NYY

We don’t have to like it, and most of us don’t. But the New York Yankees are the biggest dog in baseball and always have been. In fact they’re the biggest dog in all of professional sports. Exactly because of this, most of us automatically don’t like them. But there’s no denying it. Especially in October.

It’s not that they win the World Series every season. There are other competitive teams in the sport. They didn’t make it to the playoffs at all last year in fact, and much is being made this week of them not having been to the Series since 2009. But the Yankees have more titles than any other team in North American spectator sports and more than twice as many as the next baseball team. They had to build a new Stadium because they ran out of storage for their rusty trophies in the old one.

When the Los Angeles Lakers and the Montreal Canadiens are hanging out at the bar and the Yankees walk in, those two teams just have to finish their drinks and go home. Or to a different bar.

“We should go.” It’s embarrassing.

And it’s not just the raw numbers-- statistics are boring. The Yankees have the legends and historic edge, adding even more patina. They have the logo and the lore and the players. It’s beyond me how they can even field a team with the numbers they have left-- 22 having been retired. That’s why a guy like Aaron Judge wears 99. There’s no numbers left!

There are more NYY references in literature and music and pop culture than all the other sports combined. They come from the fucking Bronx. And no, it aint 1961 anymore. And it’s true that the ‘new’ Yankee Stadium lacks the authenticity of the old park. Vincent and I went there last summer cheering for the visiting Mariners and didn’t even get sneered at, let alone knifed. There’s definitely more avocado toast & Bombay Sapphire than there once was, but it’s still a deep, generational fan base of educated baseball people who are at this moment going out of their damn minds in anticipation of tonight’s 5:08 (pdt) first pitch of the 120th World Series.  

Sports fanatics are dangerously weird. Brad and his Packers; Jason and his Saints. Julie and her Sounders. My whack cousins from Boston and their ‘City of Champions’ routine. All my suffering fellow Mariner fans. But Yankee fans are a breed apart. They can afford to be, of course, with all their pennants & gaudy hardware. They can offer a fake conciliatory wink, suggesting that we’re all just fans of the game and that we just hope the best team wins in 7 games. But that’s a bunch of baloney. At the end of the day—at the end of the season, every season—they’re as greedy and seedy as any zealot. 

The Yankees don’t always win the World Series. The late ‘70s were good years for them (see: Mr October) and they went to three straight, winning the last two. But that first series was a tough one, being swept quite insensitively by arguably the best baseball team ever assembled in the 76BRM. It had been 12 seasons without an appearance before that run, and it would be an even longer wait till the next one. But seemingly before anyone could say Yogi Bera it was the late ‘90s.

I don’t have any particular love for the Los Angeles Dodgers and Evan’s the only one I know for sure is rooting for them tonight (as opposed to merely rooting against the Yankees). But I hope they win. In seven…

It’s the series everyone wanted all along even though we all said we’d love to see the impossible Mets or uppity Royals. But it isn’t just Boris and Stone and Mitch willing the Yankees to the Fall Classic. We’re all suckers for nostalgia, and between the Yankees and the Dodgers, this Series will be nostalgic AF.

Play Ball…

Read more about the 1976 World Series here, in Chapter 9 of my novella ‘Like a Nepenthe.’

Baseball on the radio

Nobody cares about baseball anymore. The kids just wanna hear a good beat…

Oh, I’m used to it. It’s just that I don’t expect the chalk rubbed in my eyes this early. I don’t expect it on the first day of a seven-month season.

And not only do I not not expect it, I actually understand it. I don’t agree with it. But I do get it, intellectually. Baseball is a game starkly out-of-step with American culture. In a society driven by violence and 140-character presidential press conferences, most Americans don’t really have time for baseball. It takes too long. It’s too slow. It’s so fucking boring. There are no cheerleaders.

And so baseball is dying if not a justified death, then at least one that can’t be convincingly argued against. Once known as America’s Pastime, professional baseball is now not only the least-profitable of the ‘big three’ but also is probably not even in the big three at all. Major League Soccer is a much bigger draw in the North American markets in which it competes and even dim ol’ hockey—once discreetly considered the laughing stock of professional sports—is demanding more attention. Baseball is dying on the vine. The death is a slow one—almost as slow as the pace of its games. But it’s dying just the same.

Presumably we’ll find MLB under ‘More Sports.’ WtF is UFC anyway?

And on most days it’s just fine because there’s more room for me. Plenty of places to park and sit. An older, generally more-dignified audience without drunken wave-starters or violent visiting team bully fanatics. Fewer little kids coming down off sugar and screaming for their parents’ phones. There are actually a lot of benefits to being the fan of a dead sport.

Unless the media indifference is so comprehensive that you can’t even listen to the game. At that point, it starts to get a little limiting.

Again—I am totally accustomed to chasing baseball around the radio dial in the late summer once middle school flag football pre-season starts, because my local radio affiliate understands very well that the audience for any football game or show is much larger and more susceptible to target marketing than the dusty old baseball fan worn down and advertised numb after 100+ games.  This affiliate is contracted on some level to broadcast not only all Seattle Mariners games but also the other higher-profile baseball events of the season– including Sunday Night Baseball, the All-Star Game and the World Series (if not the entirety of the MLB playoffs). It’s surprising, however, how many of these events they do not end up broadcasting in favor of high school football, college football, NFL football or even the motherfucking NFL draft. KPUG actually pushes contracted live sporting contests to its flat-chested sister station in order to broadcast an indulgent, droning 48-hour circle-jerking sports business transaction, regardless of how well the baseball team is performing at the time.

The draft is in late April. Early in the season– but it’s an isolated event. The real football pre-empts are still months away.

But this is the first year I can remember Opening Day being spun off to lil’ sister, and the fact that it was in order to broadcast March Madness is just icing on the turd for me.

Forget sports. There are few cultural phenomena of any root that I loathe more than the Final Four. I oughtn’t get into it here, but I do dislike it even more than the football nonsense. That’s never before been out of envy, because I can’t remember it ever interfering. Until this year.

Still, I don’t blame college basketball. As much as I enjoy torturing my understaffed local radio station dudes, I can’t really even find it in my crackerjack toy heart to blame them. There’s no sense in blaming football—it’s too dumb to know or care.

And really, there’s no actual need to blame anyone. I don’t think anyone is intentionally killing baseball just to spite me. Not even the game itself is rooting for that. MLB is doing what it can to salvage a shred of its shrinking audience by speeding up the game and cranking up the walk-up music. The Russians aren’t involved, I’m sure. No: blame has no role in this pickle.

I just want to listen to the damned ballgame. And it irks me when it’s not there for me when I turn my AM radio on for the first time since October. And when I do actually find out where the Cascade Radio Group has hidden the broadcast, they don’t even play the pre-game show! As if 60 more minutes of Men At Work and Wham! is going to matter one way or the other to the casual ‘80s spitbubble rock radio listener at 3pm on a Thursday.

The average age of the modern baseball fan is 59. Incredibly, I am young for the sport. Hard-fought efforts by the league including limiting mound visits and kind of instituting a pitch clock have shaved

minutes off the average time-of-game. Ultimately does it make any difference? I doubt it. I still roll my eyes when a player walks to first base without four wide ones being tossed his way. It’s going to result in a 40-second reduction in the time of the average game? Big deal. Play ball.

I’m sure you’ll just be doing backflips to learn my dilemma is solved—ironically through technology. When I did turn on my radio at the top of the pre-game show hour Thursday and heard not the familiar French Horn fanfare of the Seattle Mariner’s pregame broadcast, but the braying nonsense of some aged-out jock analyzing some other jaggov’s analysis of a college basketball game– I did what I’d known for many seasons I should have done. I picked up my cellular telephone and downloaded the ESPN app. Ninety seconds later, I was listening to the soothing sounds of Shannon Drayer navigating the first of 162 pre-game shows as only she can. Now I’ll be able to just walk around my house with the phone in my pocket, and the game (and pre and post game shows!) will just follow me around as magic. No more turning on and off the five AM radios stationed strategically around my house and yard. I’ve gone wireless and I’ve got my local radio station to thank.

See you down the road when the internet get outlawed, fellas. In the meantime you won’t have Jeff Braimes to kick around any more…

Seattle Mariners 2025

A pirate, an MVP and a promising young centerfielder are in a rowboat

Tuesday, October 21– Bellingham, WA 

Q: How far will they get before the boat fills up with water and they are violently dismembered by bull sharks in a froth of blood and salt, the rogue fibers of their musclebound torsos floating lazily down to the sandy ocean floor to be consumed nonchalantly by the least of the sea’s parasites—a murky ecosystem failure and decay.

A: Not as far as the World Series.

Along with the traditional offerings of just wait’ll next year and howabout them Hawks making the rounds this morning is a milky-eyed group meme of congratulations for how far the Seattle Mariners advanced this year– a resignation that not reaching the World Series is plenty good enough and that we should be not only satisfied but indeed proud that the team got as far as it did. This is a very PNW point of view, and showcases the low expectations for baseball and spectator sports in general in this region. Decades of losing have conditioned us to enthusiastically embrace 2nd (or lower) place, gleefully celebrating early-bracket victories as if they were championships. We’re just so grateful for a pause in the beatings that we can actually say with a straight face on the morning after a soul-sacking game 7 Championship Series defeat ‘only 112 days till pitchers and catchers! ‘

I wish I could see it that way.

another disappointing Championship Series

It’s not that there’s any shame in getting beat by a better sports team than yours. Especially in baseball and especially in October, when these series get stretched out over a long week. When you actually amortize the contest over seven grueling games, each with its own game within the game, with the innumerable plate appearances and recurring matchups and tangential storylines and super slo-mo replays & aerial photography, reverse-splits and the in-game interviews & miked-up umpires—it’s a fucking study. And usually there are enough chances for the better team to win. Just ask the Bad Lieutenant.

