Sky Bluesky: Sports

The Seattle Curse

Wed, 08 Feb 2006 19:01:42 GMT

Fuck. Now I'm sick. I woke up this morning with what felt like a canteloupe in my stomach.

It might have been the refried black beans we had with dinner. Or it might be the Seattle sports fans, cursing me for my vitriolic attack on the Seahawks yesterday.

All right, I give! Seattle's a great sports town with a proud history! Jim Zorn was a rock star! Steve Largent was a king among men! The Seahawks were robbed at the Super Bowl! Mike Holmgren's a genius!

Now put down the voodoo dolls, you flannel-wearing sorcerers.

Super Bowl XL: All Over But the Whining

Tue, 07 Feb 2006 20:59:55 GMT

So the Seahawks went to the Super Bowl. It was exciting for the city. This was a team that had never even been considered a contender. In one commentator's words, the Seahawks for decades "defined mediocrity" in the NFL. Suddenly, they became a powerhouse team, the best team of their conference. Shaun Alexander was the league MVP. Matt Hasselbeck was being fitted for his milk moustache. They were bigtime.

But then they lost.

So the best thing to do would be to look to the future, right? Talk about the future Super Bowls that this team inevitably will see, the sudden promise of the team, the fact that Seattle fans no longer posed with bags on their heads. Right?

Well, sure, but first they have to blame the referees for losing the game.

That's not strictly true. They're not actually blaming the refs for the loss. But they sure are making a lot of noise about bad calls. At the welcome-home party held at the taxpayer-funded Qwest Field, according to the Seattle P-I, Mike Holmgren cracked that he was ready for the Steelers, but he "didn't know we were going to have to play the guys in the striped shirts as well." Other players complained about penalties they were charged with.

And to their credit, Michael Irvin, convicted felon and all around crazy guy, has said on record that "there were some bad calls. Yes, they have a beef."

The local news is playing up the "we wuz robbed" angle. I saw a local news program flashing the NFL hotline for officiating complaints. That's classy.

Let's be clear. I'm a very late comer to the Seahawks bandwagon. I didn't even follow the team until near the end of the season, when I saw they had the best record in their conference and I started hearing "Shaun for MVP" whispers. I still would have rather seen the Broncos in SB XL, playing anyone.

But this is disappointing. The Seahawks had their chance on the biggest stage in football, and to bellyache about the officials instead of being proud of their accomplishments just looks amateurish. And I don't care if there were a few bad calls. I don't even care if only a couple of people were making the complaints. (One of those people happens to be the coach, so that adds a whole layer of legitimacy to the complaints.) Any professional athlete knows that when you play well enough to win, what the officials do makes no difference. If you play well enough to win, you win regardless.

Mr. Holmgren knows this too. When you go onto a football field (or hockey rink, or baseball diamond, or whatever sport you like) you are ALWAYS playing against the officials. The referees are always an unpredictable asset. Sometimes they make calls that help your side. Sometimes they go the other way. But you play to win, and if you are triumphant, it's not because the zebras let you win, it's because you won. The officials are never on your side, just like the weather is never on any team's side. It's your job to overcome these unpredictable factors. Seattle just put one more nail in their coffin, the mostly undeserved one but it's theirs regardless. If you look closely on the side of the coffin, you can just make out the words: "second-class sports town."

Two for Two

Mon, 16 Jan 2006 21:42:58 GMT

A remarkable thing happened yesterday in the football world. The Denver Broncos and the Seattle Seahawks, the only two NFL teams I really care about, both advanced to the conference championship games, one step away from the Super Bowl. Denver just finished shutting down the (favored) underdog New England Patriots, and Seattle took apart the Washington football team (who, until they change it, will not have their team's name listed on this blog). If everything goes according to plan, these teams will meet in three weeks on Ford Field in Super Bowl XL. (That's Super Bowl Forty, people, not extra large.)

I lived in Colorado during my teens, and my family stayed there until the mid-90s when, unexpectedly, we all uprooted and relocated to Washington state. (Okay, well, my father moved out first. And when I moved out here, I dragged my brother with me. So maybe it wasn't so unexpected.)

When I watched the Broncos at first, they weren't a great team. They were good. After all, they had been to three Super Bowls (losing all three). They had a remarkably talented quarterback, John Elway. They had a pretty good supporting cast, with occasional standouts like receiver Vance Johnson, linebacker Karl Mecklenberg, and the good-but-easily-forgotten Sammy Winder. But they could never quite make the leap from good to great.

And then I - we - moved to Seattle. And then, a few years later, something happened. The Broncos got a new coach, Mike Shanahan, and suddenly developed a running game. They picked up a diminutive but powerful running back, Terrell Davis, who quickly proved himself one of the greats.

