Seattle Mariners postsMonday August 20, 2018
Let Me Into the Ballgame, Let Me In With the Crowd
What wonders awaited.
Here's a quick story about long, post-9/11 baseball lines.
My wife and I and a friend stayed over in southern Washington for an engagement party Saturday night. Since no one wanted the long slog up I-5 on a traffic-congested Sunday afternoon, and since I had tix to the Sunday afternoon Mariners/Dodgers game, with Clayton Kershaw on the mound, I suggested leaving early. We did. And despite a brief jam in Tacoma—the land of the perpetual freeway construction project—it took us just three hours. We were back in Seattle at 10:30 AM—plenty of time for the 1:10 start.
But were the Mariners ready for us?
It didn't seem like it. The lines outside the gates were worse than around Tacoma. It was a mob scene. Recently I‘ve begun to use the Mariners Team Store entrance on 1st Avenue, and yes, that line was shorter—100, 150 people maybe—so we got in it. And waited. And waited. We arrived around 12:40 and didn’t get through the security checkpoint and into the building until after the game had started. Meaning it took us more time moving those 100 feet than it did driving from Tacoma to Seattle.
Thankfully, after all that hassle, we were able to buy $12.50 beers, and, surrounded by Dodgers fans, watch as the M's fell behind 5-0 in the 1st, on their way to losing 12-1, all beneath hazy, wildfire-ravaged skies and air quality unhealthier than Beijing.
Maybe that's why they kept us from trying to enter. Maybe they thought they were doing us a favor.
Qing gei wo mai yixie huasheng he Cracker Jacks
Dee sports the sleeveless, untucked and backwards cap look. 很好看。
So I took my Chinese teacher to the Seattle Mariners game last Saturday. She’s heading back to China in August, had never seen a baseball game, and how can you let someone leave the states without at least one game? Plus there’s the whole Confucian thing. When I lived in Taiwan, and I was out with Chinese peers, they wouldn’t let me buy anything. I heard this over and over again:
It can translated a thousand ways, but this is the gist: “To have friends come from far away, isn’t that a joy?” I.e., Be a good host, damnit.
This was my third attempt in the last few years to explain the game to someone from another country. I should be getting better at it but ... no. Most team sports are metaphors for war: You have a rectangular field, a goal on either side, and an object of some kind. The point is to get that object into your opponent’s goal more often than they get it into yours before time expires. Easy.
Baseball’s different and I always struggle about where to begin. In the future, this wouldn’t be a bad place:
The goal of the game is to make it around the bases before making an out, and the team that does this the most times wins.
But I didn’t do that on Saturday. I began with the outs, and the three main ways to make an out: ground ball, fly ball, strikeout. Strikeout was the most difficult, beause it led to “ball” and “strike zone” and what happens when you don’t swing. Not to mention “foul ball.” I didn’t even get into the whole “foul ball with two strikes” thing. Good god.
As I explained all of this, positing an imaginary batter making an out and returning to the dugout, my teacher said, “And he’s gone from the game.”
“No ...” I began, but was already imagining what baseball would be like if this were true.
Beyond the game’s uniqueness: two things got in the way of better explanations: 1) the language barrier (her English was good but not like a native speaker, while my Chinese is beginning level); and 2) Safeco’s loudspeakers and constant music and announcements. It's so loud it makes it difficult to hold a conversation, let alone explain the game to someone from another country who’s never seen it. My throat was raw by the second inning.
Oh, a third thing got in the way: It was “Turn Ahead the Clock” Night at Safeco: the Mariners wore their “futuristic” unis with cut-off sleeves and crazy colors and logos. The entire game was centered around this. A robot delivered the rosin bag, the National Anthem singer had Spock ears, and the PA announcer sounded like Majel Barret’s computer voice on “Star Trek”: Occupying second quadrant, digit 9, Dee Gordon. “Normally,” I explained to my teacher, “we’d hear, ‘Playing second base, number 9...’ So this is just a kind of play off of that.” Things got even tougher when I said the whole concept of Turn Ahead the Clock nights was a parody of Turn Back the Clock nights, in which players from both teams wear the uniforms from, say, 50 years earlier. 为什么？she asked. Why do they do that? And that led to a talk about nostalgia: people wanting to see what they saw when they were young.