And yes of course the Mariners tasted success this season. For sure it was exhilarating to be one of the last three teams standing while all other baseball players were already golfing. FUCKING A RIGHT it was thrilling to have stolen along on Cal’s impossible, historic season. Certainly there is much to look forward to in 112 days.

But I guess what bugs me about this post season and what troubles me when I allow myself to consider 2026 is that as the diamonds got larger and the lights got brighter and the stakes got higher, this Mariners team did not consistently show its best self. In fact, it frequently showed its ugliest ugliest ugliest ass to the national audiences who hadn’t seen all that much of them to that point. That’s frustrating, because they’re better than how they played in much of the playoffs.

And it’s not just because my cousins in Boston watched the Mariners boot the ball all over the fuckin’ field in game 6. It’s not that Jeremy in the Bay laughed when they ran the bases like ladybug league soccer practice in 3 & 4. It’s not even when NYY Robert from Florida winced at some of the shockingly uncompetitive swings in all three. Rather it’s a combination of these boners and many more. Frankly, the team that stunk up much of the Championship Series was not a championship team.

And it wasn’t just the bleak nadirs of the Toronto series. There was breathtaking underachievement in the Division Series too.

“But we won the series,” will cry the apologists in teal. “We beat Skubal in an elimination game in front of a sell-out home crowd that stood and stomped for 15 innings. Everyone on Sports Center was talking about it!”

Oh, no doubt. That was a high-stepping October Friday night baseball thriller right there. But a series against these Tigers should never have gone five games to begin with. And this game needn’t have taken as long as it did. The Mariners had abundant opportunities to end that game in the bottom of every inning from the 8th on without using starting pitching that was supposed to be resting for the Championship Series. But they couldn’t do it. Inning after inning they just couldn’t score one runner from second base. Logan registered an inspired performance in relief for sure, but he never recovered—did he?

The statistical opposite of RLoB (Runners Left on Base) is execution. It doesn’t show up in the box score—there’s no quantifiable metric for it. Rather execution is the general capacity to move baserunners from first base (let alone second!) to home plate, and it is one of the things that separates good teams from very good teams. It is a combination of baserunning and situational hitting, including bunting.

Now, if you’re just planning on hitting a home run every time up, then of course it doesn’t matter– squander all the opportunities you want! But you can’t homer your way out of everything, as the Mariners found out last night.

The tenth man will sleep just fine over the winter, warmed by recollections of the Mariners’ spectacular 2025 stretch run that saw them advance farther into the playoffs than any other Mariner team in history. Tridents up!

I’ll wake up cranky, though, after an unsettling slumber– worrying that the end of the Mariners’ 25 season was flawed and ultimately futile. The Championship Series was cheapened by mental mistakes, mis-calculated pitching and terrible swing decisions. The Division Series took too long and wasted resources earmarked for higher callings. And the thrilling 17-4 late September run that moved the team not only into first place, but in fact into a position to enjoy a first-round bye? That was accomplished almost exclusively against sub-500 teams. The only playoff team the Mariners would face during that run would be the Dodgers, who—even with nothing to play for– made the Mariners look pretty thin in a 3-game sweep to close the regular season. The Mariners tiptoed into the playoffs when they’d previously been on a real rager, trouncing any last-place team that got in their way. Not ideal.

Fuck the Houston Asstros

No. If there’s one thing I’ll cling to this winter when the sun is unplugged and the tarp is on the infield, it will be the weekend in Houston. The one unqualified triumph of the second half of the season wasn’t realized in October at all, rather in the middle of September with more than a week to go in the regular. The Mariners barged in to Houston on a Friday afternoon having pulled into a tie with the first-place Asstros after an 11-1 run. With only six left to play afterward, it seemed likely the division would be decided between the two rivals on the field. And not just any field, either– but that crooked diamond in that backward town in that confederate state versus the orange villains we had all learned to despise so deeply. This was high drama and it was a perfect opportunity for the Mariners to choke like they had in so many Septembers past. One version of the script saw the Mariners piss away the crescendo of momentum they’d built over the previous two weeks—getting swept in Houston and losing out on not only the division title but in fact a post-season berth of any kind.

But that’s not the script that got played. In true fact, the Mariners dominated from the first pitch, leaving no doubt as to who the best team in the AL West was in 2025. Unhittable pitching from Woo, George & Logan. Multiple home runs from Cal. Speire’s gutty innings. Robles’ impossible catch. It was such a rewarding and dizzying thrill and I will cherish it always.

I wish that was the version of the team that had played the Blue Jays…

Rowdy Tellez, Donovan Solano and Dylan Moore walk into a bar

It boggles the mind to think that these three guys were Mariners during the same season that just ended last night. It seems like years ago! That gives an idea just how long a major league baseball season really is.

Lots of bit partiers come and go during a season. Guys get waived, traded, demoted and designated. No team ever finishes the season with the same roster it began with. That’s baseball. But it is interesting to note what’s washed ashore and flushed out with the tide over the course of a campaign.

I personally wanted it to work out for Rowdy, partly because I think Quick Sands would have loved him. Tellez had a playful personality and actually managed a pretty darned serviceable first base. He was also 6’4” and 270lbs and when he ran into one (which wasn’t actually all that often) the ball would go a long way. Rowdy homered in three straight games (including a grand slam in a 12-inning win) during an Easter weekend series win over the Blue Jays at that place Rogers Center.

But there wasn’t roster space for Rowdy once Luke Raley returned from the injured list at the end of June and the big guy was bye-byed. The heightened scrutiny at first base motivated Solano to subsequently crank up his program and he went on a tear, hitting .385 in 17 games in June. But the arrival of first baseman Josh Naylor at the trade deadline made Don Salon expendable and he was outrighted back to the Cheesecake Factory.

Those two guys were transients. They shared a role and soaked up some ABs during their relatively brief stays in Seattle. They had some moments, but Dylan Moore was a different story entirely.

Dylan Moore, thoughts arrive like butterflies

The longest-tenured Mariner (signed a month before JP Crawford), Moore was the epitome of a utility player. In his first game with the team– in Tokyo on opening day 2019– he entered the game in the 7th as a defensive replacement. The next inning, he drew a walk in his first at-bat as a Mariner before promptly stealing second. And then he just kept doing that for the next six + seasons. Whatever the team needed at that moment, Dylan could and would do. He could bunt and run. He could lead off or hit 9th—it didn’t matter. He played every defensive position except catcher and pitcher! He was such a versatile defensive player, he actually did win a Gold Glove for a utility player, which is baseballese for a guy who wants to play and win bad enough that he’ll play wherever the manager needs him to play and do it well. No drama.

I always thought that if Dylan Moore had gotten more regular playing time—more consistent at-bats—that he could be a star rather than the role-player he spent most of his Seattle seasons as. And he proved me right at the beginning of this year, hitting .385 in April and earning AL Player of the Week honors while splitting starts at second and third base while the Mariners were shaking their roster to see if there just wasn’t someone else better in here somewhere. Ultimately rookies Cole Young and Ben Williamson were brought up to fill the respective positions and D-Mo went back to spot starts, defensive replacements and pinch running. Without the rhythm so crucial to the art of baseball, his production plummeted and he was designated in August to clear a roster spot for Victor Robles, who was emerging from the injured list.

So long, Dylan Moore. I’ll miss singing your name in the stadium when they play “Even Flow.”

KNOCK KNOCK (who’s there?)

Josh Naylor—Lord, I can’t even remember what this team was like before Josh Naylor landed. I love this baseball pirate so much. He looks like a pirate and walks like a pirate, yet he speaks like a beat poet. He also runs like Fred Sanford! How did this guy steal 30 bases? Because he’s smart. He’s smart at baseball and he’s insightful, unlike most professional athletes. And funny. Whatever the fuck it was he was doing at second base in game 3 of the Division Series with those fake signals– I do not even know. It was like he was helping to land an airplane—no subtlety whatsoever. Then the goofy attempted breakup of the double play in the finale. The errant flip to Logan in Game 2— totally whack! It’s like jazz baseball…                                                                                                                    Not everything worked, like it doesn’t always in the improvisational arts. He made some sparkling defensive plays in the post, but also committed a couple of errors and was called out on the obstruction play. And like everyone else he had a few ugly at-bats.                       Worst of all his gaffes, however, was running in to an out at third base in Game 4 to ash a threat in the 6th inning with the Mariners down only three and the tying run coming to the plate. But I can forgive him that because he’s just my main main that’s all. Signing him will the the Mariners’ #1 off-season priority. Josh Naylor who? 