They rolled to two impressive Super Bowl wins in 1998 and 1999, powered by the twin threats of Elway and Davis, and offensive weapons like Rod Smith and the human bruise, Ed McCaffrey. And then Elway retired. The Broncos tried to find the quarterback of the future, auditioning Gus Frerotte (no!), legacy QB Brian Griese (bust!), Steve Beuerlein (who?) and then finally settling on journeyman scrambler Jake Plummer. Meanwhile, Davis continued to play, but in 1994 he was forced into an early retirement due to his disintegrating knees.

New running backs continued to put up dazzling numbers - Mike Anderson, Clinton Portis, Tatum Bell. Denver was still a good team. Not great. But good. A contender, as they say. No one expected them to be a serious power this season, but somehow Plummer found his stride, the running game found a rhythm by rotating two running backs, plus impressive backup Ron Dayne.

Now I'm going to say something to upset Seahawk fans. When I got here, I didn't care much about the team. I didn't think much about them at all. They didn't have a history like the Broncos, they didn't have a history of success, and they were also-rans. Who were their stars? Brian Blades? Eugene Robinson? Chris Warren? Never heard of 'em. Joey Galloway? Eh.

The only thing that mattered to me was that they were in the same division as the Broncs. This meant that at least twice a year, they would play Denver, and at least once, Denver would come to Seattle (which meant it would be possible to see Denver play a live game - Mile High Stadium typically sold out for years in advance.) Seattle fancied itself to have an intense rivalry with the Broncos. (Funny - Denver always thought that their bitter rival was Oakland.)

In 2002, the Seahawks jumped conferences, which meant that Denver wasn't coming to town anymore. But something else changed around this time. Their running back Shaun Alexander, who had always considered himself a superstar, suddenly started acting like a superstar. The revolving quarterback door (anyone remember Jon Kitna, quarterback of the future?) had resolved itself in the person of Matt Hasselbeck. And somehow, this season, mostly unbeknownst to me, they coalesced into a powerhouse team.

Seattle and Denver do have one thing in common - a regional fan base. Denver is the only football team in the Rocky Mountain region, and fans come from all across the region, from as far away as Montana and Utah. Seattle is the only team in the drizzly Pacific Northwest, so they draw fans from Oregon, Idaho, and even Alaska. So they're bound to get that elusive cowboys-and-loggers demographic that the NFL has always coveted.

So what happens if both teams make it to Super Bowl Xtra-Large? Neither team has a guaranteed ticket - Seattle's got get past a good Carolina team, and Denver's got to take out Pittsburgh, the team that took down Peyton Manning and the almost-but-not-quite-invincible Colts. But what if it happens?

I'm going to make all the Seattle fans mad again. I've got to go with my Broncos. They've got a half-dozen players still on their team from the Super Bowl days, and they know how to win. They dismantled New England, the defending champions. They look like they're ready to take it all. Seattle looks good, but my heart is with the Broncos.

Who's your daddy? Oh yes, that would be me.

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 03:04:39 GMT

Understatement of the week goes to Chisox pitcher (and Seattle Mariner castoff) Freddy Garcia, who missed game 2 of the ALCS playoffs on Wednesday because he was watching his daughter being born. On the subject of the miracle of birth, he said:

"I was watching the game, waking up with her," Garcia said of Game 2 in Chicago. "It's pretty good. A lot of stuff for me. I've never seen that before, and that was a really good experience."

Ah yes. It's "pretty good." A "really good experience." His cup truly runneth over.

(Let's just hope Ms. Garcia also thought it was a "really good experience." After all, she's going to be the one with blood tricking out of her you-know-what for the next 4-6 weeks.)

Kudos to Freddy, though, for recovering well enough to pitch a complete game victory in game 4. I was barely able to drive two days after Oliver was born.

Signs of Hope

Wed, 10 Aug 2005 14:54:21 GMT

The Mariners have been underwhelming this season. They've been purging themselves of suspected causes: Randy Winn is gone. Bret Boone is gone. Ron Villone is gone. And they've got no hope of a playoff berth. They desperately needed some reason for fans to stay interested, something on which to pin next year's hopes.

Meet Felix Hernandez.

The line from last night: eight innings, 94 pitches, five hits, six strikeouts. Zero walks. Zero runs. I watched part of the game, and Hernandez may very well be the best pitcher on the team right now.

Baseball as Social Event

Sun, 31 Jul 2005 21:24:47 GMT

Don't miss the always-reliable Larry Stone's piece in today's Seattle Times on the fine art of baseball chatting. Not chatter - the incessant "hey batta batta" that the outfielders keep up during the game - but chatting. Conversation. "How's your wife?" "Where's a guy get a good steak in this town?" The constant conversations between umpire and outfielder, or first baseman and runner, or pitcher and coach, that permeate the game. It makes for fun reading.

