1. While it's easy to say "it's still April, don't worry about the standings," the fact of the matter is that, as of this writing, the M's are four games back of both the A's and the Angels. If you thought it'd be tough to be one game better than these teams over six months, it'll be that much tougher to be five games better than them over five. Every game matters. Our odds are worse now than they were on Opening Day, and regardless of why it's turned out this way, that's bad. It's time to start winning. Our team isn't young enough to rely on second-half hot streaks like the A's of the earlier aughts.
   
   
2. If you're able to look past the eighth inning - and I know that's tough - Felix was awesome. Through seven, he'd allowed just four hits and two walks while striking out ten batters, all on 92 pitches. Starts don't get much more dominating, and what's most breathtaking is how he did it working mostly off of his fastball. Felix entered the game with a fastball percentage of 59%, but today it darted up to 71%, as for much of the day the A's just exhibited no ability whatsoever to catch up to his heat. Before the eighth they'd swung at missed at the fastball as many time as they'd put it on play. The top of the second, of course, was the highlight, as Felix told Frank Thomas, Jack Cust, and Bobby Crosby to eat shit and die, but the A's were eating shit and dying for seven innings, and it was only diminished command later on that finally allowed them to participate in the game. Try not to let the final score cloud your judgment, here. In my book, Felix's star only got brighter.
   
   
3. I've thought about holding this against McLaren, but as much as I want to, in good conscience I don't think I can. Yeah, Felix wound up throwing 110+ pitches for the fourth consecutive start, but if you're McLaren, and you see your ace throwing 98 in the eighth inning, and you know how unreliable your bullpen has been so far, I think you have to let the guy try to work his way out. God knows Felix hasn't exactly made a habit out of struggling in the later innings, and today could've been a whole hell of a lot different with a few better breaks - Hannahan and Barton fouled off a combined six 3-2 pitches before drawing their eighth inning walks, and Brown's tying single came off a broken bat. Felix was mighty close to escaping today, but he didn't, and I'm more inclined to just give the A's credit for good at bats than I am to hold some Mariner responsible.
   
   
4. You know what would've made things a lot easier on everyone? Run support. If the score were like 4-0 or 5-0 then McLaren would've had a much easier time going to the bullpen earlier than he did. This is getting embarrassing. The Mariners must be the only team in the league whose #5 hitter is an NRI they picked up in February. At the moment there are exactly three batters in whom I have any kind of faith, and while McLaren talks about how some of the guys have to get it going, it seems like it ought to be the front office's responsibility to determine who's actually capable of getting it going in the first place. There's no time to dawdle and let Vidro and Wilkerson and maybe/probably Sexson prove to everyone how done they are. At least one of our problem spots needs to be addressed right quick, and by that I don't mean giving tons more playing time to Norton or Willie Ballgame. This lineup needs more talent, and it needs it now.
   
   
5. And, yeah, I'm at the point now where I'm totally ready to call Wilkerson finished. I was willing to give him a shot, but he hasn't demonstrated any kind of ability at all, and his bat speed seems nothing short of awful. Not only does he not yet have a home run, but I can't even picture what him hitting a home run would look like. I can't imagine it happening. That has to be somehow meaningful. It's really, really sad that Willie Ballgame might just represent an improvement as an everyday player.
   
   
6. Mike Morse still sucks so don't even start
   
   
7. I absolutely cannot believe that an intelligent team like the Oakland A's has put itself in a position where Jack Cust is starting in the outfield. I criticize Raul Ibanez all the time for his lack of range - and rightfully so - but I think Jack Cust is quite literally the worst defensive outfielder I've ever seen in my life. He's a slow, plodding son of a bitch, and just today he cost his team a pair of doubles by misplaying a Lopez fly ball in the first and a Wilkerson fly ball in the sixth. He sucks. He sucks! And he's not even that good of a bat. There's not a chance he repeats last year's .366 BABIP (regress that to .300 and his BA drops from .256 to .223), which makes him a guy with two good strengths and countless glaring weaknesses. As long as he's playing the field, it's my opinion that, overall, he won't be helping the A's win any games.
   
