That one-two punch on the mound? The top five in that lineup? That's impressive. And makes the zero pennants flapping in right field all the more dispiriting.
Mariners on Top Again! (In Years Since Postseason)
It's time for this again. I would've posted a few weeks ago but I've been distracted by the end of American democracy.
Mariners on top, Cubs on bottom! Except you want to be on bottom. It's the list of teams who have struggled the longest without a postseason berth. For most of this period, eight of out 30 teams made the cut, so in an ideal situation, you think you'd go every four years? On average? Then it became 10 out of 30 teams. A 33% chance! Yet my M's have still been postseasonless for 15 years; 16 next year.
And really there's no one close. Marlins,sure, but the last time they went, in 2003, they actually won the World Series. The Mariners have never even been.
Really, only the San Diego Padres comes close to us: nothing for 10 years, and just two LDSes this century. Maybe that's why they're our natural rival.
Why Felix is King
After today's game, in which Felix threw 2-hit ball and the M's won (finally!) in 12 innings, 2-1, in front of a mostly Toronto Blue Jays crowd at Safeco Field:
“I want to be there so bad. We still have a chance at the playoffs. I’m going to do my best to make sure we get there. My show of emotion (“It’s my house!”) has been building since two days ago when I saw all those (Toronto) fans in here (Safeco Field). You know what, it’s still my house!”
Cf., my post about the frustrations of Monday night's game. Love. This. Man.
Stuck Inside Safeco with the Toronto Blue Jays Fans
(With apologies to Bob Dylan.)
I went to the Mariners game last night to show some support for the local team. I had tons of reasons for not going: I hadn't felt well all day, I couldn't get anyone to go with me (although I hadn't tried that hard), and it was hardly “Boys of Summer” weather: low 60s dropping into the 50s. But the team had won 9 of 11, we were 2 games back in the wild card hunt, Taijuan Walker was pitching. Plus around 4:00 the sun came out. So why not? It was the last of my season-ticket tickets. C'mon! Use it. Send them off. Show you care.
Turned out to be one of the worst games I've been to.
It wasn't the M's fault—although, to be honest, they quickly fell behind 3-0 and didn't manage a hit until the 7th inning. No, it was the crowd at Safeco. It was loud, boistrous, involved. The stadium rang with cheers.
For the Blue Jays. The stands were packed with Canucks down from Vancouver, et al.
Walking to the park, I'd seen a lot of Blue Jays unis but hadn't thought much of it. You always have opposition fans. Besides, I didn't mind the BJs. I'd rooted for them vs. Texas in the ALDS last year, then rooted against them vs. Kansas City in the ALCS, and they were nice enough—Canadian enough, you might say—to grant both my wishes.
But this? This was awful. The fans were everywhere. They took over our house. They made it their stadium:
“MVP! MVP” they chanted when Josh Donaldson came to the plate.
“Ho-ZAY oh ZAY-oh ZAY-oh ZAY...” they chanted when Jose Bautista followed.
“Let's go, Blue Jays! [clap clap clapclapclap]” they chanted throughout.
All the time. It was awful. It felt like a home invasion by a Glee Club.
Afterwards I figured it out. Before last season, the BJs hadn't been to the postseason since '93, and winning seasons always create new fans. A lot of these were that. They had that kind of enthusiasm and cluelessness.
I tried to make noise against them. I kept cheering on Taijuan, as I do; I cheered on Robby, and Nellie, and Kyle; but I felt drown out.
Before the game even started I had a confrontation with the row of people behind me. One guy in particular. He yelled something against Robinson Cano and I shot him a look. He immediately backed off, which is funny since I'm about 100 miles from tough, but I think I already looked pissed off. I came to the game pissed off and none of this was helping. And the chants continued.
