Category Archives: Featured Articles

Six Radical Ways Baseball Can Be Improved Right Now

Baseball has spent much of the past decade looking for ways to speed up games, increase attendance, and attract a younger viewership. They’ve implemented changes like limiting mound visits, installing pitch clocks, and utilizing instant replay. But with each little change, few of the desired outcomes have been achieved. Games haven’t sped up all that much, attendance is about the same, and younger viewers are still gravitating towards other sports, like basketball and soccer.

So what’s baseball to do? They need help, and they need it fast. That’s why we’re here with some new ideas that will rock the boat and disrupt an entire industry. Some of these ideas are really stupid and mostly just serve as vehicles for throwaway jokes that the world would otherwise never read. But within the inanity there may be a gem or two. And before you ask, yes, alcohol was involved when this was written.

1. An expanded strike zone for pitchers who throw under 90 MPH

It seems like every big league pitcher throws his fastball 95-plus these days. Sure, velocity is fun to watch, but is it really fair to those guys who rely on finesse and savvy to get by? No, it is not.

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The Perfect Protest

It’s the perfect protest, really.

Silent, peaceful, powerful, and set against the backdrop of something Americans care about. This isn’t just a march through the streets on a lazy weekend afternoon. It’s an act of rebellion against the flag and the anthem, two symbols of this nation that still mean something to all of us.

The forum is ideal. A football field, the epicenter of Americana, the one sport that seems to rally citizens to come together, sit on their couches, drink beer, wear replica jerseys, and watch. Were it a basketball court, the outrage would be minimal – just ask former NBA guard Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, who staged his own sit-down protest in the mid-1990s, and has all but been forgotten since. Even in Major League Baseball, where Toronto Blue Jays first baseman Carlos Delgado took a seat in the early-2000s, such an act was similarly overlooked. But football? Don’t mess with football.

If this wasn’t a big deal, columnists across the country wouldn’t be churning out opinions firmly entrenched on either side of this issue. Talking heads wouldn’t be devoting segment after segment to discussion of the topic. And those people you only kind of know on social media? They wouldn’t be lashing out at one another over differing viewpoints on the matter.

In today’s society, how else are you supposed to get everyone’s attention? We’ve created an atmosphere that rewards the loudest and most selfish of our species. We’ve designed online platforms that highlight how important we are and how much more cool stuff we can do than our so-called friends. Our cameras have been redesigned to take pictures of our own selves instead of the world through our eyes, and as a result the most ubiquitous type of photo we now produce literally oozes with egocentrism: the selfie.

Face it, in order to seize the public consciousness, we have to be a precise combination of brash, unique, and outlandish. And somehow, in sitting quietly while a song plays and colors are unfurled, a group of football players have managed to achieve the right mix.

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Paper’s Petty Personal Vendetta Impeding SoDo Arena

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For years, The Seattle Times and its editorial board have held a personal vendetta against Chris Hansen and his proposed Seattle arena.

Through the use of one-sided attacks on a plot of land owned by Hansen in an area ripe for infrastructural rejuvenation, to the scribing of non-sequitur op-eds on supposed “alternatives” to the SoDo project meant to distract and deceive, the Times has employed nearly every unethical tactic imaginable in an attempt to block the construction of a venue intended for multipurpose civic use.

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The Changing Narrative of A Loathed, Loved, and Enabled Steve Sarkisian

sarkA disease. A medical condition. A weakness. A flaw. An addiction.

Alcoholism is labeled in a number of different ways, which might be why it’s so hard for us to determine how we feel about it. It makes us sad, confused, angry, frustrated, hurt. Sometimes, amidst the laughter and jubilation of the atmosphere in which it is cultivated, we don’t even know we’re staring an alcohol problem straight in the eye. So as it cooks and bubbles and rises to the surface like hot magma inside a rumbling volcano, we pretend it’s not even there, that it’s not a thing.

We joke about it, we chuckle at every one of our friends we deem a borderline alcoholic, and we keep the party going until that climactic moment when we simply cannot rage any longer. And then, suddenly, it’s not fun anymore.

This is where we find Steve Sarkisian.

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A Letter to a Friend

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Hi Baba,

I can hardly believe it, but a year has already passed since you left us. I’m fairly convinced that, as we grow up, time does in fact move faster than it used to. I must be getting old.

There’s a fair amount of stuff that has happened since you’ve been gone. I figured you might want to hear about some of it, just in case you’ve been partying and getting crunk (that means “having tons of fun”) up there. I imagine every day is filled with scratch-offs that only reveal winners and puzzles with no missing pieces and I don’t blame you for indulging in the finer things.

Anyway, let me give you the bad news first.

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Sweet Potato Fridays

10366149_10103019981005758_1375243646822493341_nEvery Friday, we ate lunch together. My grandma was a fickle eater, but there were always certain things she’d pick at no matter what. Crispy breaded pieces of chicken, potstickers, milkshakes, sweet potato fries. She loved sweet potato fries more than almost everything else, a food she’d only discovered about a year ago. It was the one item she would specifically request. Everything else could come and go, but she always made time for sweet potato fries. These weren’t the healthiest foods in the world, of course, but they were necessary. At 90 years of age, my grandma needed to keep her weight up and any one of these menu selections would do the trick.

We talked about a number of things, her and I, but she liked to discuss the Seattle Mariners most of all. No one (outside of, perhaps, my other grandmother) was as loyal to the Mariners as my grandma, who watched every game on a giant flat-screen TV my parents purchased for her a few Christmases ago. Her day revolved around first pitch, while her bedtime often coincided with the game’s final out. If you asked her when the television broadcast was set to begin, she’d give you a time exactly thirty minutes before its actual commencement, a habit borne out of diligently watching the pregame show.

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