The joy of the ballpark

And the cyclical fulfillment of being a fan of a good team.

I love biking to ballgames. It’s one of the best things I do—like, out of all the things I do.

When I’m whipping down the Portside Trail, cars from container ships behind a chain link fence on the right and the roofline of the ballpark to the left, I half daydream about how it’s like being a kid in 1930s Brooklyn biking to Ebbetts for a matinee.

I don’t know if kids did that. I assume they did? It’s more I have this vision in my head of some hallmark past for baseball.

I remember in college, my first journalism class, Intro to Mass Media I believe, I’d exchange emails with the professor about how, surely, baseball was more popular during the middle part of the century. I still think it was.

There must have been a time when everyone saw the beauty in baseball—a time when everyone could see the beauty in baseball, had the ability to get out to ballparks and take in one of life’s great pleasures.

That’s never quite been the case. But it doesn’t mean it couldn’t be.

At a game I went to on the last homestand, sometime in the many-hour afterglow of the J.P. Crawford grand slam, I found myself thinking I often dance around my primary point on issues of conflict or concern —both on the M’s and elsewhere—but don’t explicitly describe the desired alternative I’m instead alluding to with sarcasm or anecdotes or whatever.

Let’s take a shot.

The Mariners played a 4:15 p.m. start on Saturday afternoon. National broadcast window, even though it was against the Angels. There were forty thousand and one fans in the building. It started sunny before clouds came in and our public marvel of a ballpark rolled its roof across the sky.

The M’s, who have been in first place for most of the year, drubbed their lowly opponent. An interesting prospect got his first hit. The vibes were immaculate.

It should always be like this, I thought.

The feeling was a little less-so last night, but the thought still echoed.

The Mariners were forced to rely on a semi-interesting depth piece, their seventh-best starter, and were still able to do what they needed to do against a dramatically inferior opponent. Their homegrown switch-hitting bruiser of a catcher hit a 3-0 green light like a funny car driver and pured a thigh-high 93mph fastball into the corner for a two-run go-ahead double.

They extended their American League West lead, the largest division lead in baseball, to six and a half games.

It should always be like this.

Though, last night, another 10,000 or so fans would’ve been nice.

I don’t intend to say “It could always be like this” because that’s a challenging horizon to reach—but that doesn’t mean the Mariners shouldn’t chase it.

I hate to use the word “product” in describing what a baseball team is offering, so I won’t. I could say “The Mariners should provide a world-class experience” but that has some fluffiness reminiscent of hydro races and (bring ‘em back) dancing groundskeepers.

The Mariners should always be good, or trying to be good, and they should strive to have as many people watch them be good as possible.

Why? Because watching a good baseball team is good. It’s fun. It’s the best.

That’s why there are sports. To watch them and for them to be enjoyable. To be romantic. To be like the great American novel or at least a Kevin Costner movie.

The Mariners are nine over in June. It’s not 20-over and having the division all but wrapped up, but it’s the type of start I know people in the building have dreamed on just as much as we fans have.

And there were 20,005 fans out last night. There were 23,027 the night before that.

I shouldn’t care about this stuff. I do, and that’s probably why trying to influence it is something I did professionally for a few seasons. But influencing it is hard. It takes time. It takes a lot of stuff happening that very few people impact and even fewer control.

The reason why I care about this stuff—and I’m getting circular here—is because baseball at its best is so good to experience.

I was walking out of the ballpark last night when I heard one guy say to another “Hey man, thank you so much. What a treat.”

They were about the same age, both older than me, so it was probably one of those “I got an extra for tonight” deals to someone who doesn’t usually go. But for anyone, what a treat it was.

I’ve been to probably 15 games this year. I’m lucky, my wife loves ‘em and we don’t have kids yet. We live in the city and I can bike down largely without issue.

It’s a privilege.

But also? We sat in the front row of the upper deck for $20 apiece last night. Have you sat in those seats? Or close? They’re incredible.

So there are efforts the Mariners take to try to spread the joy and experience of the ballpark to as many people as possible, but it takes time. It takes a lot.

With a good team though, it takes less. That guy who called it a treat on the way out? He’ll be back. Maybe a couple more times this year. He may watch a few more if he gets the games on TV, or see what he needs to do to get them (gulp). He’ll care if they make a big move. He’ll probably be more likely to bring his wife or his kids or their kids to the ballpark if any of these people exist.

More people enjoying Mariners Baseball, in whatever medium or format is best for them, should be the guiding light for The Baseball Club of Seattle, LLLP.

Get people reading a story about you, get ‘em in the park, get them watching on TV, get every sports fan in the Pacific Northwest putting on the ballgame (pre- and post-, too) on every summer road trip through our fine corner of the country.

If they do, they’ll do it more. And more.

Because the baseball we’re watching is pretty good right now. The club’s great at home even if they aren’t overall. At least not yet. And the stakes are only going to go higher. The memories richer. The moments more everlasting.

I’m having a lot of fun watching it. You probably are, too.

I’m looking forward to more folks joining us.

Go M’s.