Last Friday I attended my second game of the 2003 season -- the Mariners vs. the Red Sox in Safeco -- as I alluded to on an earlier game thread. The game itself was compelling enough -- a 9-4 Seattle win featuring an Ichiro grand slam, a mammoth solo homer by Manny Ramirez, and some questionable umpiring -- but equally exciting were the following events.

1) I sat with someone who had never attended a baseball game;
2) Shigetosi Hasegawa, one of the unlikeliest closers in recent memory, somehow threw 88 MPH fastballs by major-league hitters -- and good ones at that;
3) During batting practice, David Ortiz showed enormous raw power, regularly pounding balls off the restaurant in RF at Safeco;
4) Also during batting practice, I had a ball hit by Doug Mirabelli ricochet off my left ring pinky and ring finger;
5) My wallet somehow fell out while I was at the stadium, only to be retrieved, money and credit cards and Starbucks card and business cards fully intact, by an honest staff person.

Some additional commentary, in order.

This was the first time I had attended a baseball game with an Official Baseball Game Virgin (OBGV), who, it turns out, offered up some fine questions about the grand 'ol game. To wit: after a walk to, I believe, Jason Varitek, the OBGV leaned over and said "What are those two guys doing over there (at first base)?" Later on: "You know what would make this more exciting? If all those people out there on the field [also known as the players] would do something." Still later: "Do all games run this long?"And yet, after the game: "You know? I would do this again. It wasn't terrible." I have always found baseball to be a solid entertainment value, particularly in the daytime, but the questions our OBGV poses really do make sense. There is so much down time in baseball in comparison to other sports that it is easy to see how a first-time viewer would be monstrously bored by it. Baseball, like beer and Marxism, is an acquired taste. It can't always be acquired after one sip, however ...

Last night I said I was confident I could hit Josh Towers. I am even more confident about my ability to hit Hasegawa. It's not like his fastball moves like Roy Halladay's or has the giddy up of Rafael Soriano's; it's not like his changeup is that much slower than his fastball; it's not like he even has a good fastball or a good changeup. So how does he do it? It's a fair question.

I saw Hasegawa his first year in the bigs (1997) during the spring in Arizona. My first impression was, "Wow, this guy's not much taller than I am" (5'7" on good days -- that is to say, days when I wear my ½-inch-high Sketchers). We were sitting right next to the Angels' bullpen when Shiggy was warming up, which led to my next thought: "Wow, this guy's going to get devoured." Well, Shiggy hasn't been rocked as I thought he would, nor has he been lights out in his career (best ERA+? 1998, at 150) -- at least until he arrived at Safeco, where he can lay out his pedestrian stuff, because crushed fly balls disappear into Mike Cameron's glove, because sharp grounders are secured by Bret Boone and Rey Sanchez, because it is in Safeco where he can survive with a K rate -- 28 in 58 innings -- that would be good, maybe, in slow-pitch softball leagues.

The point of all this: if ever an organization could save money by rotating closers from year-to-year or by using a closer-by-committee, it's the Mariners, because of the built-in advantage of their home park. I bet even Bruce Chen -- Bruce Chen! -- could close out games in Safeco. No doubt Hasegawa is having a year for the ages, at least E.R.A-wise, but he's been a mediocre pitcher during his career. Assuming the M's hold off the A's and Red Sox to make the playoffs, he may get exposed in a short series when, typically, the hitting is better. (I don't have Shiggy's numbers against the Yankees or Royals or A's or Red Sox, so this may be bogus.) The M's bullpen is strong, no question, but how much of that is due to the park or pitchers? Because they are small-sample sizes by their nature, the playoffs, unfortunately, will not answer the question satisfactorily, but I have a hunch (remember those?) Hasegawa will get burned in October ...

Watching Ortiz take BP reminded me of a cross between Robin Ventura and Mo Vaughn: Vaughn because Ortiz crouches slightly (though not as coiled as Mo), Ventura because Ortiz finishes his swing with a vicious helicopter motion. But, wow, does he have raw power, which makes me wonder why his career high in homers is 20, achieved last year with the Twins. With 16 in mid-August, he should break that this year, but after hitting five homers in seven games in late July/early August, he's gone 11 games (39 at-bats) without clearing the fences. Maybe facing the A's and Mariners in Oakland and Seattle had something to do with that dry spell. Whatever the case, Ortiz put on quite a surprising show during BP, another reason why it's a good idea to get to the game early. And, while we're at it, another good idea when attending a baseball game is to ...

... bring a glove. Last Friday, for the third time in my life, my swollen Italian fingers touched a foul/BP ball in a major-league stadium, and for the third time in my life I walked away embarrassed and with sore fingers. (I have, however, caught a few balls, with a glove, during my many years at spring training. Never bare-handed, though.) Part of the problem is that some people behind me were shoving me out of the way, but part of the problem also is that it's hard as hell to catch a ball bare-handed.

Except that one of the drops I did have a glove. During BP at the Oakland Coliseum one afternoon, my dad and I were sitting in left field, directly below the foul pole, when Terry Steinbach launched one which I knew right away was heading right for me. I got my glove ready -- that is to say, I prepared my roommate's glove (remember this fact, dear reader) -- only to determine, as the ball got closer, that it would hit the foul pole. I lowered the glove. But once again, I was wrong: the ball missed the foul pole. I raised my glove in desperation. The ball hit the heel of the glove. I dropped the ball. The ball drifted over to a kid -- that was OK -- and I skulked back to where my dad was. He shook his head at me, obviously disappointed his collegiate son had learned about Marx and Pater and Byron but had forgotten how to catch a baseball hit directly to him. (Come to think of it, he wasn't all that thrilled about my new-found love of Romanticism or of Marx, but that's another story.)

Now, I do have a valid excuse: the glove. My roommate's glove was an outfielder's glove -- and a shabby one at that -- and, since I played third base and shortstop, I was used to a far smaller slab of leather. OK, there's no excuse. In all my years playing baseball and -- sigh -- softball, I have dropped one fly ball in my life (using a glove). That was it. Oh, well. At least it was hit by a major leaguer ...

Regarding #5: I'm a lucky fool, and, while I am a severe pessimist by nature, every now and then someone will surprise me, such as the kindly, underpaid and overworked maintenance person at Safeco, who toils in a filthy before-game, in-game, and post-game environment of 43,000 consuming humans. I could not even leave a thank you note, or a gift card, or even the impersonal cash, for my benefactor, because he or she did not leave a name. The cynic in me says that the person was just doing their job, but George Orwell, in Keep the Aspidistra Flying, writes that there's nobility in doing your job -- as a spouse, as a parent, etc. -- doing it well, and doing it quietly, no matter how mundane, demeaning, or "unimportant" it may be. In a world of naked cynicism and a "Hey, look at me!" mentality, it's nice that I can still be surprised by my fellow humans.