Not another episode of my mini-series right now, but there is one forthcoming, I promise. I write a lot of blogs about my nerdy hobbies and favorite books and movies and the whole slew of nerd pop culture. But, I'm also a big sports fan. (thanks mostly to my father being in control of the TV remote my entire childhood.)
I've lamented before on here about how I have never been an exceptional athlete, but I never let that stop me from enjoying the professionals at work. In face, I think knowing how much I suck makes me appreciate all the more the level of skill on display. Next time your team's kicker shanks a field goal, go out side, measure out 30 yards and try to kick a ball that far. (no uprights, no aiming, just try to make it 30 yards. You cant do it.)
Baseball is one of those sports that's fun to play, but not so fun to watch on TV. Watching games live, however, with a hotdog in one hand and a beer in the other, the crowd cheering and chanting, is one of my favorite things on the planet. I love the fellowship and the camaraderie you can form with perfect strangers sitting around you.
Last weekend, I had the privilege of being one of the fans that witnessed the first post-season home game for the Seattle Mariners in over twenty years. I am proud to be one of the long-suffering Mariners fans. A true die-hard, resigned to the constant rebuilds and losing seasons without once ever wavering in my love for my team.
The ol' M's put a lot of hurt on us fans in that time. They not only had the longest playoff drought of any team in any American professional sport, (seriously, there are plenty of people old enough to drink that hadn't even been born the last time the Mariners made the playoffs.) but they had three 99+ loss seasons during that time. They made trades that made me pull out my hair. (A small part of me died when they traded Ichiro to the Yankees) They put ever lasting faith in bad players just because they cost so much. (every single one of the aging stars they bought underperformed spectacularly, and I still facepalm in dismay every time I think of Rodney taking the mound in the ninth with a slim lead)
But as I said earlier, Mariners fans are long-suffering. Our woes extend well before this playoff drought began. Not going into long Seattle history, even just my own there are tales of Father-Son slugging duos that fell short of capturing the title, Hall of fame rookies abandoning the team early in their stellar careers, and perfect-game pitchers that won the world series with other teams.
But that's sports. You can gripe about past seasons for the rest of your life (and we love to, don't we?), but all that history is forgotten when the team puts on a good show. That is precisely what we got that Saturday night in Seattle.
Game 3 of the ALDS series ended in Seattle with the Mariners losing 0-1 in the 18th inning. That's 17 full innings with no score, and a solo homerun in the top of the 18th that finally ended the game. 6 and a half hours of baseball, two full games. And I sat through it all, with a 7 year old and a 10 year old along for the game (they actually behaved better than I could have ever hoped). The game tied the record for longest post-season game, and set a new record for most strikeouts in a post-season game. How many strikeouts? Forty-two. That's enough strikeouts for 14 straight innings where every batter strikes out.
Boy did it feel like it toward the end. By the thirteenth inning, my wife and kids were asking me how much longer. By the fifteenth inning, they (not me) were beyond caring who hit the ball, just someone please hit the damn ball. By the time the solo HR came in the top of the 18th, even I was past the point of caring overmuch.
I did everything I could. I shouted myself horse cheering and jeering. I booed and heckled the Astros in the outfield near me. I wore my hat inside out, I even pulled off my shoe and put it on my head, which worked so well to rally the bats in the wild card series. But, having never been signed to the team, my contributions were minimal.
And thus did the season end. As T.S. Elliot said, "Not with a bang, but with a whimper". When that ball landed just over the fence in left center field, The air went out of the crowd like a popped balloon. It was dead silent for a split second, before a lone Astros fan, sitting three or four rows behind me began screaming his joy to the heavens. I was truly concerned for his safety as everyone, myself included, stared daggers at him.
The longest, most drawn-out pitching duel I've ever witnessed. 6 1/2 hours of nothing. 10 hour drive each way, and the price of the tickets meant no Christmas or Birthday presents for yours truly. Still worth it. May they not take another 22 years to make it this far again.