During a stint with Houston, [Tigers pitching coach Bob] Cluck racked his brains for the right thing to say to former Astros pitcher Mark Portugal after he gave up three home runs on three successive pitches against the Reds - each one setting off a pyrotechnics display at Riverfront Stadium. Houston manager Art Howe directed Cluck to go to the mound, so he came up with this mood lightener:

"Hey, Porchie, the guy with the cannon called. He said, 'Slow down, I can't reload that fast.' "

Concluded Cluck: "He laughed. It loosened him up, and he went on to win the game. Sometimes, one of the big things a pitching coach does is slow somebody down."

Baseball is the only game that allows this kind of ... well, idle... chatter. There are lots of breaks in baseball. It's a slow game, a lazy game in the best possible sense of the word. Nobody's in much of a rush to get through the game. It's summer, everybody's out in the sun, why hurry things along? On the other hand, have you ever heard about Tracy McGrady and Kobe Bryant trading shopping tips or discussing restaurants during a foul shot? How about in football, witnessing the center and nose guard asking after each other's wives? Forget it - if they talk about each other's wife, it's a conversation that'll never get reprinted in a newspaper.

Also in today's Seattle Times was a nice sidebar on the top ten moments in chatting history on the diamond. I'm a little disappointed, though, that they didn't see fit to mention Detroit semi-legend Mark "the Bird" Fidrych's conversations with the ball between pitches. They always seemed to have a warm relationship.

Ichiro Suzuki, Human Highlight Reel

Tue, 03 May 2005 15:19:46 GMT

There are two players in baseball that I consider drop-everything players: Ichiro and Barry Bonds. These are the guys who, when they're up to bat, you stop eating, put down the newspaper, stop whatever you're doing to watch them.

Ichiro, it's helpful to remember, is also a stunning defensive player. And yesterday, he proved it yet again with a breathtaking catch where he literally climbed the wall. And yes, I know "literally" is overused, but look, folks, he literally climbed up the wall, spun around with his foot on the wall, caught the ball, and fell back to earth.

Check out the video for yourself here (low-speed) or here (high-speed). The Mariners lost yesterday, but who cares? Little league kids across America will be imitating this catch for years to come.

Cheaters, cheaters, cheaters

Tue, 22 Mar 2005 04:34:13 GMT

All right, folks, let's be honest. Let's skip the easy emotions and the concern for children and the natural horror that we all feel at the size of Jose Canseco's biceps and that horrible pockmarking that we all remember on the side of Mark McGwire's neck.

Let's be honest.

Baseball doesn't really mind cheaters.

Baseball kinda digs cheaters, as a matter of fact. Witness Gaylord Perry, master of the spitball, winner of 300 games, one of the most famous cheaters in the history of the game. Oh, and he's in the Hall of Fame.

But maybe he's an aberration. Well, how about Graig "Superballs" Nettles? Ty Cobb, who sharpened his spikes and really made "cutting down the second baseman" mean something on a double play? Whitey Ford, who cut the baseball with his wedding ring, according to rumor? Joe Niekro? Rick Honeycutt, who almost put his eye out with a thumbtack he used to cut the baseball? All cheaters, sure, but the hardcore baseball fans will confess to something like admiration. A good spitter is like cheating at cards and winning big. It's something to be admired.

I'm not saying that steroid users are something to be admired. But let's accept the first point: that cheaters and baseball are like Elton John and drama: they're not the combination people would like, but they're not only part of the game, they're the little guilty pleasure that we say we hate but we really love.

(John Levesque of the Seattle P-I reminded me of some of these, and ESPN gave me many of the others. Thanks to both.)

Now here's the second problem with stopping steroids. They weren't illegal (under baseball rules) for many many years. Most of the time that Big Mac was using, if he was using, he was not violating baseball rules. So is that ok? Is he absolved? Well - yes. Because the stupid fools who run baseball have kept the barn door open for thirty years (according to Henry Waxman), they deserve blame for all the horses that got loose. And if some of the horses set records before the barn door got closed... that's what you get.

So let's all shut up about striking records from the books and suspending players for the rest of their lives. It's not going to happen. Baseball, like a plodding dinosaur, will eventually learn from their mistakes. But they can't clean up the damage that's been done, and they can't erase it from their history, because it is their history.

And so now that steroids have been eradicated from the game...

(Stop laughing. Bud Selig said it would happen this year. You believe Bud, don't you?)