I tried to ignore it. I tried to just be in my head. Between innings, I got out of the iPhone. I tweeted:
These Blue Jays fans have WAAAAYYY too much enthusiasm. It's like a high school pep rally. #GoMariners
Two innings later, I tweeted:
Wow, who knew Canadians were such assholes? #GoMariners
But my rage kept building. It was *I* who was the asshole. I shouted at odd times. I flipped off high-fiving Jays fans. You know the scene in “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” where Steve Martin shouts impotently at the sky, “You're messing with the wrong guy!!!”? Like that, but at the ballpark. Finally, to prevent anything worse happening, I left after 5 innings. I left during a no-hitter (broken up by Robinson Cano in the 7th). I felt bad about leaving, about not sticking around for the team, but I was worried I would do real damage. To myself.
Some part of me wonders if the M's had trouble hitting because their stadium was filled with opposition fans, or if that's just water off their backs. Either way, we got our first extra-base hit with two outs in the bottom of the 9th: a 2-run homer by Leonys Martin to make it 3-2. But then Ben Gamel struck out. Right: Ben Gamel.
It's been a fun year. The M's power the ball, they hit walk-off homeruns, they are strong up in the middle. But that was not a fun game.
ADDENDUM: After 7 scoreless innings on Wednesday afternoon, leaving with a 1-0, Felix shouted at the Blue Jays and/or their fans, “It's my house!” Damn right. Could've used that spirit on Monday. Shut them up.
Next year, we build a wall.
Yesterday afternoon, heading west down James Street under the I-5 bridge, which was litter-strewn and smelled of urine, I saw an elderly couple in matching blue “Griffey 24” T-shirts shuffling in the same direction. “I bet I can guess where you guys are going,” I said as I passed them. They agreed happily, particularly when my own blue “Griffey 24” T-shirt came into view. A block later, I saw a guy wearing the '95-era teal-green Mariners jersey with “Griffey 24” on the back. I would see a lot of “Griffey 24”s on my way to Safeco Field, where, before the Seattle Mariners played the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, the Mariners organization woud retire its first home-grown number: 24. Griffey.
All the Griffeys with nowhere to go.
They could've done it any time since June 2010 but for some reason waited until Ken Griffey Jr. was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame with the highest vote percentage ever (99.3%). They waited for the bestowing of the national honor before allowing the local one.
The morning had been overcast and cool, but it was mostly blue skies and around 70 degrees by the time I hit Safeco at 4:30 for the scheduled 5:30 ceremony. Even before then, I noticed an oddity along Occidental: folks lined up next to Century Link Field, where the Seattle Seahawks play, a good 500 feet from Safeco. Were people buying Seahawks gear on Griffey Day? Nope. It was the line to get into Safeco. It stretched back that far. I couldn't believe it. The area around Safeco was a mass of people and snaking lines trying to get in to pay their respects. Had the gates not opened in time? Did the Mariners organization not anticipate the crowd? Couldn't they even get this right on Griffey Day?
I was meeting my nephew Jake. A sculpture of a baseball glove with a hole in it, what we once called “the Russ Davis glove” but is now just “The Glove,” is a common meeting spot, and thus a kind of crappy one, since everyone meets there, and since everyone else wants to get their pictures taken there. It attracts a crowd, in other words, and we already had a crowd. We also had a saxophonist sitting nearby, playing jazz, and a religious nut with a gigantic sign, carrying his own amplification system and speaking into a mike about how we were all doomed to hell for coming here on this sunny day to pay respects to a man who had given us so much joy. I assume this man feeds off indignation, because otherwise he would've withered beneath the gaze of half the people passing him; many were plugging their ears less because of his content than its volume. I asked a stadium official if something couldn't be done but he threw up his hands. But the volume? I asked. Surely there were limits. He threw up his hands.
By the time Jake arrived some of the chaos had diminished but we still stood in line a good 15 minutes to get in through the Team Store, which was also packed. Standing in lines would be part of the evening. After the ceremony but before the game, Jake stood in the line for the men's room while I stood in the beer line, which were conveniently located next to each other. When Jake emerged he looked for me at the front; I had to wave to him from the back. I'd moved maybe 10 feet. By the time we found our seats again the Mariners were behind 3-0 on a three-run homer by Mike Trout, the current best player/centerfielder in the game.
