I don’t really have much to say. I just wanted to make sure I got to use “Fister” and “Furbush” in a headline once in my life.
I’ll be honest. I’m sad to see the Doug Fister era end. Doug, we hardly knew ye. I made the photo you see to your left a little over a year ago. Barely got to use it. Never got around to t-shirts or anything. Now it’s Detroit’s to have fun with.
So much for my Double Fister Night at Safeco Field. Mariners never could find a way to make that one happen. Two-for-one beers would have been great.
I saw two girls at the Mariners game last night, in fact, each wearing Fister jerseys. I can only imagine how they feel right now. Probably in quite a bit of pain.
You are my fire. Everything I do is for you. But sometimes I feel like I’m swimming in an ocean all alone.
I just want you to know that I’ve been fighting to let you go. There’s something missing in my heart. Is this the feeling I need to walk with? Keeping it inside, it’s killing me. Sadness is beautiful, they say. But I don’t wanna waste another day.
There’s nowhere to run. I have no place to go. Some days I make it through, but then there’s nights that never end. I never thought I would lose my mind. I tried to go on like I never knew you. I’ve tried to hide it so that no one knows. But I guess it shows.
*Editor’s note: Welcome to our first installment of Writer X, a column written by anonymous contributors for your reading pleasure. Periodically, we will be presenting you work from accomplished scribes behind the guise of the mysterious Writer X. The idea here is that we give our talented journalists the freedom to say what they want about who they want without fear of retribution. Were they to pen these thoughts under their own names, they could face serious repercussions. Writer X, however, is perfectly immune to it all. Enjoy the candor.
Obviously, the Mariners blow homeless guys again this year.
Yeah, sure, they made the first half interesting. But they did it with ungodly pitching that was wholly unsustainable. This has been a familiar refrain over the last few seasons.
This is not as easy as it sounds. Figgins is a crafty beast, squirrely in nature and with a strong desire to live. He is not unlike a dragon or a minotaur in this way.
There is an urban legend that states the only way to kill Figgins is to stab him in the heart with a garlic-encrusted stake. Or pierce his scrotum with a silver bullet. I don’t really remember. All I know is this: Chone Figgins WILL NOT DIE!
Authorities have arrested a man they say tried to kill a well-known local icon.
John Boggins, 54, was taken into custody late Wednesday evening after police allege he attempted to have the Seattle Mariners’ Yellow Hydro murdered.
Boggins is a member of a notorious gang of fun-stealers who call themselves “Sabermetricians.” He specializes in the manipulation of numbers to radically impose his will upon others, not unlike a Jedi from the Star Wars films.
The county sheriff’s department initially learned of Boggins’ plot through an ad on CraigsList seeking, “a talented demolition man that knows how to keep a secret and hates fun.” Police then responded to Boggins’ ad in order to mount the evidence they needed to arrest the Everett native.
Let that sink in for a minute while I bandage the cuts on my wrists that are still healing from all the blowups League had last year.
Can you believe this? We’re living in a bizarro universe right now. I feel like Marty McFly in Back To The Future II, just now coming to the realization that Biff Tannen is both my step-dad and the richest man in Hill Valley. I gotta get my hands on Gray’s Sports Almanac so we can get the hell out of here.
Sensing a golden opportunity with Chone Figgins having surpassed him as the worst third baseman in Seattle Mariners history, Jeff Cirillo knew it was his time. Time, he declared, for a youth baseball camp.
There’s something very wrong about a crappy baseball player sauntering up to home plate to the tune of a great song.
Take Chone Figgins, for instance. Here’s a guy hitting .191 being introduced for each at-bat to the sounds of the infamous Andre Romelle Young, better known to the masses as Dr. Dre. Doctor Freakin’ Dre!! One of the most renowned musical artists of our generation! Straight aural sex! And Figgins, of all people, is out there ruining his sh*t.
It doesn’t seem right. A .191 effort at the dish deserves the type of lyrical misery that fails eighty-one percent of the time. What kind of music can justifiably be viewed as an eighty-one percent failure? Rebecca Black? The Jonas Brothers? Kajagoogoo? There are so many options, of which Dr. Dre should not be one.
According to Jim Bouton’s epic masterpiece Ball Four, the great Ted Williams used to motivate himself in the batting cage by shouting, “I’m Ted Motherf**king Williams!” with each prodigious hack.
If that story holds true, then I have a suggestion for the newly-recalled Mike Carp: walk into the Mariners’ clubhouse, shove Chone Figgins to the ground, grab a handful of meat and cheese from the pregame spread and eat it, shove Figgins back down to the ground because he just got up, then announce to your teammates, “Remember me? I’m Mike Motherf**king Carp.”
