An Exercise in Hostility

From left to right: The Seattle Mariners, you

The Chicago White Sox and the Seattle Mariners played a baseball game last night. At least, that’s what the box score would tell you. What actually took place was something much weirder, and much more nefarious.

By the time Tuesday’s series opener in Chicago wrapped up, we already knew that Wednesday’s storyline would revolve around America’s actual pastime: watching weather systems move through the Midwest as they threaten to disrupt scheduled baseball games. Well we got what we wanted as the rain moved in; we all hooted and hollered as the tarp came out and first pitch was delayed. The rain cleared up a bit and the game wasn’t delayed for long, but word on the street was “we need to try to cram this sucker in cause then downpour’s a-comin.”

So the Mariners and White Sox began to play a mostly normal baseball game with mostly normal baseball plays. The field was not in great shape by any means — when Robbie Ray took the bump in the bottom of the 1st with a lead and proceeded to have just about every pitch get rocked (though results still went in his favor), footing may have already been an issue.

The second inning started, and so did the rain again. Light, at first. “We didn’t expect it to be back so soon,” we heard. Hopefully we can still get this one in! The word “hopefully” implies there’s a chance it may not happen. The Chicago White Sox, MLB, Mephisto, whoever, said there’s no “hopefully” about it. We are finishing this game.

By the time the Mariners defense took the field in the bottom of the second, puddles were already forming on the infield and the mound was starting to look more like a molmnlnd. The rain kept coming down harder, and Ray promptly surrendered a ding-dong to Eloy Jimenez. This is the moment at which creepy Doctor Strange appeared to declare that “things just got out of hand.” And boy, did they.

What followed next was a clown show of slip-sliding, ball-ricocheting, ginger-running, no-fielding, mechanic-wrecking, sloppy steak nonsense complete with cartoon sound effects. Approximately two slide whistles, three honk honks, and one AWOOOGA later, the Sox had a 4-1 lead. The prevailing question from everyone watching this farce was “Why?” “Why are they playing this game?”

What took place on Wednesday night was a nightmare for player safety, and a severely diminished product. Why would the league want to take the risk, and put that on display? Because they can, and they don’t care. Sorry to have to break this to you here and now Sailor, but all they care about is getting your money.

Thanks to the league’s greed and desire to crush the player’s union’s solidarity, the season didn’t start on time anyway. They’re cramming in a full 162 in one-less week, which means they’re in a tight spot as far as rescheduling games goes. There just isn’t much extra space to work with. Problem is, having teams in the Midwest (with no roofs) means you WILL be rescheduling games. Well, it would appear that the league’s response to that particular dilemma is to wave their hand and say “no thank you, we don’t believe in any of that.” To postpone games means to try to squeeze them in at a later date, perhaps a double header somewhere down the road. That means likely a day game. That means likely a lot of the people you sold tickets to won’t be able to attend the make-up game. That means you have to issue REFUNDS. Are you terrified yet? The owners are. “Giving money back to our worthless customer base, are you nuts?!”

So instead they just decided to make the players power through. But that wasn’t enough. Oh, no. If there’s one more thing this poop potluck needed, it’s a little home cookin!

Ah. Very cool! At this point, I was sure the Sox were planning on grabbing a lead, finishing 5 innings, and saying “hey I think we’re good!” But instead they just…played the whole game. In a rain that never really stopped. So at the end of the day, this one looks normal on the stat sheet. A final, forever dagger into the heart of the April 13th, 2022 Seattle Mariners ball club.

I am forced then to conclude that this was not accidental, or done in ignorance. No, Sailor, the purpose of this little experiment was simply to be mean. To Robbie Ray, to the Mariners, to the players’ ligaments, to the fans, to the quality of the product. An exercise in hostility.

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