Now that steroids have been wiped out, the problem's gone, right? Wrong. Didn't anyone catch Tony LaRussa, sorta kinda justifying McGwire's ... um ... physique? Tony said that McGwire could have bulked up using any number of legal substances - creatine, the andro that was found in his locker, lots of stuff. There are many, many holes in baseball's substance policy, and - let's be honest - you don't know the difference between steroids and andro, and neither do I. I just know that baseball's having hearings about steroids, and ignoring lots of other interesting performance-enhancing substances.

Anyway, Wired Magazine makes an interesting case that baseball fans and owners are focused on the wrong performance enhancers. The cheat of the future, says Steven Johnson, isn't steroids or their cousins - it's elective surgery. Everything from Lasik surgery on the eyes to Tommy John on the elbow can be used to get an artificial advantage, and baseball has no rules whatsoever restricting surgery. Maybe we'll have Congressional hearings in thirty years, and that'll fix it.

The Worst Quote of the Week (and it's only Monday)

Tue, 22 Mar 2005 03:53:34 GMT

Mary Schindler, the mother of Terri Schiavo, said the following today: "There are some congressmen that are trying to stop this bill. Don't use my daughter's suffering for your own personal agenda."

No, it's not what you think. She was talking to Democrats who wouldn't support the Save-Terri-for-Fun-and-Profit bill.

This is just sick, folks. Can't we talk about something that doesn't involve political grandstanding and sick fascination with the lives of a few meaningless people?

*Sigh*

Maybe not.

Tue, 23 Nov 2004 04:26:48 GMT

NASCAR Shocked at Inability to Gouge Taxpayers

The good people of Marysville, Washington have wised up and realized that a NASCAR track isn't worth the trouble.

They were considering giving up $200 million in taxpayer-funded bonds to help build a new racetrack in Snohomish County (north of Seattle.) But then the natives began to rebel. People started to talk about the amount of traffic that would surge into Marysville on race days. Fears of 30-mile traffic jams began to mount. Locals started looking at the history of NASCAR, and at the false promises that the track would only be busy a few days a year.

But mostly, the talk was about money. You have to understand - Snohomish County has been burned hard by the Boeing Company - shaky, sneaky, corrupt Boeing. They live and die by Boeing. They are the epitome of a yo-yo economy. And Boeing is able to get just about anything from the state if they start making noises about leaving town. (Which, of course, they'll never do.) Last year the heels at Boeing got over $3 billion in taxpayer bucks and untold other gifties in order to build a new class of plane in Everett - without guaranteeing that a single new job would appear. They pledged to keep employing the Boeing employees in Everett, but they didn't promise to create one new job. And I think maybe the people in Snohomish County are a little tired of giving away their money with no strings attached.

Good for them. It's about time that someone realized that just because a big sports league promises big bucks for a new sports arena, it doesn't make it true.

Thu, 28 Oct 2004 14:51:14 GMT

Bill Buckner, Johnny Pesky...You Are Forgiven

Well, it's over. Mrs. Bluesky's relatives from New England emailed me the Boston Globe's headline:

Pigs can fly, hell is frozen, the slipper finally fits,
and Impossible Dreams really can come true.

I kinda preferred King Kaufman's stream-of-hyperbole the other day. He said something about Charlie Brown finally kicking the football. Of course, he was talking about beating the Yankees, not winning the whole enchilada.

I can't believe our baby will be born into a world where the Boston Red Sox are the reigning world champions.

It is good, however, where Bill Buckner's tragic play in 1986 is never seen again on the "agony of defeat" highlight reels. Now he can be just another part of the pre-2004 history. Jeff Suppan, though - he's fucked. High school coaches are using his base running as a training video next year.

If you want the real story from the people who lived the legacy, go here or here. Maybe even here. Me, I'm just a bandwagoner. I can't tell you about Norm and Yaz and Dalton and Moose and all of those guys. Never even heard of them.

Of course, I've got roots in New England, and my mom was even born in western Mass. But the truth is, I would have rather seen the Detroit Tigers in the Series. Maybe next year.

Wed, 27 Oct 2004 04:11:30 GMT

World Series Game 3

National Anthem: Martina McBride. I didn't hear it, but I know Martina McBride, and I'm betting it was bombastic and stirring and heartfelt. Nice start, but...

God Bless America: Amy Grant. Boy, did she blow the grade for game 3. Weak, lifeless. Is it possible to sing a hushed version of this song? Well, she did, and we are not impressed. Total Grade: B-.

I'm taping something right now, so I'm watching the game on an over-the-air signal. (No antenna. Old tv.) The players all are playing with ghosts over their shoulders, and the game looks strangely like a choreographed pageant, like synchronized swimming on a baseball diamond.