JP Crawford—This guy is infinitely lovable too. The longest currently tenured Mariner, JP has been a co-face of the franchise and has shown durability and resourcefulness. But he’s 30, and he did not have a great post, batting only .200 with 15 strikeouts. I was gratified to see him have such a great game 7, with a double, the motherfucking sacrifice bunt (the Mariners’ only of the post?) and that lyrical defensive play to start the double and crush the Blue Jay’s 5th. Identifying his replacement is something the team will need to start working on at some point next year, with the splashy extension he signed in 2022 expiring after the season. JP Crawford who? 

Dan Wilson—I liked Dan as a player and even as a broadcaster, but he’s not my favorite kind of manager. I was delighted when he replaced Scott Servais because I thought Servais needed to be replaced by someone. Anyone. And Dan has largely avoided glaring fuck-ups in his first full + season at the bridge.                                                                                Naturally there has been much second-guessing this morning about the pitching progression last night. Kirby out too soon? Woo out too soon? Bazardo instead of Muñoz? Unlike most of Servais’ moves in 22, I didn’t find fatal flaw with Dan’s choices this month. I think he got unpleasantly surprised by some guys who’d been nails all season long. But I don’t blame Dan for going to them or even going back to them. Sometimes the guy with the bat just hits the ball no matter where it’s thrown.                                                                          One thing that did kind of gross me out this year, though, was the staged ejection in Tampa. A big deal had been made about Lou being at the game, and when some bad strikes were called against Mariner hitters in the 3rd, someone in the dugout got rung by homeplate umpire Manny González. When Dan emerged seeking clarification, he too was tossed. But there was no fire in the thing at all, Wilson’s act was mild and inauthentic– an embarrassment. He looked like he’d just watched some A Eye YouTube video on how you argue with an umpire. Clearly the whole thing was for Lou’s enjoyment only. As much as I miss a good ol’ fashioned baseball argument, I could do without much more of this limp theater. Dan Wilson who? 

the author preparing to shave the good luck mustache Monday October 20, 9:14pm

The Trident—I don’t know if it’s because the team did actually hit a lot of home runs this year or what, but that tiresome fork didn’t bug me as much this season as it has in the past. Funny how winning changes things! While a lot of teams have done away with these dugout talismans, the Trident is still on the Mariner roster.                                                                                                                                                                                                            I do think they need some PR consultation where some of the other stuff is concerned, however. National media loves running stories about dark horse’s endearing B-market customs, but you can’t run parallel with the mustaches, the witches, the Trident and the shoes-on-the-head. Choose one and play it– but don’t expect national audiences to embrace every quirk, no matter how adorable. The Trident who? 

Eugenio Suárez—It was sure a gas having Geno back. I actually had goosebumps and a tearlette when I heard the story of him boarding the plane in Sacramento. I didn’t like letting that dude go in 23, and I’ve missed him since. Unfortunately, he stunk the fuckin’ joint up pretty good once back– at least on the field, more accurately at the plate. He was still great for attendance though, and I know he’s good in the clubhouse. But he was awful in the playoffs, striking out 18 times. It just looked like he couldn’t get back in the dugout fast enough so he could brush his hair. He had the two good swings in Game 5, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day. I assume there will be no effort made to bring him back for 2026. Eugenio Suárez who?

Cal Raleigh—What else are we even supposed to say? Are there any superlatives yet available? We all just sound like broken records trying to describe the juggernaut that was Cal Raleigh this season.

Like every player on this team, I would smile if he cut down on the swing-and-miss. I know striking out is part of power hitting, I just wish there was a shortened 2-strike swing that could be employed. For all of them.

He looked tired in the last two games in Toronto and some balls got away him behind the plate. Go figure. The Mariners will do well to find a way to rest him more regularly next season—whether he likes it or not.

I hope he wins the MVP but will understand if he doesn’t. It will boil down to how much value is assigned to the catching piece, obviously. Maybe that and stolen bases! Cal owns that advantage over Judge 14-12. To be honest, I would like to see him running less in general. It just cracks up the radio booth whenever Cal catches everyone off-guard and steals second. But no one’s going to be laughing when he pulls a hamstring or gets in some awkward collision at home plate when fucking Kris Negrón sends him with one out and a 3-run lead. The guy’s got a lot on his plate, maybe we can just cool out on the ill-advised baserunning risks in 2026. Cal Raleigh who? 

Right Field—I like both of these guys—Victor & Dom. But one of them needs to step up or get lost early in 26. Miserable posts, both of them– well sub-Mondoza. And that E for Vic with the laminated cheat card in his teeth was a bad look– as was his javelin suspension in August. Stewy Griffin was as ineffective as anyone in the black hole of the back of the Mariners’ post-season lineup and we need more from the position. Right Field who?

Rotation—The least of anyone’s concerns, clearly. It’s actually kind of shocking that the Mariners won 90 games with all the injuries and general underachievement of the young starters in 25. Castillo’s surprise season is regularly overlooked in discussions about Mariner pitching, but The Rocker was really good—super clutch. There’s no reason to think the starting rotation will not be wikked awesome again next season after the off-year in 25. Like many of the hitters, they weren’t good enough in the post– but there are explanations for that. Rotation who?

Julio Rodríguez of the Seattle Mariners— I have a complicated relationship with Julio. It certainly is not in my best interests for him to fail—yet I find myself being much more irritated when he does than I am elated when he succeeds. I’m not sure why I’m so critical of him. I don’t think it’s the actual money, but it surely has something to do with the expectations attached to it. The Seattle sports blogosphere thinks he’s the best thing since curly fries, but I believe he’s got a long way to go before he’s sharing any sentences with you–know-who. A super long way.

Everyone strikes out sometimes. Everyone hits in to a double play once in a while. Guys get caught stealing, I dig it. But this dude’s errors are more often mental lapses. I think Julio Rodríguez is the most vacant baserunner I’ve ever watched. Certainly the most relative to his reputation as a great baserunner. “But he stole 30 bases!” they whine. This is true. But there’s more to baserunning than stealing second. J-Rod is constantly getting picked off and running in front of ground balls when he should just freeze.

I also do not believe he is an elite defender. “But he’s nominated for the Gold Glove!” At the risk of being exposed as a heretic, my opinion is that he doesn’t make the really difficult plays and that he makes the routine ones look difficult.

Baserunning mistakes cost outs. Fielding errors, like the banquet offered in Game 6 (two by Julio) give extra bases to the other guys. They can’t be tolerated.

I do give Julio all the credit in the world for stiff-arming the All-Star Game, however. For a guy who admires himself as much he does, summoning the discipline to forfeit limelight in order to put himself in a position to do what should be most important (namely having the sensational second half he did) couldn’t have been easy. My cap is off for this bold choice. But I need Julio to play smarter in 2026, all year. Julio Rodríguez of the Seattle Mariners who?

Jesus Won— I find this team’s recent embrace of Christianity to be positively revolting. I’ve never thought it was a great look on any celebrity, honestly, but somehow it’s even worse on baseball players. The Latin American guys, I can cut more length—even if Geno laid it on far too thick more than once. But Logan? Where did this even come from? I’ve never observed it before and suddenly they are kneeling in a team prayer. I could do without this and will be writing a letter in the off-season, believe me. Jesus Won who?

Randy—This guy is a weirdo. I got a real close look at him at Spring Training, and he is a dark motherfucker. And no, I don’t mean that—he’s just super intense and unless he’s flashing that million-dollar grin then he’s just hard scowling. But I love that he throws 20 baseballs into the stands during the game. Other players actually throw balls to him in left field for him to throw to the crowd. It’s a weird tic.                                                                                                          But Randy had some real presence this season, and even if it wasn’t exactly the 2020 World Series, I loved his work on the basepaths this post and I like him in left. Randy who?

The Bullpen—I have appreciated that these modern Mariners teams have had strong and deep relief pitching. To me, a rad bullpen is even sexier than a great starting rotation. Particularly in the post season, it’s fascinating when the nameless gunslingers emerge from beyond the left-field fence to face certain hitters again and again. And not just the closers, but the set-up guys and other specialists too. Muñoz was good again this year– but he was far from perfect, with seven blown saves. Even the successful finishes often seemed to be an adventure for him. But Brash has settled in nicely to his 8th inning role and Bazardo & Speier had great years even if some of their luck ran out in the playoffs. With the hopeful return of Santos and Thornton next year, the bullpen should again be a strength for the Mariners. The Bullpen who?

Quick Sands, T-Mobile  Park 10/2/21

Quick Sands—I wasn’t even old enough to vote when I first started copying everything Rick Sands did, and we were friends for more than 40 years before he died last season. He taught me lots of stuff and made baseball cool for me again after a decade of estrangement, worshipping the NFL. We went to a million games together over the years, but never a World Series game. Matt and Evan and I took his voodoo stickers to spring training and I was looking forward to taking them to a Series game also. But the team ended up making too many fucking baserunning mistakes and missed the fall classic by 9 outs. Quick Sands would have scoffed at the just wait’ll next year optimism, mocking it as sushi-eating American League bullshit. But, you know—just wait’ll next year… Quick Sands who?

The World Series— By the time I’ve gotten to the bottom of this pompous protest piece, two games of the Series are downstream. Game 1 was a shocker. Like most people, I didn’t know if Toronto would even score a run let alone win a game. But the Dodgers haven’t exactly looked like the 27 Yankees either. Still, I like LA to win it all, maybe in as few as five. We’ll know more after tonight. I won’t be going to Game 4 tomorrow night, like I had hoped… The World Series who? 