   
8. Santiago Casilla, however, will be helping the A's win games. Santiago Casilla is really good. If I'm not mistaken he threw Brad Wilkerson a 92mph slider, which pretty much on its own is enough to blow me the fuck away.

A few years ago, getting on a flight in Europe in the middle of a vacation, I remember thinking "if this plane goes down, I won't really mind." Sure, my life would be cut tragically short, and I'd never be able to experience wonderful things like childbirth or an Ottawa Stanley Cup, but at that point in time - in the middle of that European vacation - I was just about as happy as I'd ever been. Nothing was bothering me and I was in the greatest of moods. And I've always thought that if I have to die some day*, I'd like it to be at a time where I'm at absolute peak happiness, so I can go out with a smile. I don't think there's a better way to leave this world.

That thought occurred to me again this afternoon, right after the top of the second inning. After falling behind Frank Thomas 1-0, Felix proceeded to strike out the side with his next nine pitches. Jaw-dropping. My Felix-related euphoria flew through the roof and into the clouds, as I'd just watched a 22 year-old phenom pull off perhaps the greatest Mariner inning ever pitched. I could hardly believe what I'd seen, and it was all I could do not to get in my car and drive north so as to beg Felix to adopt me as a son. Right then, if a guy had suddenly broken into the house and shot me dead, I would've been okay with it, because my last memory of Earth would've been an incredible one.

But that's not how the universe works. The universe doesn't end you at a high point. The universe gives you high points and then, without warning, takes them away, sending you careening on a downhill slope to an existence of agony and self-sabotage. That's the cosmic joke. Everything people do is done in pursuit of those moments of ecstasy, but what they don't realize is that those moments are fleeting, and that the moments that follow are absolutely, completely miserable. With existence in the hands of the universe, reaching peak happiness is only a guarantee that the rest of your days will be worse. And that's the life you get to live until you die.

This game was life in nine innings, and in the end the only thing I got out of it was a more thorough understanding of why old people tend to be so bitter and cynical. Life sucks, and you're lucky if you even get enough time to enjoy the moments that don't. It's stupid. And you've no choice but to get used to it.

* - based on a sample size of nearly 23 years, I am immortal

Biggest Contribution: Sean Green, +9.0%
Biggest Suckfest: Brandon Morrow, -24.7%
Most Important AB: Betancourt funk blast, +10.8%
Most Important Pitch: Brown single, -22.9%
Total Contribution by Pitcher(s): -28.9%
Total Contribution by Hitters: -21.1%
Total Contribution by Opposition: 0.0%
(What is this chart?)

Once again I'm going to get to the bullets a little later. A few more pressing issues to take care of first.

fuck you

fuck you

fuck you

fuck you

fuck you

fuck you

you're cool

fuck you

fuck you

fuck you

You were warned.

Earlier this morning, whilst I lay in bed and accompanied Eliza Dushku to Home Depot to buy planks of redwood for her above-ground pool deck, there came a knock that aroused me in all the wrong ways. Yawning, I stumbled out of my room and groggily opened the door, whereupon I was greeted by the pleasant faces of two middle-aged men with different ties and matching conviction. Exhausted and just the slightest bit hung over, at first I didn't do the math in my head, and so for about three or four minutes I stood there while they engaged me in conversation about current events and universal concerns. I nodded and mumbled and nodded some more, but gradually I began to come to and take stock of the situation, at which point one of the men asked me if I'm familiar with God.

I paused for a moment. Then, with a hint of a smile, I turned to the man and replied.

"I sure am."

I asked if they wouldn't mind letting me get to breakfast, so they issued me a polite farewell and walked away. I closed the door.

Today I don't have time for proselytization. Today I worship at the altar of Felix.

LET'S GO MARINERS!!