Siamese Mariners

Criticism is hard to take.  I've been in a bit of a tailspin of late, reacting to the comments of a few less-than-enamored readers of my fanposts.   I decided to take a bit of a hiatus.  To travel as far away from Mariner baseball as possible.  To refresh and recharge.

You might be surprised how difficult it is to plan a sabbatical away from all Mariner influences.  How difficult it is to find a land where there are no loyal readers of my fanposts.  I ruled out North America immediately.  My work often transcends the local team and impacts fans in every MLB city.  South America was easy to rule out as well -- my piece on Felix Hernandez opened a lot of eyes in Venezuela and, as many armfulls of fan mail confirms, inspired the next generation of great Venezuelan statisticians.  Hyphen and Ichiro crossed some proud island nations off my list.  The Washburn trade shattered my dreams of a European getaway.  I couldn't go to Africa because Jack Wilson just looks too much like a kimodo dragon.

After a lot of stressful eliminating, I deduced that the only destination completely pristine and free of Mariner influences and fans is Siam.  (Note: I realize this region has been broken up into concrete nation states like Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, but I choose not to recognize these fleeting political maneuverings until they are recognized on a Risk game board.  So go cry to Parker Brothers King Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand).

Three weeks in southeast Asia.  No Mariners baseball; no Lookout Landing; no stress.  Not even the possibility of a reminder of the M's in the one part of the world that remains free of Mariner influences, right?

...

...

Wrong.  How could I be so naive?

For the imperialists out there in the crowd, this post will make you happy.  The Mariners are the late 19th-century British empire.  For those, like me, who desire a sort of ollyollyoxenfree from time to time or at least would like to know that one exists...well...I'm sorry.  The sun never sets on the Mariner's empire.

I wasn't off the plane in Bangkok for even thirty minutes before I saw Thailand's version of Franklin Gutierrez:

I departed the airport and joined a tour headed north from Bangkok towards Chiang Mai.  I was expecting to see relics of Buddha and historic temples.  Instead, I learned that the ancient peoples of Phitsanulok and Ayutthaya were mostly concerned with honoring future Mariners.  Seattle influences were everywhere, depicted as monuments to:

Ichiro,

Silva,

Lopez,

and Jack Wilson.

The Thais is Chiang Mai are unable to see many Mariner games, so they just erect giant statues of Felix Hernandez and watch them instead.

Cambodia has its own version of Felix Day:

And on Felix Day in Laos, even the elephants take the day off to sit back, chill, and watch the game.

Some of the tributes in Luang Prabang are more obscure.  This was erected for Carlos Triunfel:

this was for Erik Bedard

and the following was commissioned by the Thai royal family to signify the relationship between Gutz and our flyball pitch-to-contact folks.

I was just going about my business trying to buy some silk scarves in a night market when one of the Laotians grabbed my hand, held up this handicraft and uttered some nonesense about Bavasi when he resigned Joh.

The Malaysians were, perhaps, the most devoted of all.  Everywhere you look in Malaysia you are reminded of the Mariners road to the playoffs

As the Mariner references and tributes circled round me, I felt pangs of claustrophobia.  Not that my fanhood was in doubt, but I had ventured to Riskboard Siam for the sole purpose of a respite from Marinerland.  I packed up my things, hopped on the nearest elephant,

and trekked out to a quiet monk getaway in the middle of the jungle.

Finally, a moment to breathe.  Just a bunch of monks doing cannonballs into the waterfalls.

It looked safe.  A break.  I sat back on an ancient piece of stone and reclined back against a root-covered wall.  Just as I tilted my head back to take in the scenery, my serenity was spoiled in a flash.  I couldn't help but laugh.  I was finally free of all the Mariner tributes and statues, and yet my peace was interrupted by an actual Mariner.

I put a handful of sticky rice into Griffey's pot, and decided it was time to go home.