It is a sort of incredible thing to think about that Dave Sims has been part of Seattle Mariners broadcasts for nine years now. It has, for me, absolutely flown by. Dave's voice has become such a part of the summer nights that it almost feels timeless at this point. He has taken us through almost all of Felix, the Beltre years, Ackley, Tai, Robbie, Nellie, and many other names of the past. He has taken us through essentially the darkest time of the franchise, all while being a football man asked to speak about baseball. Say what you will about Dave Sims, but he has found beauty in the struggle. He is bubbly, charming, and so quick with a laugh. He has had the great displeasure of often commenting on a team that is well out of competition by mid-July.
But this article is not about Dave Sims as an announcer of Seattle Mariners baseball. It is about him as a human being that we care for and love and who needs our well-wishes and hope.
Cancer is a horrible and strange thing. It is a commonplace word with often an uncommon ending. It is an unpredictable monster that we have all felt take from us too soon a good friend or family member. It is an absolutely terrifying thing. While this news comes as a shock to us here, it is a relief to hear that Dave is recovering with strength and hopes to be back for Spring Training. It makes sense that Dave has silently fought this battle, as he held back his distaste for losing all these past nine years.
I think it's appropriate to show Dave Sims at his best, when he was finally rewarded with winning baseball and excitement in September of 2014. On nights like this:
Or this night:
Or the beauty in this madness:
I think that one of the strangest realities we encounter is that we never, physically, touch anything. My skin never contacts your skin when we shake hands. Electrically, there is a point where both entities repel each other and the true contact is never made, yet we have this sensation we named "touch". It makes me wonder if in truth, what we mean by the word is actually what Dave Sims does for us every night of the one hundred and sixty-two games. If his voice reverberating inside us while we take in the image of a baseball game is what actually touches us, in our soul. I wonder that.
Lookout Landing wants to wish Dave Sims all the best in his recovery and all the strength in his fight. We also wish to thank him, for those countless nights the past nine years and hopefully more to come, where he painted the Mariners with such broad, brash, and beautiful strokes.
Get well soon, Buddy.
We'll have some ice cream waiting for you.