Jorge Polanco—I don’t usually watch baseball on television. A 30+ year radio listener, I normally only see baseball on TV if I’m in a bar or a hotel room. I don’t miss too many pitches during a season, but I’m normally listening to them while I’m cooking or walking or puttering in the garage. So it wasn’t until pulling down a Fubo subscription this post that I actually got a good long look at that bug-eyed freak Jorge Polanco. Talk about your blank stares—I love this dude’s super-neutral shark act. You get absolutely nothing from him and then BOOM– he’s running slow around the bases.                                                                    The Mariners haven’t had a real DH since Nelson Cruz. I hope they’ll make an effort to sign Polanco, though he will likely test the market after a productive season. Maybe we should step up our efforts to circulate that blooper reel error of his in shallow right field during the Division Series. Dude not necessarily known for his D. Jorge Palanco who?

2026 SEATTLE MARINERS—Despite how sardonic and generally discontented I come off, I do think this team will definitely win the World Series next year. Of course, I always think the Mariners are going to win the World Series until the pitch on which they are eliminated for the season—even when that’s been in June. This year it wasn’t until the end of game 7 of the ALCS. And yes of course that is something.                                                                                                                      I do hope there’s a grown-up in the room at some point during spring training 26, however, who will motivate these boys to re-visit the some of the classics like catching the ball, throwing to the right base, bunting, and not getting picked off third. Home runs are bitchin’ but a bunch of balls taken smoothly the other way pencil out the same in the scorebook. I know it’s a lot to expect, but being a team that puts the ball in play (TOR25) sometimes has a better chance of winning a pennant than the team that hits home runs a lot but then can’t score after a leadoff double when the season’s on the line (SEA25).                    There is much to be optimistic about looking forward. The rotation should be as good as any in the game. They have stars under contract and with any luck they’ll sign another in Naylor. Hopefully Mitch Garver is playing elsewhere and that he takes Luke Raley with him. They may well have the steepest home-field advantage in the sport.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             But we can’t pencil in 60 for Cal again—he won’t be pitched to like he was for a lot of this year. Someone on the pitching staff is going to be injured and miss half the season. How are matters going to take shape at second and third base? Who knows when the best Julio Rodríguez is going to show up…                         A baseball season is a long prospect. It starts in early February and doesn’t end until November if you’re good. If you make sweet love to and impregnate your darling one (does not matter if you are married to her or not) on the first day of spring training, she might give you a son on the last day of the World Series. And there’s only three months of leave available before you have to get back in the dugout with those dudes that are all dressed the same as you.

As Quick Sands often said, baseball is mean…

Stop making sense

My wife almost never drinks tequila with me anymore. But last night, in observance of not only my birthday but also the 4K re-issue of the Talking Heads concert movie masterpiece Stop Making Sense, she joined me for a shot of the Cabin’s worst.

It’s a bit of a stretch to call it a tradition, but it is an absolutely true fact that agave has played a role in the respective movies of us watching that movie. In 1985—separately– we both attended one of those fabled showings at the Fairhaven Picture Show a year after SMS was originally released. High on tequila. She prefunking with Bruce at her apartment above the Prudent Penny; me at Mark’s cabin in Mud Bay with a fifth of Two Fingers when it still came in the black bottle.

The film was great, of course. Same as it ever was…

It was also actually nice to have a day off from baseball. This year, my birthday fell on the MLB taint between the regular season and the post. The one quiet day on which no games are played.

To be honest, Sunday was a day off from baseball for me, too– even though all teams played. I’m a fan of the Seattle Mariners and I almost never don’t listen to their game on the radio. But I didn’t on Sunday– even though it was one of only two games that meant anything on the last day of the season. To be clear, it didn’t mean anything to the Mariners, as they had been detached from post-season consideration only hours before in a Saturday night stinker before a sold-out crowd at T-Mobile Park. They were in fact that last team to be slapped with a scarlet E– and the Texas Rangers celebrated their own playoff berth between the mound and first base as Mariner fans furiously wadded up their scorecards and tossed them on the ground next to the trash can because the trash can was already filled over the brim with other wadded up dreams and there wasn’t any room left on top for even one more tiny ball of paper with the 2023 on it.

E stands for elimination.

Saturday night’s contest wasn’t particularly high on drama, that last meaningful game. Its final score (1-6) and the Mariners’ ultimate fate (E) didn’t sneak up on us this September, after all. It’s been that kind of stretch run– a slow, seeping bleed.

No sir– the egg laid by the Mariners Saturday night with the season literally on the line shouldn’t have surprised anyone– it was merely the latest failure in a stretch dripping with eggyweg.

The club was in 1st place atop the American League West on September 1st after an historic August. They then proceeded to go 11-17 the rest of the way, and 3 of those wins came against the remains of the Oakland A’s. September was a test not only of the physical stamina it takes to survive a 162-game baseball season– it was also a measure of heart. High-character teams rally late in a game or a season; lesser clubs swing and miss…

Aaron said he was glad just to have a pulse at this point in the year. I said a pulse wasn’t much consolation when we’ve been promised a boner for ten years.

JUST WAIT TILL LAST YEAR

The 2022 season was a riot, of course– and a very high bar indeed. Making the playoffs for the first time in more than two decades was intoxicating, and actually advancing in them was even wilder. The mid-October division-round shiv thrust into the Mariners’ ribcage by the reviled Houston Astros was heartbreaking, and I genuinely missed a lot of those dudes during the long, cold offseason.

But this year was a stone drag and it’s confounding to ponder the reasons why. It’s not merely failure to make the post-season. The record was only two wins shy of what felt like a championship romp last year. So what was the difference?

On-paper, with few exceptions, the 2022 Mariners and the club currently vacationing were laid out very similarly: great pitching, bloodless offense, good defense, bad baserunning. Bit players come and go. But for the most part, the leading roles on this team were played by the same guys as last year.

The difference in the two seasons isn’t something that necessarily shows up on baseballstatsuptheass.com. And it doesn’t necessarily have everything to do with talent (though it may have something to do with effort, or at least how that effort is applied). In a word, I guess, the team in 22 (and 21 for that matter) had soul. Call it magic, voodoo or even luck if you want. But this year’s team didn’t have no rhythm, if you ask me.

It’s easy to explain away rhetorical inquisitions or statistical anomalies when discussing baseball, because you can always just say ‘that’s baseball.’ It’s like saying ‘infinity’ or ‘because I said.’ It simply can’t be argued:

Q) How does the best team in the sport lose even one game to the worst?

A) That’s baseball

Q) How can a team win nearly every close game one year and lose them all the next?

A) That’s baseball

Q) If there is a God, why do little kids get leukemia?

A) That’s baseball

Last season, we M’s fans got to do a lot of knee-slapping when saying that’s baseball, going 36-24 in games decided by one run or in extra innings. This year we were 29-32 including a dismal 6-14 in extras. Very few hardy-hars this year in close games. This team just did not have the same nose for late-inning money. It’s thrilling to win games late and often makes a team seem better than they actually are. But losing late sucks a big one and certainly makes a team seem worse. Shrugging and saying that’s baseball only goes so far…

THE BLAME GAME

Last year I blamed manager Scott Servais for the Mariners not winning the World Series, specifically for what I saw as his mis-management of the bullpen in the post. (My shrill and indulgent rant is still available for review by scrolling down a few lines and I won’t re-torture anyone here). I haven’t softened on my position re: Servais and would still fire him right now if I weren’t too drunk to drive down there and do it in person. Scott didn’t have a post-season bungle this year, so a true comparison with last season really isn’t possible. But he’s a fuckin’ bum and a poor motivator, or else his team would not have had a losing record in close games.

Who I do blame this October is the despicable cretin Jerid Kelenic. I’ve always regarded him as an insincere twat– a douchebag prima of the primest order. Understandably, he’s never seemed very popular with his teammates, and I was surprised when he wasn’t moved at the deadline last year– but there must not have been much of a market for him at the time. To his credit, he came into spring training with what appeared to be not only an overhauled swing but also a new attitude. He spoke at length with the media about having worked on his mind and spirit as much as his body during the off-season, and he seemed to have an almost zen-like approach to hitting that translated almost immediately to success at the plate. Instead of striking out swinging for the parking lot, he was making contact and taking the ball the other way. The hits piled up and eventually the power followed. On April 12 he hit a bomb half-way to Cleveland in a 5-2 victory over the Chicago Cubs at Wrigley Field.

Though he’d cooled off by late June, he was still producing and playing a serviceable left field. But then came the 9th-inning 9-pitch at-bat against Minnesota closer Jhoan Duran on July 19. With two runners on and the Mariners trailing by 3, Kelenic struck out swinging before returning to the dugout and kicking a Gatorade cooler, breaking a bone in his foot which would sideline him for 7 weeks. The team was at .500 at the time with a record of 47-47.

But here’s the telling part: instead of buckling, the Mariners responded by going on their best run of the season. They shut the Twins out 5-0 the next day before embarking on an impressive 34-17 tear which included two separate 8-game win streaks and the 21-win August. Once Kelenic returned to the lineup on September 15, the club went 6-9 and looked bad doing it.

How is that not a curse?

MAKE THE GRADE

Now that I’ve complained about shit I don’t truly understand– firing a guy with 50 years in the business and waiving one of the club’s prized prospects, I will hand down judgement the rest of the organization. SKIP TO RECIPE.

