There’s an impenetrable, opaque blackness to this space. Devoid of the primary sense that humans rely on to orient themselves, you try to parse what information you can through your secondary inputs.
Unfortunately, other senses provides no more insight. It is so painfully, crushingly loud here that you can’t be sure of the source of the noise, can’t be sure of anything other than the fact that your eardrums are on the verge of rupturing. Or is it instead that this place is so silent that you’re being deafened by the unyielding cycle of your blood frantically THUD, THUD, THUDing its way through your blood vessels?
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After an eternity of this, you finally hear it.
You were told what you should expect, but there isn’t any meaningful way to prepare yourself for how the velvety, telltale chuckle emerges from the void below you, starting at your age-appropriate New Balances, winding its way up your aging frame, slinking up into your ears before arriving at its destination.
His laugh and his voice finds easy purchase in your brain.
“Oh, well, isn’t this just sublime? You’re clever enough to know that you’re just my type, aren’t you?”
In this moment, you remember being a boy when your Paw taught you about viper’s fangs, how they’re hollow and hinged, a perfectly-designed poison delivery system. You swallow the knot in your throat.
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“And a former catcher to boot, too. I’m spoiled today, aren’t I?” Another undulating laugh that feels like a scalpel against your brain stem. You say nothing.
He tuts. “Oh, come now, don’t be such a tease. I know you haven’t met me yet, but I know you. I know almost everything about you,” he croons. “And, since the second you replaced my dearest friend, I have been waiting, waiting, waiting for you to meet me here.”
“I know what you want. No one comes to my realm asking for anything else. He came here often enough, my friend, and for just the one thing. So, let’s get on to Hecuba,” he sighs. “You want my gift, and I’m willing to trade it. What else does a god want but tribute and worship?”
A fresh start can soothe many maladies. Leaving your hometown to escape the painful memories attached to your once-favorite places is a time-honored tradition of young adulthood. Or, if you’re feeling less dramatic but still need to cool the sting of heartbreak, may I interest you in a new haircut?
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Or, what if you’re a troubled but lovable baseball team that finds itself predicted to win their division, and with the second-highest odds to make the World Series in the league, BUT, after 13 mind-numbing games you have found yourself scuffling along to the worst record in baseball? Could a fresh start fix that?
Yes.
The Seattle Mariners bullied the injury-ridden Houston Astros in a 9-6 win in front of a noisy crowd of nearly 45,000 last night. It was a welcome reprieve from a brutal 1-7 stretch characterized by a lifeless offense that averaged just 2 runs per game (and only 1.3 if you remove the 7-8 loss to the Angels).
Before the game, Dan Wilson said that he was looking to see his team return to their identity and do what they do best.
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“What we do well as a team offensively when we’re going well is get on base, create traffic…create chaos, so to speak,” he said. “Drive guys in and drive balls out of the ballpark.”
The Mariners did a little of both tonight, taking advantage of the opportunities that Houston handed them and being aggressive on the basepaths, while also making their own luck.
The first inning was one for the books, an all-timer in Silliness. The Mariners scored three runs, each with their own little bit of pizzazz. A bases-loaded wild pitch, a bases-loaded hit-by-pitch and a ground ball that would have been a double play but for Randy Arozarena’s graceful sauté away from a tag chased Tatsuya Imai after recording just one out. The Mariners worked four walks off of Imai, some foreshadowing, perhaps, for the ten they would earn by the end of the game.
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Chaos Ball is so 2022, and this iteration of the Mariners ought not to need to stoop so low as to rely on such bullpucky to win baseball games. That said, you won’t find me complaining about how the 4-9 team wins ballgames.
Because Mariners fans may have nice things on occasion provided they are at least somewhat complicated, Emerson Hancock interrupted an otherwise sterling outing with a somewhat tarnished second inning. Hancock gracefully noted that he “never met a pitcher who’s complained when guys are scoring runs for you,” but one must wonder if the lengthy bottom of the first played a part in him losing the handle on the sweeper in the second inning.