Mon, 25 Oct 2004 01:58:20 GMT

Random World Series Notes

Featured Performers:

Game 1 - Steven Tyler (Star-Spangled Banner,) Kelly Clarkson (God Bless America). C+

Game 2 - James Taylor ( Star-Spangled Banner). A-, but if Clay Aiken does the 7th inning stretch, their grade's going out the window.

Update - It was Donna Summer, not Clay Aiken. I'll confess, I only saw the last few notes, but it seemed like a nice throaty rendition. Also, her hair flew up (wind gust) with the last note. Nice Bugs Bunny touch. Total grade: B+. Somebody correct me if that's too generous.

I was curious, at first, to see Curt Schilling's bleeding ankle. It's always remarkable to see athletes genuinely suffering for their sport - as opposed to Karl Malone-type suffering. But if I see one more picture of his red-tinged sock, I may hurl.

I was completely fascinated watching Tim Wakefield do his thing. Knuckleballers are a little bit like magicians to me, and I love watching the pitches drifting this way and that, like feathers in wind tunnels. Wakefield has such a silly delivery, but it's gotta be a pain hitting those wiffle balls.

If the Red Sox win the World Series and Seattle has a genuine world champion, does that really mean the Apocalypse is coming?

One more thing ... John Hickey had a nice article in yesterday's Seattle P-I about all the ex-Mariners making good on the Red Sox team. A nice article, but I totally scooped him on most of these trades. No credit necessary, but give the brother his due.

Thu, 21 Oct 2004 03:08:38 GMT

Yankees vs. Red Sox Game 7 - Live Blog

5:30 pm I have convinced my wife to let me watch game 7, even though she's sick and will probably fall asleep on the couch and doesn't want to watchit. The issue is really that she can't stand watching the Red Sox play, because she's afraid they'll lose. For some reason, Mrs. Bluesky is really emotional during the playoffs this year.

5:50 pm The Red Sox get a home run in the first from David Ortiz. 2-0, Sox.

6:10 pm 2nd Inning. Kevin Brown has just walked the bases loaded. They're pulling him so he can go punch a wall or something. Javier Vazquez is in.

6:15 pm Johnny Damon just took Vazquez' first pitch and put it over the right field wall. Grand slam - mustard and rye bread optional. It's 6-0, Red Sox. Holy moley. It's looking like ... nope, can't say it. Don't want to jinx everything.

6:35 pm Joe Buck correctly notes that nobody in the Red Sox nation is comfortable with only a six-run lead.

6:45 pm The Yankees get a run in the 3rd. 6-1. No big deal. Joe Buck should just have shut his trap.

6:55 pm 4th Inning. Johnny Damon just planted another pitch in the seats. Six RBI's for Mr. Damon, who was having the worst series of just about any Boston player. I think he's made up for that.

It's now 8-1, Red Sox. Gulp.

7:00 pm Javier Vazquez just walked two straight batters. He's outta there. Don't forget to buckle up on the way home.

7:05 pm New pitcher. Esteban Louiza. It's a little weird to me that I can spell Esteban Louiza from memory.

A sharp single up the middle runs up Miguel Cairo's glove and over him into the outfield. That's one of those plays that goes right when you're winning, and always gets caught when you're losing.

7:10 pm "How good is Derek Lowe?" say the announcers. He's into the fourth inning, up seven runs, and has allowed just one run on just one hit.

It occurs to me that the Seattle Mariners traded this battery (Lowe and Varitek) to Boston in 1997 for a superstar reliever named Heathcliff Slocumb. Another fine trade for our boys.

7:15 pm Bill Mueller gets a sharp single to right. Orlando Cabrera's up to bat. Johnny "Best Hair Since David Cassidy" Damon is on deck.

Cabrera's bat saws neatly in half on a grounder. Meuller's on second. Pretty Boy's up to bat.

It's weird that they have two guys on the Red Sox named Mueller and Millar. Mueller pronounces his name "Miller," and Millar pronounces it "Mill-AR."

7:20 pm Damon hits a cheapie to the pitcher. Easy out - but wait, Louiza threw it away! Men on 2nd and 3rd. Another one of those plays...

7:23 pm Mark Bellhorn, last night's hero, hits an easy popup to Derek Jeter. Here comes Manny Ramirez, the man with the nappiest hair in the American League.

Manny hits an easy grounder. End of 4th. 8-1, Red Sox.

7:27 pm The Red Sox are completing a bunch of tough grounders and making them look really easy.

They've also had a number of first-baseman-fields, pitcher-covers-first plays that have been completed nicely. Nobody tried any Alex Rodriguez tomahawk chops or anything.