But I was there for the ceremony. I share in a season ticket package with a group of guys, and when we'd divvied them up last March, this was the first game I'd chosen. I wanted to be there for this.
The Kid, no longer The Kid, emerges from center field.
The two MCs had a tonal problem. The main one, play-by-play man Rick Rizzs, tends to spoonfeed his audience with a little too much sugar; the other, new Mariners president Kevin Mather, had all the warmth and charm of a drill sergeant. Befitting his demeanor, he dropped a bombshell, but a welcome one: a statue to Junior would be unveiled next year outside Safeco. Nice. And about time.
Junior emerged from center field. That was cool. We saw videos that the team had already posted on social media. People kept referring to Safeco as The House that Griffey Built. “And then abandoned,” I added.
There was a crescent of folding chairs between home plate and the pitcher's mound, and on the right-hand side (from the hitter's perspective) sat baseball executives, along with Griffey's wife and daughter and eventually Junior; and on the left, former players, wearing better suits than the suits. The executives tended to bring formality and boredom, the players spontanaeity. They gave each other shit. On the big screen, Willie Mays honored the junior #24 in Jewish mother terms: he wondered why he never called anymore. Junior promptly got out his phone and dialed up the Say Hey Kid.
Suits on the right; athletes in better suits on the left.
The athletes were an odd mix of the expected (Alvin Davis, Jay Buhner) and the unexpected (Hall of Fame members from other Seattle sports teams). When I think Junior I don't necessarily think Steve Largent. Two other #24s showed up as well: Junior's first idol, Rickey Henderson, and his dad's old teammate Tony Perez. No Sr., though. No Randy or Lou Piniella. The latter two sent him wishes via the big screen, as did Henry Aaron.
Junior's speech was relatively short. He talked up his minor league days—Bellingham and San Bernadino—then making the Major League team out of spring training in '89, and the joke the manager and players played on him (the organization, they said, had traded for Dale Murphy so were sending him down). He talked up the joys of Seattle, which were mostly personal: meeting his wife; the birth of his first two kids. He gave Rickey Henderson shit. When Henderson broke Lou Brock's stolen base record, Henderson infamously said—with Brock standing next to him—“Lou Brock was a great base stealer, but today, I am the greatest.” So Junior told Rickey that he, Rickey, was great “but today I am the greatest.”
Junior: phoning the Say Hey Kid, giving shit to Rickey.
He also talked up the current players, watching from the dugout with their caps on backwards in homage; he told us to come out and support them. He was kind of insistent on it. This rang a little off to me. I get what he's saying. But we're dealing with a team that has the longest current postseason drought in baseball, and it's neither the fault of the players (most of whom have been here a short while) nor the fans (who can only do so much). If anything, the fans should've supported the team less over the years—particularly in the dead days of the early 2010s when falling behind 2-zip meant the game.
On the plus side, that team is no longer this team, and it turned out to be a helluva game—a Refuse to Lose game. The M's were down 3-0, then 6-2 in the 5th, and came back and made it 6-4 on a Gutierrez homer in the bottom of the 5th. We left the bases loaded in the 6th but then the Angels left the bases loaded in the top of the 7th. We got them loaded again in the bottom half with three straight one-out walks, and eked across a run on a sac fly. That seemed like our nibble until Sean O'Malley suddenly launched a homer to right field to put the M's on top for good. As if adhering to Junior's admonition, after the homer, fans began chanting the journeyman's name—Sean Oh-Mal-Yi (clap clap clapclapclap). Sean Oh-Mal-Yi (clap clap clapclapclap)—and again in the 8th when he made a great defensive play at short. People chanted it on the way home, too. I heard it ringing along Occidental.
It could be seen by some as a “torch passed” moment—to the team if not the journeyman—but we know better: this torch doesn't pass. We'll always care a little more for #24. He was the best I ever saw.