Two singles, a walk, and a double later, the game was quickly born anew.
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Shaky second inning aside, Hancock put together another impressive outing tonight, earning his second win with 5 IP and 5 Ks while giving up 3 runs on 4 hits and 2 walks. He’s making his case for holding onto the fifth starter spot, impressing with his confidence and resilience.
“There were a couple of big messes for us on the sweeper [in the second inning], but I thought for us to refine it in the third, it was a big pitch for us in the third, fourth and fifth innings.”
The sweeper is probably Hancock’s best pitch, but the fastball was his most effective pitch tonight, racking up a 42% whiff rate while kissing 98 mph. The combination of the two can be deadly when the location is spot on, as it was on this hellacious punch-out of Jeremy Pena.
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But, really, whether you know it yet or not, you’re here for the Randy home run. After about 4 more innings of 3-3 baseball and a frustrating at-bat, Randy decided to talk his talk and send this ball to the absolute moon, marine layer be damned.
There aren’t really words fit to describe this titanic blast, so why don’t you just go ahead and watch that one more time?
This game’s vibe is feel-good romp, so I’ll save the discussion of Randy’s outfield play for another article. Tonight, Randy delivered what he was traded for: the clutch, big-play, electric energy that can breathe the sparks of life into a team at risk of becoming flat, with a little bit of guitar playing to boot.
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While he hasn’t been struggling as hard as the rest of the top of the lineup, Randy has had an uneven start to the season, notching just 3 extra-base hits coming into tonight’s game. He said that he’s been taking lots of extra time in the cage to improve his pitch selection, and that it was gratifying to see it pay off tonight.
“Obviously I’ve taken a lot of walks [this season], but to see it all come together after the work I’ve been putting in meant a lot.”
So, who cares if Wilcox let Alvarez do what Alvarez does best? A big fat three-run home run of their own doesn’t mean much if Houston’s bullpen is content handing runs to Seattle. 2021 Mariners Amalgam J.P. France did just that, giving up another bases-loaded wild-pitch to score Cole Young, and the real J.P. and Cal each got their own RBIs.
That’s nine runs, five of which can safely be considered hardly silly at all and four that are at least a little bit silly. Beggars can’t be choosers, so Seattle should take the runs where they can.
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This was probably the game that’s been the most fun to watch this season – beating on the Astros will probably be uniquely joyful for another season, and Dave Valle’s halted explanation of how conversations work to Aaron Goldsmith gave me life after a long workweek.
But, more than just being fun, this game held suggestions that the Mariners’ bats are climbing their way out of the hole they’ve put themselves in to start the year. Each hitter reached base tonight; in fact, everyone but Julio reached base at least twice. The at-bats across the board looked much-improved, as though there was a game plan going into them beyond the “see ball swing bat at” approach we’ve seen thus far.
Combined with forcing Houston’s bullpen to put up 7.2 innings in the first of a four-game series, there’s good reason to hope that we might be in for a very entertaining and fulfilling weekend of baseball. If you have been waiting for the fun part to start, I think we might just be getting there.
Your boss claps you on the back as you make your way out of the locker room and into the grey bowels of the stadium. You smile as he congratulates you on a great game.
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“Statistically, in terms of where our ship was headed, I knew it was probably a pretty likely outcome you would get this turned in a direction that we’re going to find productive. I feel that-”
“My name sounds so nice from your mouth, Danny,” he coos. It’s dark, unimaginably so. Your stomach feels like you’ve missed the last step on a long stairset that continues dropping out from under your feet. “I just love to see my song sung in front of the assembled press. Public tribute and worship feels so good, doesn’t it?”
“Anyways, this one’s is complementary, a gift for a friend well-met. I’m sure you have no plans to return – of course, Scott said the same thing the first time. And the second time, and, oh, every time after that. But you know where to find me. All you have to do is ask.”