7:30 pm I've read just about everything about Curt Schilling's heroic performance yesterday. I've seen the photos of the bloody sock, read about the Dr. Frankenstein procedure, and thought I'd gotten all the angles. I didn't expect to read about the dead guy who helped contribute to the Red Sox cause. I think now I'm officially horrified.

7:35 pm We're into the 6th inning, with the Sox still ahead 8-1. Pedro Martinez, who has the second-nappiest hair in the American League, is warming up, but nobody in the booth thinks it's a big deal.

Mrs. Bluesky recognized Louiza as the pitcher from game 6. I'm a little surprised, because I don't think he's that remarkable-looking.

"He's the one with the sad face," she says. And I look at him, and it's true. It's so true. Sad, sad, Esteban.

7:45 pm After six innings, Derek Lowe's stats: one run, one hit, 3 strikeouts. Amazing.
He's giving out hugs in the dugout, and the only guy warming up is still Pedro.

The announcers are talking about the wisdom of bringing Pedro in before Francona brings in his regular bullpen. I saw Randy Johnson pitch an inning of relief for the Mariners in the playoffs. I firmly believe that when the chips are down, you bring the strongest weapon you have.

Two on, one out. Joe Torre's talking to sad, sad, Esteban.

7:50 pm Sad, sad Esteban has been sent to the sad, sad showers. Gil Heredia's in. He gets Johnny Damon to hit into a double play. Esteban is even sadder now.

7:55 pm Whatever happened to "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" during the stretch!? Some bald guy is doing "God Bless America," with some weird prelude about swearing allegiance and being grateful. If I wanted that kind of crap, I'd watch Fox News.

I think he just under-enunciated and said "Wood Bless America." Except it was like "wo-u-u-u-od."

8:00 pm Now pitching for the Boston Red Sox: Pedro Martinez. The Yanks fans are chanting "Who's your daddy?" Um ... that would be the senior Mr. Martinez.

Matsui greets Pedro with a double into the right field corner. What's his first name? Keiko Matsui? No, that's not right.

The announcers are going nuts trying to figure out why Pedro's in the game. Suddenly the crowd's alive with passion and hatred.

Bernie Williams hits a double off the wall. 8-2, Red Sox. Mike Timlin starts to warm up.

An easy grounder to Mientkiewicz. I can also spell Mientkiewicz without checking the spelling. One out.

8:05 pm Base hit up the middle. 8-3, Red Sox. John Olerud, another great ex-Mariner, pinch-hitting.

Kenny Lofton steals second. Olerud strikes out on a high fastball. Miguel Cairo up. He floats a fly ball to Trot Nixon. Side retired. 8-3, Red Sox.

8:16 pm Mark Bellhorn bounces a home run off the foul pole with a resounding metallic crash. Tim McCarver remarks, "That was the worst sound I've ever heard." Yeah, who's your daddy now, Yankees thugs!! 9-3, Red Sox.

8:20 pm Bottom of the 8th. But first, stupid commercials. I will not watch Nicolas Cage's new smash-'em-up, "National Treasure." For the record, I also won't watch the big fat mean obnoxious boss show, although I kinda dig the premise.

The Fox Sports crew just broke out "Wavelength" by Van Morrison, so they could use the great "come back, baby, come back" chorus. Nice choice.

8:25 pm Now pitching: Mike Timlin, another washout Mariners pitcher. We got him and Paul Spoljaric from Toronto for Jose Cruz Jr.

Hot shot to third base. Mueller gets off a long throw to Doug Mientkiewicz in full stretch. Tim calls Mientkiewicz the "human vacuum cleaner." In certain neighborhoods, them are fighting words. Anyway, one out.

A swing, and a miss, and Alex Rodriguez is down on strikes. Sheffield hits a grounder, and the Yankees are out in the 8th inning.

8:30 pm GM or some other car company is using the Who's "I Can See for Miles" in their commercials. Keith Moon laid down possibly the greatest drum track of his life on that song.

8:35 pm Trot Nixon floats a hit over Derek Jeter's glove into left field.

Mientkiewicz replies by floating a blooper into shallow left field, and Keiko Matsui and Jeter watch it fall helplessly.

Tim McCarver, for no apparent reason, quotes George Carlin: "No one says it's only a game when they're winning."

Sac fly to center field. Nixon's on third. One out.

Fox is showing a list of the greatest upsets in sports history. Clay-Liston, the Jets in Super Bowl III, and I didn't see the rest of the list, so I can't say how many previous Red Sox collapses were on the list.

8:40 pm Cabrera hits a sacrifice fly and brings home Trot Nixon. Trotting, as Joe Buck points out. 10-3, Red Sox. The Yankee's little sputter in the 7th inning is effectively erased.