The M’s were playing the Royals—hapless again after a few years as one of baseball’s best and most fun teams—but it began poorly for our starting pitcher, Felix Hernandez. He gave up a single, a single, then a homerun. Three batters, three runs. Ouch. Then he settled in. The Mariners came back with a run in the bottom of the first, and after I pointed this out on the scoreboard above the left-field wall, my teacher said, “So the Royals win that round.”
Um ... Kind of.
In the end, she got to see quite a game. M's hit for the cycle: Ryon Healey homered in the second to tie it up, Ben Gamel tripled in the same inning to put us ahead, and Denard Span doubled in the third to pad the lead. Singles were spread out all over, but that's all they'd need. Edwin Diaz closed the door in the ninth and the M's won the future, 6-4. My teacher also got a free cap. It's brick-red rather than traditonal blue but that's probably better: red is a lucky color in China.
This was the profile I wrote about newcomer Ichiro Suzuki for The Grand Salami, the Seattle Mariners alternative program, back in the spring of 2001:
Hey, when did we pick up this guy? Just kidding. Ichiro comes to the M's with quite a bit of fanfare, and a playing record whose numerological significance seems something out of folklore. You‘ve heard of the 7 Deadly Sins, the 7 Wonders of the World? Ichiro won 7 straight batting titles with the Orix Blue Wave, 7 straight Gold Gloves; he was named to 7 straight “Best Nine” All-Star teams. And he’s only 27. He has a .353 lifetime batting average and Michael Jordan stature in Japan. Yet he's given it all up to try to become the first Japanese position player to make it big in the bigs. Can he do it? That's the question. The U.S. players he's been compared to keeps leveling off: from Johnny Damon (hitting plus power) to Rod Carew (hitting with no power) to Brett Butler (hitting, but not Rod Carew-type hitting). How does .353 translate into English? We hope well.
This is what I wrote three weeks into the season:
Well, that didn't take long. In his first game he looked a little overmatched against Oakland's Tim Hudsonand admitted as much in a post-game interviewbut that didn't stop him from dropping a key bunt-hit to help win the game. Four days later against Texas (and You-Know-Who), Ichiro went deep in the 10th inning for the game-winner. The following week against Oakland, he made a throw from right field (now capitalized: The Throw) which defied physics, nailing Terrence Long at third. A week later he robbed Raffy Palmeiro of a homerun at Safeco. What's next? Lightning bolts shooting from his hands? Ridding the universe of evil-doers everywhereor at least Scott Boras? And we haven't even mentioned the way he slaps that sweet single between third and short, his speed on the basepaths, and his quiet efficiency in an age of blowhard swagger. To paraphrase an old ad slogan: You Gotta Love This Guy.
So we did. So we do.
Today, the Seattle Mariners announced Ichiro Suzuki would be leaving the field but not the team. He's being kicked upstairs and given a suit and a Zhou Enlai-like title: “Special Assistant to the Chairman.” Good call. Whenever a first-ballot Hall-of-Famer is slipping toward Mendoza territory, as Ichiro was this season with his .205/.255/.205 line, it's probably time.
But what fun to recall that great rookie season in 2001, when he hit .350, collected 242 hits, stole 56 bases, and electrified several continents. He also hit .600 in his first post-season series. I'd forgotten that. Against Cleveland in a 5-game ALDS he went 12 for 20. It was one of four post-season series he would play in: two in 2001 (ended by the Yankees) and two in 2012 (with the Yankees). He never made the World Series. Like Junior and Edgar. Our best players are ringless.
That 242 hits, by the way? That was the ninth-most hits in a single season in MLB history, and the most in any season since 1930. Three years later, he set the record with 262. He broke a record no one had come close to breaking since the ‘20s. Just look at the guys who have collected the most hits in a season in baseball history. That first row of a dozen guys. Nothing but black-and-white photos. And then Ichiro. Twice.
