ONRs 10
Astros 7
contributed by NeilT
This is the first Friday night this season that the Astros have played Our Natural Rivals, the Mariners, so it’s the first recap I’ve done of a Mariners game. I hate the Mariners, I hate Seattle, and all with good reason. Our long and storied history has produced one of baseball’s great rivalries. Red Sox/Yankees? A blip on the time-line. Cardinals/Cubs? Tain’t nuthin. The Cubs have never been anyone’s rival but their own. Giants/Dodgers? Californians. Once they left New York there was too much good beach for real animus.
Arizona/Denver? Nonsense. No. When true fans think baseball rivalry, they first think Astros/Mariners.
I’ll go back and look at the storied history of the teams another time, but right now I want to talk about one of the most despicable tribes on earth: Mariners fans. Mariners fans, the GOBs. I hate them.
I’ll give them this, GOBs are loyal. You go tonight to MMPUS and it’s full of teal NorthFace jackets. If I never see another blue and green lumberjack shirt it will be too soon. Seeing a girl’s compass neck tat gives me the creeps, even without the compass needle chin piercing, but that’s real loyalty. So here’s a random list of five annoying and horrible things you can expect from GOBs at any Mariners game. There are dozens of others, and I’m sure you can come up with many you hate more.
The coffee grind. Put your hands on your hips. Spread your feet to shoulder width. Move your hips as lewdly as possible while throwing your head back and growling GRRRR—GRRRR—GRRRR. Alkie chop? In comparison it’s mildly annoying. What’s worse is the music that comes pouring through the speakers. It’s what they do when the Mariners score a run. Tonight I heard that grinding way too often.
The Nirvana Inning Stretch. Most fans are content with singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and maybe a stupid chorus or two of “Sweet Caroline,” or if they’re very lucky, “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” Not the GOBs. They screw up their faces real tight, and, as whiny as they can, they growl choruses from Nirvana songs.
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Or even more lame
Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello!
Some middle-aged guy on the next row over always plays air guitar and jerks around so his hair covers his face, if he’s still got hair. Inevitably the girl in the couple next to you, the one with the bleach and teal spiked hair, ends up crying, and when you ask if it’s about Kurt Cobain she says no, it’s because Courtney never reached her potential. These people are so stupid it’s contagious.
The Space Needle. Without any good reason stand straight, ankles and toes together. Interlace your fingers and stretch your arms as high above your head as you can. Lock your elbows. Release your index fingers so they point towards the rain clouds. Yell “space needle”. Yell it again. Repeat. Repeat some more until others join you. I’m not sure why they do this. It has nothing to do with the game, and as far as I can tell it happens at random intervals. I suspect it’s because they’re too stoned for something complicated like the wave.
The Yoga Moment. In Cleveland, the seventh inning yoga stretch makes sense: They’re the Subcontinentals, and yoga was invented in Cleveland. For Vishnu’s sake they have Gandhi on their baseball caps. Seattle it’s something else entirely: they’re poseurs. This season, between the fourth and fifth inning, they run a video of Felix Hernandez demonstrating yoga poses. It’s guaranteed that if you’re sitting near a GOB, he or she will turn to you and tell you how great your life would be if you just did yoga, how it would help your inner and physical strength, and how through yoga you too can achieve harmony, peace, and balance. They believe it too. Did you know that there are more yoga studios in King County than grocery stores? Horrifying. Just breathe in, breathe out.
The Fish Toss. They don’t toss out tee shirts at Mariners games, they toss fish. Sometimes sardines fresh from the can, sometimes a salmon, sometimes octopus, and fans try to catch them. Then they toss them around the stadium. It’s disgusting.
***
I hate the Mariners. When I break wind I turn to face Cancun. But even more I hate their fans, the GOBs, the grungiest oddities in baseball. I blame their parents, and I fail to wish their progeny luck at graduation.
***
Mr. Happy said that Bud Norris looked fairly sharp in the first inning, which I think amounts to high praise. From watching on MLB GameDay, he sure looked sharp, lots of crisp little red and green balls with arcing tails trailing out behind. But in the 4th he fell apart. On MLB GameDay though, he still looked the same, just as sharp as ever, except there were more blue balls. I think Bud started dwelling on getting traded. Who would want to leave Houston?
The story of the night though was Brandon Barnes, who hit for the cycle, the 8th Astros Cycle. Who was the last Astro to hit for the cycle, you ask? Rat Tail, 2006.
16 hits and they lost. That’s what happens when you play the Mariners.