Mariano Rivera's coming into the game. Is he usually the guy who take over when the Yanks are down by 7?

8:50 pm Johnny Damon hits the most lifeles hit of the evening to Rivera, and they're done. Yankees are up, bottom of the 9th. Score is 10-3, Red Sox.

8:51 pm Keiko Matsui, acclaimed jazz pianist, rips a double to right field. Trot Nixon fields it off the wall in an unhurried manner, the way you read the paper on Sunday.

Bernie Williams, who really is an acclaimed jazz artist, is up. He hits a fielder's choice grounder and Matsui is out at second. One out. Bronson Arroyo jumps up in the bullpen to warm up.

Posada skies one to second base. Two out.

Kenny Lofton, whose musical pursuits I am unaware of, is up. He walks. Timlin takes a seat. Now pitching: Alan Embree.

9:00 pm Joe Buck intones, "It's midnight here at Yankee Stadium." Damn straight. Ruben Sierra - another washout Mariner - comes in as a pinch-hitter.

He plunks a grounder to second base. An effortless throw to first, and it's over. The Red Sox have shocked the world. Hugs, curse words, and celebrations abound. On the field. It's only curse words in the stands. Hope those riot gear-clad cops are still around.

Congratulations to the assembled Red Sox Nation. They worked hard, and we all lost a lot of sleep watching this unfold. Now on to the World Series.

Mon, 11 Oct 2004 01:04:07 GMT

The Seattle Sports Curse

I cannot believe what I just saw. The Seahawks were ahead 27-10 with less than 10 minutes left in their game, against the St. Louis Rams. They were cruising. They had intercepted the hapless Rams quarterback, Marc Bulger, three times. It looked like a sure thing.

Then something happened in Bulger's brain, and he suddenly caught fire. I've heard the sportscaster guys use the word "unconscious" before, and I don't like it usually, but today it worked. Bulger was playing like he was in a dream. Everything he tried for the last ten minutes of the game was beautiful. They scored two quick touchdowns, shut down the Seahawks' offense with ferocity, and got the ball back with 1:24 left in regulation time. They had no time outs.

They didn't need time outs. Bulger marched his field down like Sherman through Georgia, like Elway through Cleveland, and got the ball to the Seattle 36-yard line. They kicked the easy field goal to get it into overtime. One of the announcers said that if he was the coach, he would have given Bulger one chance to end it with a touchdown. I agree - Bulger was amazing, and given the chance, he probably would had done it right there.

But it didn't matter, because Seattle lost the coin toss, the Rams took over again, and with a 52-yard screaming pass to Shaun McDonald, it was over. The poor Seahawks fans barely had time to get their garlic fries and get back to their seats.

10 years ago, before I moved to Seattle, I heard Rod Long talking about the Seattle sports curse. The Sonics had just lost a heartbreaking playoff series to the Denver Nuggets (remember Mutombo clutching the basketball like a little baby? That was the series.) The Seahawks, then, were a laughing stock. And the best thing about the Mariners was Ken Griffey Jr., right before he shattered his wrist against the center field wall.

The way Rod Long explained it, it was like God just didn't like Seattle sports.

I hate to bring diving beings into the conversation, but you know, this team can't get a winner. It's a good thing nobody comes to the Storm games - if more fans came, they might jinx them, too.

Thu, 07 Oct 2004 01:33:11 GMT

Bwa ha ha ha ha!!!

King Kaufman almost made me blow out an artery.

The Red Sox beat the Angels, but the score on the field was 14-12, not 9-3. The Angels had nine runs deducted when a long-range microphone picked up third baseman Chone "You Need to Know I Pronounce My First Name 'Sean' to Get This Next Joke" Figgins reacting to a crucial throwing error by yelling, "Chite!"

Read his whole column for context. (Ye filthy context-seekers.)

I know it's distasteful to plug a Salon columnist, but you gotta give it up. I'd plug Slate, too, if they ever wrote anything funny.

Sun, 29 Aug 2004 20:58:40 GMT

Protestors in NYC, Wingnuts in Athens

This is amazing.

I'm sure that everyone will forget about this sea of people by Tuesday, when all the black bloc anarchists take over the stage. But I just want to remember this amazing sea of humanity for now.
At the Olympics, a nutcase ran onto the marathon course and attacked the lead runner, a Brazilian. The announcers at first called him a protester.

That's just not right. The folks marching in NYC are protestors.

This is a nutcase. Or an idiot. Or, if you prefer, a religious zealot. But he is not a protester. But I know that tonight on the news, people will be talking about the New York protests and this idiot in the same breath. It's just another easy way to discredit legitimate protest.