Ty France. What on Earth happened to Ty France this year? Don thinks he was just too fat, and it did seem as though he’d put on one or two. But he played well in the field and was

much more durable than last year, appearing in 158 games. His performance at the plate was a huge disappointment, however, after being such a reliable bat in 2022. He didn’t walk, he didn’t hit in the clutch and he didn’t homer. All other meaningful numbers were way down, too– except for Hit-by-Pitch which soared from a team-leading 21 last year to a gaudy 34 this season, the most in the major leagues by far. C minus

 Teoscar Hernández. The loss of Mitch Haniger in the off-season stung me at first, but the truth was that he hadn’t been on the field much in 2022– a trend that continued this season in his new venue of San Francisco. Teo by contrast was dependable, playing in 160 games for the Mariners. And even though he struck out way too much, he did post 26 homers which was the second-highest total of his career. Plus that face-first catch he made during the last homestand was bold AF. He’s a free agent in the off-season and guess I hope the club finds a way to keep him. B plus

Starting Pitching. Pitching has been the strength of this team for a long time, and this season was no different. The rotation, including ace Luis Castillo, didn’t finish particularly strong, unfortunately. But the starters were what kept them in the games they won and the future continues to look bright with the emergence of Bryce Miller & Brian Woo and the maturation of George Kirby & Logan Gilbert. There’s no telling whether Marco or Bobby will return, or what the farm will produce. But this season’s rotation was an improvement over the solid starting class of last year, and that is saying something. A minus

The Pen. If the starting rotation was 15% better this year, the bullpen equalized it. Still a solid group and a strength of the club, the pen wasn’t as deep or dynamic as in 2022. When closer Paul Sewald was dealt to Arizona at the deadline for three no-names, I was the only person I knew to say good riddance. I’d been totally grossed out by his pre-game ‘exit’ interview with Shannon Drayer two days earlier in which he declared himself better than Dennis Eckersley, practically referring to himself in the third person. Fuck that guy I said at the time. I thought Andres Muñoz was ready to step into the alpha role and that Matt Brash would fill in behind as the set-up guy. Turns out I was mistaken, and Muñoz was not automatic as the closer, struggling with his control and demonstrating a vulnerability not previously visible. And as much as Topa, Spier and Saucedo rose to their respective challenges, they weren’t no Murphy, Festa and Steckenrider. B plus

Julio. This should probably be a separate essay, but I’ll try and keep my comments brief. I could not agree more with Matt that the impatience with which the club– and the league for that matter– have rammed Julio Rodríguez down our throats is an outrage. Baseball is desperate for fresh, fly grinners to grow (or at least maintain) its long declining fan base. And I’m delighted that we have a promising multi-tool player to hang some future on. But he’s been rushed to the spotlight since day 1 and he hasn’t always responded. Yes, he had a great sophomore season (in the end) and we all know his August numbers. But the fact remains that he was 8th in the American League in strikeouts (175) and only 21st in homeruns (37). All other meaningful offensive statistics were down from his rookie season and he was terrible in September– failing with runners in scoring position time and time and time again. I love that he steals bases, but do not like when he gets picked off first or runs behind ground balls at second. The fact that he finished the season batting .275 (34th in the AL) is a testament to how well he hit after the break because he had a dismal first half. His appointment (not election) to the All-Star Game’s flatulent Home Run Derby was a joke and an affront to any dignity that pompous contest has remaining. (But the hometown team needed a representative who would goose TV ratings– even one who’d only hit 13 homeruns in games that mattered to that point). B

JP Crawford. Just take the previous graph and reverse it: JP had a gem of a season, rising well above his already lofty expectations. The only Mariner to really have a flawless campaign. Did he make the All-Star game? No. Will he win the Gold Glove? Probably not. Is he the face of the Seattle Mariners? Nope. It’s a bit of a stretch to say he don’t get no respect, but he certainly does not get the attention he deserves– with Julio absorbing so much love just over his left shoulder. All JP did was drive opposing pitchers insane in the mind by grinding out at-bats, single-handedly driving pitchcounts up while leading the AL in walks. All other relevant offensive stats were up as well, most notably his homerun total which skyrocketed from 6 last year to 19 this season. He is a Gold Glove-caliber shortstop, a great interview and a leader in the clubhouse. I’m beyond relieved that we have him locked up for many seasons to come. A plus

Cal Raleigh. If the pitching on this team is good, a portion of that credit lives with Cal. His pitchers trust him, and he’s a leader on and off the field. Last year, with fairly average numbers, he was elevated to Folk Hero status based on his ridiculous timing– seemingly always delivering in the clutch. This season– despite most of his offensive numbers being slightly up– Cal did not seem to have the same presence at the plate, that same timing… But I’ll take 30 homers out of my switch-hitting catcher if he manages the pitching well and leads the league in runners caught stealing (with shorter base paths). A minus

Designated Hitter. The DH-by-committee hasn’t really worked out, like Oz said. Let’s face it: in this particular age of baseball, teams intending to compete need a feared brute who’s going to get the guys in front of him better pitches and who can still hit for power with the pitches he sees. And he doesn’t have to do anything except hit. He doesn’t really even have to be an athlete! This year the Mariners conceded 600 at bats to guessers like Mike Ford. If there is a #1 off-season priority, it is a power hitter to plug into this slot. It’s not called Designated Hitter for nothing. D

Baserunning. It frustrates me when the Mariners fuck up on the bases. I don’t mind getting thrown out at second trying to stretch a single. That’s just aggressive baserunning. But getting picked off first and running behind ground balls are mental errors. The Mariners were #2 in the league in getting picked off first. It also seems to me that Manny Acta doesn’t even know who he’s waving in sometimes, as France and Suarez are out by 5 steps at the plate with alarming regularity. It would also be great if someone could get a bunt down some day, but I know that is asking a lot. C minus 

The Trident. Someone with guts and authority needs to hurl that fucking stick into the sea. It was cool for a minute when other dugouts had homerun gimmicks like that but few teams are playing that anymore. And when you’re 11th in home runs but 2nd in strikeouts you shouldn’t be allowed to accessorize. F

Trader Jerry. Speaking of authority and guts, I’d hate to be in Jerry Dipoto’s Keds right now. I generally approve of Jerry and recognize that his role as a diplomat caught between ownership and the fans and the players is entirely unwinnable. But that’s baseball. I believe the moves he’s made have improved the club, even if the progress has been slow. But you can’t go to the podium the day after elimination and use the kind of language he used in fansplaining why the Mariners aren’t in the playoffs. Part of his job is PR and he just can’t underthink important messaging like that. Seriously, Jerr… B for results D plus for form

The Booth. I haven’t had TV since the 1980s and only ever listen to the Mariners on the radio unless I’m in a hotel room or a bar. But I listen every day. As a result, I know the radio guys pretty well– and I think there’s a divide growing in the booth. In addition to saying last year that I would fire Rizzs if I had the authority, I said I thought there was a pact between the younger guys—Goldsmith & Hill—and the graytooths Rizzs & Simms. Less a pact than a series of alliances, I guess. There’s normally only two hot mics– but the system for who is on them during any given inning continues to puzzle me. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern, almost as if the pairings are determined at random by a coinflip during the commercial break. It’s super obvious that the two age-matched pairs are more comfortable with each other. But without the den mother Rizzs in the front seat of the station wagon, Goldsmith and Hill will often riff to depths that are hard to return from; like the game is not the most important thing happening. It’s all jazz riffs about soft-serve ice cream and video games, with a ball game being played in the background. Not that old dudes can’t lose focus occasionally, especially in the mostly-empty Oakland Coliseum. One of my favorite moments of the season was hearing Rizzs and Simms arguing about 78 rpm records vs 33s one night during a series against the A’s when Jake Swolinski had walked up to “Gimme Shelter.” It was weird to hear Rick Rizzs– King of the Honkeys– waxing about what a classic the song is; one of the hardest, most menacing songs of all time. But then again there were only 3800 people in the stadium, so someone had to say something. (It still wasn’t as cool as Colabro quoting Zappa, though…)

I don’t know what happens on the TV side. I heard Blowers got vertigo or something and that he’d been out of the booth for a while. I haven’t heard his Blowers on Baseball segment on the radio since before the break, so maybe he’s laid out on his bathroom floor. Someone please do a wellness check on Mike Blowers. B minus

Rules. It took me about three games to get used to the pitch clock. I was a little scared at first, though, aint gonna lie. On opening day, it felt like Rizzs was rushing, often unable to finish his thought before the next pitch was delivered. But I think that was because he was trying to say too much, it being opening day. Once the broadcasters settled into the new timing, I did too. And I haven’t given it another thought all season. Game times are way down which is great. I don’t know whether abolishing the shift has led to more offense, and I don’t know if the bigger bases have led to more runners on them. But it all felt perfectly fine. For some great perspective on the new rules and the state of the game in general, I highly recommend Mark Leibovich’s brilliant July essay in The Atlantic.  A

2024. Shucks, I don’t know. It’s easy for players to bitch to the media about management/ownership when the team fails. To be fair, the Mariners are in the bottom third of payroll while they rest comfortably in the upper tiers of income. They have a wicked cool facility that was publicly-funded. And their lily-white sushi-suckin’ PNW fans who are already accustomed to overpaying for food, drink and parking are super happy to support them, with the team ranking in the top third in the major leagues for attendance.