Mike Carp is a freakin’ superhero. The man has put up numbers that boggle the mind at Triple-A Tacoma this year, all while his big league brethren have flailed around at the dish.
Just look at a brief sampling of Carp’s offensive statistics:
First off, Danny Hultzen is the greatest player by the name of Danny Hultzen to ever play the game of baseball. That is a fact. You can’t take that from him.
Second, Danny Hultzen has appeared in as many big league games as all the rest of the players selected in the first round of the 2011 Major League Baseball amateur draft. He’s undefeated in every single one of those contests. Incredible.
Third, Danny Hultzen may or may not be a potential first ballot of Hall of Famer. We’re talking Hall of Fame on the very first try with this guy. That’s how great he may or may not be. Consider that.
Think back to when you were in high school for a minute and try to remember that one girl who sat behind you in third period English for an entire semester. You know the girl I’m talking about. The one who never said a word for four years, but ended up becoming an absolute knockout by the time you stumbled out of college.
You spent all those weeks sitting in front of her, never realizing she would turn into the girl of your freakin’ dreams. And when it was all said and done, you sat back and watched her run off with some musclebound, Ed Hardy-wearing douchebag, living vicariously through what shoulda-coulda-woulda been via one of those awkward “I knew you way back when” Facebook friendships.
What the hell happened, you thought to yourself. How did I so badly misjudge what that shy bookworm would become? Where did I go so drastically wrong?
Jettisoned from the starting lineup and relegated to a seat in the dugout, Donkey Watch has taken a turn for the worse for all involved. Donkey is quickly moving toward irrelevance, while the Watch is akin to a grass-growing vigil.
Manager Eric Wedge, having acknowledged that he is aware of what fans think of Donkey, did his best to protect the one-time third baseman by locking him up in the stable for a few days.
“He’s been real good on the bench,” quipped Wedge, in an apparent attempt at humor or something.
The move is only temporary, as Donkey will be returning to the lineup sometime in the near future, toting all the luggage in those saddlebags along with him — a .190 batting average, a lackluster defensive effort, and the ability to turn a rowdy crowd of spectators into a sullen group of hecklers with each trip to the plate.
For it’s ONE, TWO, THREE strikes you’re…booing his goofy little ass back to the bench.
In order to keep things fresh and lively around these parts, I’d like to introduce a new segment entitled Donkey Watch.
Donkey Watch is a daily, in-depth look at Seattle Mariners third baseman Chone Figgins, also known as Donkey from Shrek.
Because we’re on a mission to get Figgins to Japan (much like the jettisoning of Kenji Johjima a few years ago, which essentially saved the team from having to cut their losses, rid themselves of a dispensable player, and pay out a hefty severance), we figured we’d do our neighbors to the east a favor and give them an insider’s perspective on their future superstar.
I’ll be honest, I don’t really have a plan for Donkey Watch. It’s bound to be ludicrous, and we’ll just see where the wind takes us. If you have any tips on Donkey’s doings for the day, feel free to email them my way, or hit me up on on Facebook or Twitter.
On May 16, 2011, the Seattle Mariners officially released Milton Bradley from his contract, essentially firing the ill-tempered Opening Day left fielder in the process.
Entering that day, the team had a record of 16-23 and were losers of six straight contests. Just hours after Bradley’s termination was announced, however, the ballclub bested the Minnesota Twins by a score of 5-2, snapping their skid and improving to six games under .500. Exactly one week and seven games later, the M’s are winners of seven of their last eight and a mere one game below equilibrium at 23-24.
Now, it may not be all Bradley’s fault that the team got off to a sluggish start, but let’s be honest with ourselves here: there has to be some correlation between the club’s recent hot streak and Milton’s aptly-timed exodus.
Stick a CBS Sports logo up your ass, chickenfucker. RT @SportsNation OKC should wear Sonics throwbacks! 10 hours ago
So @danceral and I were the only 2 people in the theater who realized Chrissy from "Growing Pains" is in "The Avengers." We freaked out. 11 hours ago
You can't win a title in OKC. Ugly women. Players don't want to impress the heifers. It's science. #Sonicsgate15 hours ago
If the #Thunder want to win this series, they need to play it in Seattle. The women are hotter here, hence the players will try harder. Duh. 15 hours ago
I don’t really have much to say. I just wanted to make sure I got to use “Fister” and “Furbush” in a headline once in my life.
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