Fri, 27 Aug 2004 15:18:59 GMT

What's Going On Here? Olympics Roundup

Why can't I see any women's basketball?

Why is there synchronized swimming and rhythmic gymnastics, instead of sports I care about?

And what on earth is happening here?

This photo showed up in my Seattle Post-Intelligencer this morning. The caption says that this is a Spanish woman, Isabel Ortuno, challenging two Ukranian defenders.

Challenging how? What sport is this? She's not challenging anybody. She has her elbow in one woman's ear, and seems to be threatening to shove the ball down the back of her shirt. It's way beyond challenging.

Is this basketball? They've changed the rules, I think.

Is this water polo? They're not wearing those weird earflappy things.

Is this some new sport I haven't heard of? Combat gymnastics?

What the hell is going on here?

Where's King Kaufman when I really need him?

Speaking of which, I don't try to suck up to Salon on this blog because it'd look like ... well, sucking up. But their Olympics coverage has been really top-notch. It's gotta be difficult (for King) to write about people who are talking about events - third-hand journalism - but their writing has been vivid and inspired. King Kaufman is funny, intelligent, thoughtful, and funny. All at the same time. And Gary Kamiya had a really moving piece the other day about the pole vault finals - read it if you haven't already. These guys should be up for some journalism award, or a Pulitzer, or something.

Mon, 23 Aug 2004 05:31:17 GMT

Semi-Irregular Olympics Roundup

I can't decide which name is more fun to say: Loudy Tourky or Pieter van den Hooganband.

I think van den Hooganband is more fun to say, if you're yelling it. Van den Hoobanband!!!!

On the other hand, Loudy Tourky is more fun to work into a sentence for no apparent reason.

"So I was taking a bus the other day, and you wouldn't believe who I saw. Loudy Tourky!"
"I like tennis, but I think I sprained my Loudy Tourky the other day."
"Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and Loudy Tourky to you."

Her nickname is Luli. How can you not love that?

On another subject, I love Canadian coverage so far. It shows countries other than Canada, which is a pleasant surprise. It shows different events than beach volleyball, which is also cool. And the commentaries are interesting - I'm actually learning watching the coverage. It's educational tv.

But Bob Costas can't hold a candle to CBC's Brian Williams. He's funny, he's a little odd to look at - all elbows and angles, his sports coats looking like they were bought off the rack, his ties looking like old 1970's test patterns.

But Williams is sharp. And he doesn't have to do the bland know-it-all coverage that Americans do. He freely admits when he doesn't understand something, or when something looks interesting, or odd, or suspicious to him. In other words, he has opinions. Real human opinions. He's gone off twice now about the shameful omission of a Canadian marathoner, because of tightened Canadian Olympic Committee standards. And he used those words: "It's a shame." I felt like I was watching an actual person I could respect, instead of a cardboard cutout.

But I've found myself rooting for the little blue cow whenever I see her. I don't think that's a good sign.

Wed, 18 Aug 2004 04:27:13 GMT

Apropos of Nothing - Olympics Roundup

Van Den Hoogenband!

Da da da - da da da! Let the boys be boys!

Van Den Hoogenband!

Da da da - da da da!

(It works if you put it to "Slam" by Onyx.)

I don't know if he's really good, or if the announcers just like saying his name.

Van Den Hoogenband!

Tue, 10 Aug 2004 04:43:53 GMT

Edgar Martinez - Hall of Famer

He got old. His legs were awful. He didn't field. He was built like a construction worker, gut and all. He was boring to watch.

Edgar Martinez deserves a bust in Cooperstown. He played the game the way it was. Say what you will about the Designated Hitter rule, the facts are that Edgar played a position that was called for by the rules of the American League. Every team needed nine guys in the field and a DH on the batting order.

Edgar played the position he was called to play, and played it better than almost anybody. He was a superb clutch hitter, a steel-eyed single and double machine (even when his wheels started to fail him.) He was also, for those of us in Seattle, a local institution.

Before Ichiro showed up on our shores, Edgar was the one that everybody stopped to watch at bat. You knew you were watching something special. You were watching a man at the top of his craft.

The argument that Edgar was "only" a hitter doesn't wash. Supporting actors only play a role for five or ten or twenty minutes: do they deserve Oscars? Guest artists sing for thirty seconds of a song: do they deserve Grammys? Gerald Ford was an appointee to the Presidency: does he deserve the pension and the Secret Service protection? (Well...)

Edgar didn't make up the DH rule to suit him: he suited the position. When you are the best at the role that you are assigned to, you are the best.

He was the job: he was designated to hit. And he hit, and hit, and hit, until the Mariners hit the wall and he chose to make his exit. So long, Edgar. We'll see you in Cooperstown, if there is any justice.