It’s a yidda bit chicken or egg. If the team wins, will ownership escalate spending in order to win it all? Or is the team doomed to languish at .543 while ownership realizes greater returns on safer investments elsewhere?

Jerry’s being crucified publicly this week for how he answered some fairly routine questions. But what the actual answer is is the trickier riddle. Because improving this team in 2024 won’t come from the prized farm system. It has to come via trade or a high-leverage free agent signing. Let’s hope we’re not at an impasse.

There certainly is a core of young, talented, signed players. But there are holes in the roster, no doubts. Beyond the DH, but we could use a fierce left-handed reliever, a major league second baseman and a left fielder (if you move Kelenic for value as I believe the clubhouse has said it favors). Brent said he doesn’t think the Mariners will win a World Series while Dylan Moore is on the roster. But there’s more role-playing going on than just DylMo.

What if this current team takes the field largely unchanged next season? They might win 54% of their games, which is what Jerry says dynasties average. But the Mariners achieved that this year and didn’t advance. How loud will be the whining if the 2024 Mariners aren’t better than the team currently golfing.

Shucks, man. It’s easy for the players to bitch about management/ownership when the team fails. But when you’re two games back playing the team in front of you, and you come to the plate in the 5th and then again in the 8th with runners in scoring position all series long and you strike out on bad pitches then maybe there’s some responsibility to be born by the ones who actually play the games.

What now? October is my favorite month: my birthday at the front, Halloween at the back and MLB playoff baseball nearly every day in-between– some days with 4 games in a single day. But for the first time in many years, I’m not particularly excited about this postseason. It’s not because the Mariners aren’t in it, because that’s been the rule for two decades. But I guess I don’t really like any of the remaining teams all that much. I don’t like their uniforms and I don’t like their stadiums—factors that are important in the post because I do normally manage to take in some TV games in a bar or a hotel room. Only 5 teams out of the original 12 post-season teams play baseball outside– the other 7 have domes or retractables and those just don’t look the same on TV. Lucky for me, all 5 of those teams advanced in the first round so now it’s 5-3. Most of the parks are modern, with only Dodger Stadium older than me and and I can’t root for that team. So I guess my heart’s with Baltimore. How about they beat the Braves in six.

See you in February…

thank you for your servais

Scott Servais has watched a lot of World Series games on TV. A baseball lifer, he has probably watched more than a thousand post season games in his 55 years. As a kid and later as a big league player, he surely dreamed of competing in an October Classic. Once his playing days were over, his fantasies would have turned to coaching on the biggest stage the sport has to offer. In recent years, as a big league manager on vacation, sitting alone on the couch with his hands tucked in the top of his sweats, I imagine him joining the conversation of the television broadcasters as starting pitchers heroically emerged from the bullpen on two day’s rest and relievers were stretched to unimaginable limits. Second-guessing pitching changes aloud to no one in particular, he would count the days until he himself might have an opportunity to fail as spectacularly as he did this week with the whole world watching.

When that stuff works, you’re a genius; when it don’t, you’re a bum. He just didn’t have enough patience, which is ironic (yes it is) because Scott Servais has been a very patient man.

Baseball requires patience. Getting through a 6-month season, not to mention a single solitary game (18 inning affairs notwithstanding) requires superhuman zen-like patience. Baseball is slow fun, and not for the easily distracted. But to amortize that standard-issue endurance over a 20-year rebuilding odyssey is really expecting a lot.

Trader Jerry Dipoto

Of course Servais has only been on-board for the last 7 years of the 20-year plan. And to be fair, the club has stuck to the schedule for the most part– with Trader Jerry’s constant tweaking. Among the most intoxicating moments of the 2022 season, in fact, did not take place on the playing field at all, but rather over a cellphone in the back seat of a moving vehicle as the Mariners proudly declared themselves buyers at the trade deadline in late August, taking home the bazaar’s most coveted prize in starting pitcher Luis Castillo.

And despite how utterly demoralizing the last series of the season was, there was no doubt much triumph and bootie realized this year: a second consecutive 90-win campaign and a playoff berth for the first time in 20+, duh; the emergence of a gold glove caliber switch-hitting catcher who would rip more regular season homers than any catcher in Mariner’s history; a thrilling 14-game winning streak; the starbirth of a 21-year old rookie with power, speed and charisma not seen in these parts since you-know-who; young pitchers as far as the eye could see, maturing outing-to-outing, seemingly before our very eyes; the unimaginable delight that was Eugenio Suarez; 13 walk-offs; the best defense in the league; and a bullpen that impossibly seemed deeper & craftier than last year’s crew, despite lacking a designated alpha closer.

Still, with some fairly freak exceptions, no one the club could be relied upon to hit with much consistency. Ty France had a great first half, and the team hit the ball out of the yard in August. And like last year, they certainly had a flair for the dramatic, which sometimes makes a team appear as though they’re better offensively than they really are. The fact is they were a below average offensive team with only two other clubs ranking lower in team batting average.

What a galling and ironic bummer then, that from the first at-bat of their first playoff game in 20 years, they would actually hit well enough to advance to the ALCS and that it would be Servais’ shocking mis-management of the club’s strength that would betray it and send the players golfing while the Houston Astros celebrated between the mound and second base on the Mariners’ home diamond.

Remember when Scott was just sitting on the couch in the dark dreaming of managing in the post season? Well, that’s where he’ll be for the World Series again this year.

What use is it to have the best bullpen in the sport if you only ever give the ball to two guys? It was like a sick game of keep-away from a rested corps of brilliant relievers– quality arms just rotting on the vine, while Servais again went to Sewald and Muñoz when he didn’t have to. Certainly handing one of those two studs a baseball late is a great feeling for any baseball coach—they’d both been breathtaking all season long. But Servais continually dragged them out of the roles in which they had been effective. There may well have come a time in this post season, had the Mariners advanced, that those two would indeed be called upon to expand their respective comfort zones. But forcing them to do it so early burned them both out and stole any drama that might have been in it for higher-leverage situations later.

GAME 1, Toronto– Friday

As far as I’m concerned, the trouble started here. Castillo had been brilliant, pitching into the 8th. Do you need Muñoz there? If you’re planning on leaning on him all post-season, why not rest him on Friday and call on any one of your other perfectly wicked right-handers to get the last five outs, not knowing how much higher-stakes relief you were going to need on Saturday. Or Sunday.

“We just needed to slam the door and win Game 1 at any cost,” many would undoubtedly say, in Scott’s defense. Really? You need to stretch Muñoz out over two innings in the first game of the post with a 4-run lead?

GAME 2, Toronto– Saturday

Bobby didn’t have it in Game 2

Bobby Ray didn’t have it like he frequently didn’t down the stretch. Servais did what he said he was going to do if Ray got into trouble which was go to the pen — likely to Matt Brash if it was early. It was– and Brash came in and cleaned up nicely. Why then, is he gone after one inning? This is not game 7 of the World Series! The kid has been a starter and has starter mentality and stamina. Get a couple innings out of him. What’s the rush getting to Sewald, in the 5th? As it turned out, Sewald was off (huh) and things got worse. But I just don’t see how you don’t leverage Brash Matt in that situation. Instead you still have to use Muñoz and ultimately Kirby who you ought to have been saving to start later in the tournament.

The way the offense rallied late in game 2 can’t be accounted for. It was one of the most fantastic baseball games I’ve ever listened to and in some ways emblematic of the season as a whole. One impossible turn after another– fluke base hits dropping all over the place, a dramatic home run, wild pitches, all of it. It was like a delicious reward for all the other average or even boring innings we log as everyday fans all season long. The true essence of October baseball! But it doesn’t mean I wasn’t extra relieved that they didn’t have to play again on Sunday, because Servais had already used Muñoz two days in a row, once for two innings.

FUCK THE HOUSTON ASTROS

It is so wonderful to be cheaters cheating all together!

This seems like a pretty good time to bitch about the Houston Astros. I haven’t despised a professional sports franchise this much since those early 90s Buffalo Bills teams with Jim Kelly & Scott Norwood. I disliked the repeat Blue Jays in the early 90s too, because I didn’t like Labatt’s Beer (or Canadians) and Labatt’s owned the club. But these Astros are a different level. I dislike the word hate, but I hate their city and I hate their state. I hate their stupid cheater ballpark with its 315’ American Legion leftfield porch and toy train and I hate their fuckin’ uniforms. But most of all, of course, I hate the fact that they used technology to cheat and won a World Series because of it and that there’s no mechanism to negate it. I hate Alex Bregman and Justin Verlander but most of all I hate Jose Altuve. GOD I hate that guy. Part of it’s because he and they are so good, of course—but most of it is because they went to grotesque organizational & technological lengths to gain an indisputable advantage over their opponents and it worked. Yu Darvish is still pitching in this post-season (Padres & Dodgers tied at 2 in Game 4 as I write) against his old team. Darvish was the Dodger who got beat in game 7 of that 2017 Series that the Astros won by cheating, and his life (at least career) is totally different than it would have been had he won a ring with a Game 7 victory. Plus he’s Japanese which probably makes the dishonor worse. So instead of that glory, he’s a footnote. It’s so much worse than steroids. And there’s no asterisk.

