I waited 21 years, four months and 13 days for the greatest moment of my entire life: To step on the grass at Safeco Field.
Believe you me, the wait was well worth it.
Indeed, quite a lot has happened between November 9, 1984 – the day I came crying into this world – and April 22, 2006 – the day I walked onto the Safeco grass with a press pass around my neck and a tear in my eye (OK, more like a shower of joyous water spewing from my eyes).
Thank God I had sunglasses on.
You see, over the past 21 years I have amassed a cornucopia of Mariners memories.
I have endured 1,742 wins, 1,683 losses, nine different managers, three division titles, a wild card play-off berth and two separate ballparks.
I’ve seen superstars raise the roof in the King Dome only to be traded or wanting to leave the Emerald City faster than a Randy Johnson fastball.
Speaking of which, I’ve seen RJ dominate the game in a fashion that only Nolan Ryan once boasted, not to mention his once tell-tale reddish mullet gleaming over his shoulders, while standing six inches over the rest of the players.
There was A-Rod, the player worth a quarter of a billion dollars (according to Texas), who took in a salary worth more than that of the whole Minnesota Twins.
The greatest shortstop, indeed!
We’ll never forget Joey Cora crying into a white towel after the crushing ALCS defeat to the Cleveland Indians; Jay “The Bone” Buhner’s luminous bald head, and the droves of fans who shaved their own for free tickets.
There was Dan “The Man” Wilson, Mike Blowers, Tino Martinez and as I like to call him, Butch “My mamma calls me” Husky. Now we have Richie Sexson, Raul Ibanez and the man Japan idolizes more than the god of Sumo, Ichiro.
Seattle also produced the greatest designated hitter of all-time… literally!
In Edgar Martinez’s last week as a Mariner, Commissioner Bud Selig announced the DH of the year award would forever be deemed the “Edgar Martinez Award.”
That’s an honor you cannot outdo, even if you built lampshades out of baseball bats on Ace Hardware commercials.
But then there was the grandest of them all, the most prolific center fielder of the 20th century, “The Kid,” the human highlight reel, the personification of the definition of baseball: Ken Griffey Jr.
Long story short (because I could write non-stop about him…), I named my dog Griffey.
The now-second greatest moment in my life was watching him score – from first base! – the winning run against the New York Yankees in the 1995 ALDS, after Edgar hit that left field double that scored Cora to tie it.
Even watching reruns, to this day, gives me a chill. Woo-eee, I love it!
Yes, stepping onto the field where the Seattle Mariners call home was one of the most immense memories I will ever recall.
The dugout, the on-deck circle and the media (which I never really felt apart of, even though my press pass denounced me as such) – it was as overwhelming as it was memorable.
And I realized that sports writers take it for granted.
They show no emotion, no fanfare, basically no love for the game in which they are covering. The only excitement I witnessed from the Asian photographers in the booth was when Ichiro leaned over to tie his shoes.
There were more camera clicks in those five seconds than I could possibly make by myself during the entire game!
I decided right then and there, that if you ever see the name “Jake Donahue” as a byline for any story in any newspaper, magazine or other media outlet, Seattle will be a word you won’t see.
Thus, it was in the last place I could ever expect – Safeco-freaking-Field! – that all the luster of a sports writer suddenly vaporized.
No longer will I yearn to be a beat writer for the Seattle Times, covering every single Mariner game, home and away, east coast and west. Those free hotdogs in the press box are nice, but they just aren’t worth more than a sheer obsession with Seattle sports.
Besides, the press box is alcohol-free.
So I think I’ll just stick with the Cardinals for now.
