Well the Mariners did not win today, but in another way they also did not totally lose. I mean, sure, they scored fewer runs than the Cleveland Indians, they went 0-10 with runners in scoring position, Wade Miley walked in two runs before the end of the fourth inning, WHATEVER. But these are all also things which often happen during boring stupid April baseball games, and if you can say nothing else about this here test of the wills you can settle for that: boring, and stupid. And April.
There's something about Cleveland that brings all that out. Every damn season. The comeback in 2001. The end of Jesus Montero, Catcher. The end of Tom Wilhelmsen, Dominant Closer. Chief Wahoo (even the name, for crying out loud), a landscape of concrete, and it was also like ten degrees as the wind knocked down every single baseball hit by a Seatte Mariner this afternoon. Well, except for this one:
This here home diddly dingerino from the bat of one Kyle Seager gave the Mariners their first run on the afternoon. You will note that after Seager makes contact with it he kind of juts back a few inches, trying to get a view of where the ball is headed. That's because it was too windy and that's stupid. The human race invented walls and ceilings, and we can't even use them to help make a billion dollar sports industry more enjoyable to watch. Then, you will notice as the camera pans out, Colin Cowgill performs the following routine as he attempts to track the ball down in the blustery sky.
COWGILL: ah this is gonna be two, at least
COWGILL: ahhhh no shucks that's a dinger
COWGILL: WAIT SHIT NO CRAP NO I HAVE TO GET THIS I HAVE TO SHIT WAI--
COWGILL: wait no that's a dinger
In short: Fuck you Cleveland. Fuck you and your wind, and also your baseball team that always beats the Seattle Mariners, especially when it is articulated outside the W/L column. I know I just told you to build a dome but you also seem to be the only place that would actually take me up on that stupid and wrong advice, for quite literally no reason whatsoever. You are like the last scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, you know, the one with no cookie dough. You are like when you go to the DMV and take a little paper number and wait fifteen years only to have Linda tell you behind fingerprint-smudged glasses that you need your birth certificate and vaccination history in order to renew your drivers license. You are like a place that would settle for having a football team named after a color. You are just, just the worst.
The frustrating thing is that the Mariners didn't really do much to help themselves out on this end, either. There was nothing doing for the first few innings, and then Wade Miley gave up a single and back to back doubles to Fransisco Lindor (who, by the way, holy crap) and Mike Napoli to put the Indians on the board with a run. Then, in the fifth, the following beautiful exchange:
I mean, this is really something magical. Asking questions about narrative has always been interesting to me--why, say, film or visual signification has the ability to convey certain complex ideas without being explicitly a language-system. Some might say film is a language, where certain images or shots, for example, stand in as signs with referents that the viewer then connects mentally through the process of signification. That's a bit silly but really what you are looking at here is about as close an argument for that as I've ever come across in my entire life.
Gone are the uncomfortable seconds between alternating 90 mph fastballs and 83 mph curves. Gone is that perfectly-timed FUCK uttered from the mouth of an anthropomorphic human beard just as the ball is thrown back at him from behind home plate with a batter trotting over to first. Gone are the borderline calls that had you yelling at your television and the umpire even though you knew that somehow it was all Miley's fault--hell, he had been so normal up to this point that you really couldn't blame Servais for having a long leash on the afternoon.
Instead you just get the facts--the damned facts, whether you wanted them or not. And that's what the Mariners have been giving you for the past fifteen or so years, dramatics and woe-is-me-isms aside. Four walks. Coaching visit to mound. Pitching Change: Mike Montgomery replaces Wade Miley. Yeah, no shit.
They managed to sneak one past the Indians in the bottom of the ninth after Carlos Carrasco (which, also, geez) was replaced by Zach McAllister. Adam Lind roped a double into left, and made it to third after Chris Iannetta lined out to center field. But when Leonys Martin grounded into an RBI out with an out to go, the victory fell right through the cracks of that same concrete that had hosted so many other just terrible baseball games between two baseball teams that ESPN periodically forgets even exist. By the time Franklin Gutierrez struck out to end the game, bringing his average down to exactly .200, it was all over. But they can pick it right back up tomorrow, and hell, that aforementioned guy there still has an on-base percentage of .320, so you can't complain about everything.
As in it all, goms, and we will hopefully still be left standing on the other side. Now for the love of god someone hide the drum guy's car keys so we don't have to listen to that when we make it to Ohio once each season.