Fuck Dusty Baker 

Even Dusty Baker. I always loved Dusty Baker. Everybody did, which is why he was the only guy who could lead the Astros out of that dark corridor of blood cheating after they fired AJ Hinch. Everyone was like “… yeah, but Dusty…” Well, I got over that, rooting for a team in the AL West. I actually dipped a toothpick into the Nutella and left it out on the cutting board for Patti to find Tuesday afternoon. Fuck Dusty Baker…

GAME 3, Houston—Tuesday

I haven’t been to a place as dark as Tuesday afternoon for a long time. What a difference nine innings can make! The start of the game felt to me like the start of game 1 in Toronto, exploiting a pitcher you expected might dominate you. Base hits and free passes piled up and Verlander’s pitchcount rose. The Mariners appeared in complete control as Logan Gilbert was solid, leaving with a lead in the 6th. Again, Brash was first out of the pen and this time it’s not even a complete inning pitched, rather 2/3. Muñoz again is called on to pitch in a low-leverage situation and gives up a lead-narrowing homer.

Andres Muñoz, animal

How much can you expect out of one guy? Andres Muñoz might be my favorite player on this team—not just because he throws 103 w/ a 91mph ‘slider.’ But also because he’s such a peach. When I first heard him interviewed, I thought he sounded like Latka– a supersweet kid jazzed to be having this incredible experience. He didn’t know any of the canned jock phrases and just spoke from his heart with the innocence of an immigrant and the heart of jaguar. I love that he’s from Mexico and not from PR or the DR and he’s just my main man, that’s it.

After a shaky start to the season, he locked in and quickly became a virtually unhittable setup man for Sewald. But he was always a one-inning guy. He could give you one two days in-a-row, but never more than that. So when he was asked to face 26 playoff batters spread over five appearances in a week after he’d already pitched 65 innings during the season, well, he wasn’t as good was he? He was dominant in game 1, clearly toying with Blue Jays hitters. The next day he seemed tentative, pacing the perimeter of the mound, the team out of mound visits (solid management there). And then in game 3 as all Hell was breaking loose, he was genuinely vulnerable as Swanson, Festa & Boyd looked on. And then instead in comes Bobby Ray.

Of course this is the move Scott Servais will be remembered for. Giving Bobby the ball on two days rest after his worst outing of the year to face the second-most feared hitter in the American League is the move most will remember as the turning point in not only the game but also the series. Servais had a left-hander in the pen in Boyd (and one in Seattle in Marco). Instead he chose to drag Ray out of his role and insert him where he did not belong and the result will go down in history for those who give a damn.

basil fried rice

I’d like to say I don’t blame Scott. I’d like to say that after all those games on the couch dreaming of iced arms and bloody socks, that making a risky high-stakes post-season pitching change was a privilege he’d earned. I would like concede that the analytics were solid and that, though unorthodox, handing Ray the ball was a wise move. I would like to stand behind my guy and say all that, but I can’t. I do give a damn and I can’t say that.

I couldn’t say almost anything at all for 24 hours after that pitch in fact. Before Alvarez had crossed home plate, I’d hurled my cap and hissed an oath— crossing the living room from the porch and stomping into the basement where I pulled the covers of the spare bed up to my chin and stayed until after dark. Patti got some Thai food and I picked at some basil fried rice before going back to bed, sick in my guts over losing a baseball game in which I had not even played.

GAME 4, Houston—Thursday

By Thursday I was at least verbal again, but I still didn’t have much appetite for the game. I hadn’t looked at any baseball media Wednesday and didn’t even listen to the two National League games because I couldn’t take a chance on hearing those ESPN douchebags mentioning the Mariners’ epic collapse from the day before. I skipped pre-game and tuned in just before first pitch, well out of my own gameday routine.

My hopes were low. I believed any opportunity to prevail over the Astros was only going to show itself once, and briefly. Chasing Verlander early and O-fering Altuve where not gaps we were going to get a second chance to exploit. I still felt good about Luis, and I knew we had strong arms ready in the pen. Not that Servais still had any inclination to use them, letting Castillo throw more than 100 pitches for the second time in as many starts while the right-handers in the pen chewed and spit. And then who does he finally bring in, after leaving Castillo in long enough to surrender the lead? Muñoz, of course.

And here’s the hell of it. Here’s the piece that burns my butt as much as anything else. With his Big Guy on the mound in the bottom of the 8th and the Mariners trailing by only one, with two outs and Peña on first– what does Servais do? Without a base open, he motherfucking walks Alvarez to put a runner in scoring position. And of course Bregman singles that run in.

Why are we even doing this in the first place? Why are we even bothering to play the games? Isn’t this the situation that all true competitors long for? These matchups? Scott’s ridden this guy hard and practically exclusively for a week, asking him to the do the impossible time and again. And then you get down to the point where the season is almost literally on the line and you’ve got that guy on the mound when the Astroturf Monster comes to the plate setting up the epic showdown that everyone wants to see and you walk him? With a runner already at first base?! If you were going to do that, why wouldn’t you have done it the game before and let Sewald (or another game right-hander) pitch to Bregman? It’s stupid.

GAME 5, Seattle—Saturday

T-Mobile Park, October 2022

What can be said about this game? The patient baseball people of Seattle had been rewarded with a home playoff game for the first time in 21 seasons and you can’t say we didn’t make the most of the pageant. Oversold out. Beautiful Indian Summer day. Felix throwing out the ceremonial (caught by Franklin Gutiérrez!). And then an 18-inning pitcher’s staredown. Two entire game’s worth of outs without a run scoring. Couldn’t hardly script it any better than that.

Well, actually you could. You could write in a bottom frame homer by any one of a number of guys. They all had their chances, literally a whole second game’s worth of at-bats. Patti thought Servais shouldn’t have run for Suarez in the 9th, but I didn’t have a huge problem with that. Servais was playing aggressive, trying to win a baseball game. Who could have guessed we’d miss Gino’s bat for that long? I thought for sure they’d walk it off in the 9th.

But they didn’t. Not in the 10th either. Inning after inning the relief pitching came through—most of them in their first appearances of the post. Ultimately it was the left-hander Murfee who gave up the only run of the game on a homerun to the guy you always had to retire because he was batting in front of Alvarez. But no runs through 17? I’ll take that all autumn every autumn and I didn’t have an issue with any of Servais’ moves, although in reality he didn’t have many choices by that point, did he? He ended up stretching Brash out finally, and it looked like he wasn’t going back to Bobby if it had gone to the 19th.

But the fact remains that the Mariners didn’t score for the last 18 and in fact the last 23 innings of the season. Also ruefully emblematic.

PLAYING THE GAME THE RIGHT WAY MY EYE

Sweet Lou Piniella

One of the unfortunate results of the introduction of instant replay in baseball is that there’s nothing to argue about anymore. The historic antics of MLB managers furious about blown calls were what made baseball unique. You never saw a basketball coach take off his tie and vein-up in the face of a referee over a missed foul. No football coach ever sarcastically covered the near sideline with dirt to make his point that the opposing receiver was out-of-bounds when he caught the ball. Hockey coaches don’t tip over nets to protest icing calls. Nope—baseball was the only sport in which frequently overweight late-middle aged men wearing the same uniforms as their players would regularly go berserk on the field surrounded by four smirking umpires with whom he’d probably share a drink later at the hotel bar. It was high sports theater, starring malcontents named Lou, Earl and Billy.

Anymore someone might yell a magic word from the dugout in protest to the strikezone and once in a long while a manager will get rung. Sometimes he’ll emerge from the dugout for a few heated words, ‘getting his money’s worth’. But largely this entertainment aspect is gone from the sport, in favor of getting the call right. And of course there’s something to be said for that– but at the same time, I miss the human element. And I dread the day when even the strikezone is no longer determined by an imperfect man, but rather a billion-dollar specially-programmed perfect computer machine.

One thing that can still result in some old-fashioned baseball fun though, is the beanball. The hit batsman is part of the game and always has been. Pitchers must pitch inside to be effective, and some batters (the good ones) crowd the strikezone more than others. And in this battle for the plate, sometimes a guy gets hit by the baseball. Usually he rubs the spot where the impact was made and jogs to first base without any further discussion. But if he’s already been hit once that series, or if one of his mates got hit yesterday, or if one of his pitchers hit one of their guys the inning before, well then maybe there is some glaring. Even some words. At this point the catcher usually makes a point of getting in between the pissed off batter and his own pitcher, but if things go much further than that then guys are going to start coming out of both dugouts and eventually the bullpens. There are rarely any real punches thrown in baseball ‘fights’, and usually order is lazily restored and the game moves on. But not always.

The Mariners have been involved in a few of these over the years, like every team has. (I was sitting down the first base line at the Kingdome the night catcher John Marzano punched the Yankees prized whiner Paul O’Neil in the face at home plate. Epic…) Seattle was in one this season, in fact, in that shameful mess in Anaheim. That was a predetermined decision to throw at our guy, a situation where the Angels actually changed their lineup on gameday so that their starting pitcher could afford to be ejected after throwing at Jesse Winker. It was a little heavy-handed on Angels’ manager Phil Nevin’s part, because the whole thing was in reaction to an inside pitch to Anaheim star Mike Trout the night before—a pitch that wasn’t really even that close. Trout made a big deal of it and so his manager was naturally obliged to back him up and that meant throwing at a Mariner the next day.