He collected 200+ hits 10 years in a row—another record. He collected 10 Gold Gloves. He wound up with 3,089 hits, which is amazing when you consider he didn’t get his first hit in the Majors until he was 27. Combine what he did in Japan and the U.S., he had more professional hits than anyone in baseball history.
On the Mariners, he's the all-time team leader in hits (2,542), batting average (.322), at-bats (7,902), triples (79) and stolen bases (438). He's second in games (1,859) and runs (1,181). He's third in total bases (3,292). He‘ll be the third Seattle Mariners inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I haven’t even gotten to the intangibles: the sumo stretching moves in the on-deck circle, the sleeve tug, the cool. On the Terrence Long throw, he was so matter-of-fact it sounds like bragging: “The ball was hit right to me,” he said. “Why did he run when I was going to throw him out?”
Someone on Twitter suggested it was a shame Ichiro didn't get to go out like Derek Jeter: collecting gifts and accolades in stadium after stadium until you wanted to slug the dude. My friend Nick's response: “Self-effacing Ichiro? Don't think he wants that, deserving though he is.”
Ichiro's last game was last night at Safeco. He went 0-3 with a walk and he scored one of the M's two runs. The last hit in his remarkable baseball career happened more than a week ago, April 22 against Texas, 4th inning. It's not a hit for most people, but for this 44-year-old, yes: a single to shortstop.
M's Game: Let's Do It Again
My second M's game of the season last night against the A's was memorable despite being pretty damned similar to my first M's game of the season, April 1 against Cleveland—the last game the M's played at Safeco before their recent eight-game roadtrip. In both:
- Mike Leake started
- M's fell behind 2-0
- They tied it 2-2 on a Kyle Seager double
- They soared ahead in the bottom of the 7th on two homeruns, one by Mitch Hanniger, the other by a player who doesn't hit many (Dee Gordon/Daniel Vogelbach)
- Juan Nicasio gave up a dinger in the top of the 8th—a no-doubter to a guy who had hit one earlier in the game (Edwin Encarnacion/Khrys Davis)
- Edwin Diaz closed it out in the 9th
Opposition line in the first game: 4/7/0. This one: 4/8/0. M's line went from 5/8/1 to 7/11/1. Almost all of our hitting came from the top half of the lineup. Bottom half is Death Valley. April 1st, our bottom four spots went 1-15 with a walk. Last night, 2-16 without a walk. Ichiro, batting 8th, went 0-3 with a K in both games. In both games, he was replaced in the top of the 8th by Guillermo Heredia, who, in the bottom of the 8th, got on (walk/single). Our first baseman (Ryon Healey/Andy Romine) went 0-4 to raise/lower/unchange his average to .000. After both games, our first baseman was exactly 0-11 on the season. In both games, the weather was shitty.
It's a formula.
All of that was still memorable because each game is unique. April 1st's shitty weather was 44 degrees at gametime and not budging thereafter. Last night, when I began walking to Safeco from First Hill, it was low 50s but seemed warmer. Halfway there, about 3rd and James, I felt a few drops. Once I hit Occidental I had to get the umbrella out. Waiting for my friend David by the glove, I stood up against the stadium, under protective eaves, and watched as the sky suddenly opened. A real downpour. Buckets. Not Seattle rain at all. David said it was like the rain in Georgia, where he's from, except in Georgia it's warm out when it does that. We watched as people scattered, squealed, jumped puddles. The Bible thumper with the loudspeaker system stood underneath it all, at 1st and Royal Brougham, proclaiming his truth, proclaiming our doom. I half admired him for it. A few hours earlier, with British and French support, Pres. Trump had ordered missile attacks on Syrian targets following Pres. Assad's chemical attacks on his own people. This in the midst of another scandal-ridden week of this scandal-ridden sad excuse for a presidency. It was less the act that bothered me, because what do I know, than the anticipated spin. This fat dipshit playing at war without consequences. Citizens in other countries worry about bombs and chemicals, I get to worry about words. Everyone in America stands under a protective eave.
