Tag Archives: Fans

Usher Silences Fans As Mariners Silence Brewers

usher

It’s rare for the Seattle Mariners to find themselves in a playoff race, but here we are nearing the end of August and the M’s are in the thick of the postseason hunt.

What should be cause for celebration is apparently being muted by Safeco Field’s ushers, many of whom have worked hard over the years to stifle fun in the ballpark.

One such usher went rogue on Saturday night, in the midst of the Mariners’ 8-2 win over Milwaukee.

With two outs in the top of the eighth inning, the tying run at the plate, a full count on batter Chris Carter, and Felix Hernandez on the mound, one would reasonably expect fans to come to their feet and cheer on their ace. Not in this usher’s section, though:

Okay, get past the fact that the fan in question looks like he got lost on his way to The ‘Pen, and focus on his behavior. He’s doing nothing wrong. He’s standing and cheering for his team in a close contest. Why any usher would choose to reprimand the actions of a fan doing exactly what he’s supposed to is a bit confusing.

If anything, the seemingly indifferent crowd around this side show could use a bit of a pick-me-up.

It’s a pennant chase, people. Enjoy it.

You’re Wrong About Mariners Fans

couchguyAn hour after you told yourself you’d go to the gym, you slouch chin-to-chest in the recesses of a couch that, pray to Jesus, never sees the glow of a blacklight.

Fully ensconced in the bowels of an impending loss, you watch in the silence of your own bitter misery as the Mariners bullpen pisses away a lead like a terrible parent draining their child’s community college fund at the nearest tribal casino.

This is shit, you think. Why am I sitting here? When did I take off my pants? Do I have any beer left, or is this the last one? I should eat dinner soon. No, I still need to go to the gym. I’ll wait until after we hit. The bottom of the order’s coming up? Fuck, I might as well leave right now. No—the bottom of the order has been killing it lately, and there’s no more Zunino. Okay, I’ll stay. The gym is open 24 hours anyway.

“God damn it, what the fuck?!”

The silence is broken by your own tenor, you realize, as a barrage of incoherent frustration escapes you in a moment of mental fragility.

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