Angels manager Phil Nevin, kind of a nitz

I don’t blame Nevin for that, really. Who I do blame is Scott Servais—for not responding. Every pre-schooler knows two wrongs don’t make a right. But in baseball, sometimes you just have to knock a fucker down. And Servais going to the podium after that game and saying ‘we play the game the right way’ is just lame.

An even better example of this weakness on the Mariner manager’s part goes back to the Astros. For starters, I believe that Jose Altuve should be hit routinely in the wallet on the first pitch of every game, just based on the bullshit cheating jive detailed above. But when you have a chance to really send a message but don’t because it’s not the right way to play the game, then I have a problem with that.

In case you forgot what Jose Altuve looks like if you ever have the chance to bean him

It was the last day of July and the two teams were facing each other for the final time in the regular season. As usual, the Astros had gotten the better of the Mariners over the course of the year, and not only had Jose Altuve not been hit in the ass with the first pitch of every game, Mariners hitters had been knocked down a conspicuous amount by Astros pitchers, including prized rookie Julio Rodriquez getting hit twice in the same spot in consecutive at-bats a few weeks earlier. Now the last game of the year between the two teams was going into extra innings.

(One of the other new neutering rules in baseball since Covid is that extra innings begin with a runner at second base. Ostensibly this is to save pitching staffs from being overworked, but it’s at least in-part an effort not to overtax the short attention spans of American sports fans spoiled by the speed and violence of professional football: 9 innings is already a lot to expect– no sense in chancing more than 10.)

Anyway, to begin the bottom of the 10th there was an automatic runner on second base and Jose Altuve happened to be leading off. With first base ‘open’ it was a logical move for Servais to intentionally walk the dangerous Altuve in order to set up a double play, pitching instead to rookie Jeremy Peña. In what was likely to be the very last inning of 19 games between the two division rivals, Scott Servais had a dream opportunity to hit Jose Altuve with a fastball right between the letters. He was going to walk him anyway. But instead, he put him on first base non-violently, Peña hit a basehit in the gap, and the Astros walked off the Mariners off 3-2.

MANAGER OF THE YEAR MY ASS

Terry Francona, American League Manager of the Year 2022

I don’t have a vote, but if I did I would not cast it for Scott Servais for American League Manager of the Year. I absolutely would have last year, when expectations were lower and Servais had not yet had a chance to piss and shit himself in the playoffs, like he did this year. But you only get one chance to sneak up on people. Terry Francona did a killer job this season with an even younger club in Cleveland—a squad that rose above the presumed division champion Chicago White Sox and which took the October-mad New York Yankees to a 5th game in their ALDS. In their first year as the Guardians, that is the team who made the biggest late and post-season impression—not the Mariners. In my opinion, Scott Servais should feel lucky to still have his job, let alone be anointed as the best boss in the league.

NO MORE HOLY SMOKES

And while I’m at it– sitting here in my underpants eating ice cream and cleaning house– I’m firing Rizzs too.

When Dave Niehaus dropped dead at his barbeque during the offseason of 2010, I knew this day would come. The club had been working Rizzs into a more prominent booth role for several seasons, in anticipation of 75-year-old Niehaus’ imminent retirement if not unexpected death. As a radio listener, I couldn’t imagine Mariner’s baseball without Dave. But in the end, the transition I’d dreaded so acutely actually turned out to be fairly smooth– and it wasn’t long before I was hanging on Rizzs’ every word the same way I’d relied on Niehaus.

Rick Rizzs is a great broadcaster. A baseball man and a radio man through and through, he’s a true pro with lightening reflexes, a smooth voice, and a deep knowledge of and respect for the game. He has decades of experience, and when he breaks in at the top of a broadcast or the bottom of an inning, I feel safe—like a loyal friend is watching out for me and that even if the team loses the game at-hand or ultimately falls short of winning the World Series again, things are going to be OK. I know the inflections and patterns of his voice as well as I know my own.

Rick Rizzs, 68

But he’s also very old-school. He comes from a genre that never—under any circumstances—has an overtly negative thing to say about anything or anybody. And I really believe that sometimes you just have to call a fig a fig. Eventually, the euphemisms get old, and Rizzs’ bottomless brightsiding has started to really get to me– especially this post-season when balls were dropped. In fairness it’s not the play-by-play guy’s job to call out managerial fuckings up, but I guess I’m just growing weary of what an insufferable honkey he is.

And there’s youth behind him. I think Hill and Goldsmith are great together and Sims is incredible too of course. Even Blowers was in the radio booth for a lot of the post, which was odd because he’s always been TV only. It’s actually a bit like the pitching staff in that they have all this talent and it’s hard to get everyone enough innings. I don’t know what their system is or where guys go when it’s not their turn on the mic. But there’s a lot of shuffling that goes on in the Northwest Chevy Broadcast Booth. And it seems like maybe the crew is one voice long.

I may well be imagining this, but I actually think that Gary Hill and Aaron Goldsmith have a bit of a plan for forcing Rizzs out. Occasionally it’s all three of them on hot mics and those two guys are like mischievous kids riffing on some abstraction while Rizzs plays the heavy, bringing things back to the action on the field. Sometimes they’ve strayed too far off-topic and he’s right in reining things back in. But more often than not he just sounds like somebody’s mom warning them not to make him pull the car over. I swear I have heard them plant shit in his path that he struggles with, like video game references that he doesn’t know how to respond to, while they yuck it up ungodly. It’s 2-against-1 and he ends up sounding dated.

And he absolutely has lost a step where his calls are concerned. It was the same for his mentor during Dave’s last few years, where he’d break out a SWUNG ON AND BELTED on what turned out to be a fairly routine fly ball to right. Failing depth perception. Transposed ballparks, wrong guys in the lineup, 1 out not 2. Patti actually corrected Rizzs on a count in the second wildcard game “it’s 3-1, not 2-1, Rick” she said, absolutely correct. I can’t imagine a harder job than being a baseball announcer, and as I say—I have the utmost respect and reverence for Rick Rizzs. But, you know, if it’s up to me? Gold Watch.

Julio Rodriguez, 21

Dipoto can stay. I think he’s kind of a patient genius and has steadily built this club into the contender it is. Pragmatic development on the farm and a few free agent signings, but with a couple of notable exceptions, the deals he’s made have not been huge. It’s like success by a thousand trades, each one making the team 2-3% better seemingly without much notice. And then fairly abruptly after 5 years of quiet dealing, you’re super good.

One thing Jerry deserves the spanking machine for, though, is letting Julio into the All Star homerun derby. Whether it was his decision directly or whether that too falls to Servais—someone needed to hike that idea as soon as it was hatched. We oughtn’t have expected the kid himself to do it. That’s not his job. He’s 21 years old and a sudden darling. He’s going to say YES to any idea floated his way because he’s flattered and confident and hungry. But one authoritarian or another needed to tell the league thanks but no when that idiotic plan was broached. It’s a lame contest in the first place—typical of the general dumbing down of the sport. It should be a bunting derby. But putting your prized prospect into a situation where he’s going to swing his wrist swollen trying to hit 30 home runs in 3 minutes is just poor management. Julio got some screentime and that certainly didn’t hurt his and thus the Mariners’ brand. The national media finally had a face to add to their collages, legitimizing the club’s continued existence. But it wasn’t good for the team, as the kid sat out sore a week’s worth of games after the break, a stretch in which the Mariners went 2-3 in close games. It’s easy to shrug tough losses in July, but one or two of those games going the other way might have made a big difference in how things played out in October. It’s about seeding.

BUT WHAT DO I KNOW?

I should be ashamed of myself, banging on Scott Servais, Jerry Dipoto and Rick Rizzs. I don’t know fuck about shit– meanwhile these three have 100 year’s experience working in the game. As a paying fan it is my luxury to critique if not criticize, however, and not only is it (mostly) in good fun, but I also recognize no one’s ever going to read this– especially the manager, general manager and the voice of the Seattle Mariners.

And it was a good year. When you play up or down to your competition, the game is always close and that makes for late-inning drama, night after night. It’s a talented young core of players who genuinely appear to like each other and who seem committed to winning in Seattle. 2022 was no 1995. But it was a good year…

I do have a couple of concerns about the future, however:

• Left field. This position has been a struggle in Seattle practically since Tom Paciorek left. I assume the Jessie Winker experiment will be abandoned and I don’t think that cunt Jerid Kelenic is the long-term solution, either. Hopefully Jerry can get something for him. I was surprised he didn’t have value at the deadline this year
• Robbie Ray. He did not finish strong, including his poor showing in the post. We’re committed to him for several seasons, but I’ve never trusted him entirely and we’ll need a solid left-hander if Marco is on his way out
• Marco Gonzalez. He truly is a bulldog and gutted it out this year even when every pitch of every outing seemed like such a struggle. It made me feel bad that he was left off the post-season rosters and that’s not a great sign for his future
• JP Crawford. His contract extension at the start of the season was a feel-good development for the team, guaranteeing his excellent presence and glove in the lineup for years to come. It would be awesome if he hit better than .243
• Kyle Lewis. What on Earth has become of Kyle Lewis and will he even be part of the future here? What about Justus Sheffield? Or Evan White?

That’s probably enough for today. I need to tune in Game 3 of the ALCS so I can hear Jose Altuve ground out, extending his 0-21 hitless streak. Go Mariners!