I like going to games with David because he's annoyed by the things that annoyed me 20 years ago but which I‘ve since become innured to: the noisiness between innings; the urge to entertain us 24/7 with non-baseball gimcracks: cup stacking; music trivia; ball-under-cap; hydro races. Most fans cheer louder for red than for the game. What are you gonna do.
David’s friend Jacob, who is blind and works part-time at Safeco, joined us around the 4th inning. After the final out, after the M's won 7-4, we went looking to get a drink before Jacob bussed/David ubered/I walked home. Tougher than you think. There's that place with the big flame out front on the corner of Occidental and Jackson, right across the street from where FX McCrory's used to be, and which still sits unoccupied, but we opted to keep going. Bad choice. The joints were either loud dance places or closing up for the night. Eventually the moment passed, and we walked Jacob over to 4th and James for his bus. There was already a bus waiting there, not his, but I liked how the female bus driver, seeing Jacob, opened the door, asked, made sure he was alright.
M's Game: Warming Up in the Hit It Here Cafe
Jeff and I were sitting in the Hit It Here Cafe in the 7th inning of yesterday's M's game when Dee Gordon launched a rocket right at us.
It was the M's third game of the season, the rubber match with Cleveland, and my first time in the Hit It Here Cafe. My normal seats are better (300 level behind homeplate) but it was 44 degrees at gametime, and while we were well-covered (four layers, stocking cap, gloves), it was still, you know, 44 fucking degrees at gametime. Why not warm up?
We didn't much, but the M's did. Down 2-0 when we arrived, the M's strung together three doubles in the 5th to tie it—the last, I suppose, less double than “double.” It was a grounder to first that ticked up and over Yonder Alonso's glove and into right field. Hardly an error but I would‘ve scored it one. The official scorekeeper decided no and that’s how Kyle Seager got his first hit of the season. He's now 1-10. There was also some oddity with Mitch Haniger and our third base coach. He was on first when Seager hit his double, and was halfway to home when he slammed on the brakes and retreated. Would he have been nailed at the plate? I don't know. But the revision looked more dangerous than the original plan. That third base coach, by the way, is the infamous Scott Brosius of the infamous ‘98-’00 Yanks. How did that happen? Why is he with us? Why wasn't I consulted?
Anyway, Haniger braked, and our sub-DH for Nellie Cruz, Daniel Vogelbach, who looks like the greatest softball player in the world but doubtful for the bigs, struck out (he went 0-4), and that's where we were when Dee led off the 7th with his rocket shot. I thought, “Wow, that‘s hit. That’s a homer. From Dee Gordon? Does he hit many?” He doesn‘t. Before that swing he had 11 in his career. There are TVs in the cafe, too, and when I watched the replay, I flashed on Ken Griffey Jr., particularly the bat drop after the swing. Apparently I wasn’t the only one:
🤔🤔🤔— Mariners (@Mariners) April 1, 2018
He *was* working out with Junior, we heard. pic.twitter.com/bORFmleZmx
So Dee has more homers than stolen bases for the season. Odds on that happening?
Cano then singled (he's hitting .600), and Haniger (hitting .625) added a homer to left, and suddenly we were up 5-2. Turns out we needed it. In the 8th, Edwin Encarnacion, who'd homered earlier, added a two-run no-doubter to make it 5-4. But our Edwin (Diaz) shut out the lights in the 9th with three swinging strikeouts on 17 pitches, and we took 2 of 3 from the defending AL Central champs. Not bad.
Some worries. Seager had an off year last year and he's starting out slow. Our new first baseman, Ryon Healy, is 0 for the season. Paxton had trouble keeping them in the park Saturday. But Felix looked good opening night, Mike Leake performed well yesterday, and Haniger looks like the real deal. I'm more optimistic than I was a week ago.