Sports

I am lost without baseball.

Of course, the frivolous temptations of football season are a welcome distraction. Every Sunday, all I have to do is tune in to CBS, watch a couple games, spend five minutes checking out box scores on Yahoo, and I can consider myself a fairly committed fan.

Hailing from the Pacific Northwest, I get a kick out of watching the Seahawks lose to terrible teams, and Pete Carroll is always good for a “I wonder if he regrets leaving USC” joke.

And the occasional college football game always sparks a little excitement, I guess.

But, boy, do I miss watching the Mariners every night. It seems like today’s generation really despises baseball. “It’s too slow,” says the typical apathetic teenager. “There’s so much dead time.” I feel a little weird generalizing “our generation” because it seems like something some country club-obsessed retiree may mumble while sipping his Arnold Palmer. But I truly feel the attitude towards baseball’s lack of pace is present, and upsetting.

I grew up reading the box scores of my local sports section every morning, excitedly anticipating the game recaps and checking out starting pitchers’ records below the standings. Sundays were the highlight, because they would run the batting averages of every player in both leagues, as well as the league leaders in every category. I loved seeing how terrible Jose Vidro was compared to the rest of the league.

As I grew older, the practicality of the Internet replaced my childhood tendencies, and I became a fan of the sabermetric scene. I argued against the use of the bunt in any situation and the excessive use of RBI as a useful statistic.

Baseball’s value lies not necessarily in its immediate stimulation but rather in its rewarding conclusion. There are nuances and quirks to every game on any specific night; a top prospect may be making his major league debut, or Miguel Olivo might be continuing his streak of strikeouts in consecutive games.

In any case, I’ve come to love baseball because it can be appreciated in so many different ways. Like The Big Lebowski, baseball has a superficially enjoyable level and a deeper, analytical level. I can watch and root for an M’s win while simultaneously researching the FIP (Fielding Independent Pitching) of whoever the opposing starter may be that night.

And, to be honest, I kind of … forgot my love for baseball the past year. As unfortunate as it was, college admissions and spending time with my friends took precedence over watching the M’s lose every night. I forgot how much pleasure was elicited from simply watching three innings of a Freddy Garcia start before my mother forced me to go to bed.

I don’t know what it is, but I suddenly find myself wanting this feeling more and more. I guess I had to go to college to realize eight year old state of unconditionally loving the M’s.

However, I can’t just ignore all the knowledge I’ve accumulated over the years. As satisfying as my previous lack of understanding may have been, I now know that baseball isn’t just home runs and ERA; there is so much more that we have the capability of exploring.

Yet, despite all I know about how terribly the Mariners project this year, I still have hope that this April I will begin another year of convincing myself the M’s will have a shot at winning the West, and Adrian Beltre wasn’t a good fit for Safeco anyway.

A fresh start. A new perspective. An opportunity to establish a new identity.

Ultimately, isn’t that what we’re all chasing?

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