One Thing to Watch This Spring
The Mariners had their first of about 30 Spring Training games yesterday. Since the team's lineup is mostly set, it will probably be a boring spring, as there will be few position battles to generate excitement. This is a good thing. When you hear your manager say something like "We're hoping someone steps up and wins a job in the starting rotation," you can translate that as, "Our pitching stinks," and immediately divest of your season tickets.
There is, however, one possible source of thrill this spring: 18-year-old pitching phenom Felix Hernandez. Hernandez has a 98 mph fastball, a sharp breaking ball and a terrific changeup. He can throw all three pitches for strikes. There is no argument about his ability--he is clearly the most talented pitcher the Mariners have. Yet, at 18, can he handle the glare of major league baseball? Everyone, from management down to the players, hopes that Hernandez has a breakout spring--a la 19-year-old Ken Griffey Jr. in 1989--and makes the team outright. All eyes will be on Hernandez when he throws.
Looking ahead to the regular season, single-game tickets go on sale Saturday at 10am, at Safeco, Mariners team stores, via phone and internet.
Though the games will be boring, the reappearance of box scores and ballplayers is a welcome sight. The poet Ogden Nash wrote a terrific paean to the dawn of spring training (and snark on basketball). If you are interested, read on…
All winter long, yes, every day,
I throw the sporting page away,
I turn my faithful radio off
And grimly settle down to scoff,
Since contests that as sport I list,
In wintertime do not exist.
If Mr. Gallup me is polling
He will not tally a vote for bowling;
Despite our brief Olympic radiance,
Hockey belongs to the Canadians;
But chiefly am I unbeguiled
By Dr. Naismith's monster child,
Basketball is not a sport,
Not even as a last resort --
A game indulged in by giraffes
And only good for scornful laughs,
All whistle-blowings and palaverages
And scores that read like Dow Jones averages.
Only Harlem's unique Globetrotters,
As comic as seals and slick as otters,
Find its pretensions are grotesque
And treat it purely as burlesque.
But hark! A hint from softer climes
Of past and future golden times!
In Phoenix and St. Petersburg
The rookie generates the erg,
And Vero Beach and Sarasota
Of embryo Ruths can boast their quota.
The airwaves now begin to tingle
As grapefruit knights in tourney mingle;
Again the happiness pills I know
Of sporting page and radio.
Home is the exile, home is the rover,
The storm of basketballs is over;
I sail serenely into harbor
With Phil Rizzuto and Red Barber.
