William Walker, Author
Twenty guys?
Exactly half the forty-man Spring Training roster has never dirtied their cleats in a Mariner big-league uniform. Here’s a list of every guy looking to make his future with your Seattle Mariners this year. Even some of our twenty returnees will have you (and their teammates) scratching your head going, “wait, who?” Continue reading “Springtime Mariners nametags”
“Jerry DiPoto is a nut job…” …but he means that in the most nicest way…
Dude in the video likes Vogelbach. Playin’ in the Dirt is not sold. But there’s some solid analysis here.
Fifty-four men took the field in a Mariner uniform in 2016. Just twenty of them, exactly half of the current forty-man roster, are in camp in Spring 2017 as part of the big-league squad. Continue reading “Change is done, change is comin’…”
In celebration, and you know we celebrate this day every year, Playin’ in the Dirt tips a cap to one amazing man. A man who you just have to believe is most glad for a mind-boggling trade.
Second-year pitcher Mike Montgomery had appeared in 32 games for the Ms in 2016, posting a 2.34 ERA and looking strong. On July 20, he went to the Cubs. Three months later, he was in the playoffs. Continue reading “Ex-Mariner of the Year”
Just decided to dink around a little bit here. My man Chuck Wendig, a supreme writer and blogger and e-mentor, does a Flash Fiction Challenge every Friday. I rarely take part. This week was intriguing, though. Pick a three-word title from a list of his readers’ suggestions. My suggestion didn’t make his list, which didn’t piss me off. I chose the closest one to it. And I included my title in the text. Your challenge is to find it. Good luck.
There is such blindness that goes along with sexual abuse, and that’s one of a million enabling factors. So this thousand-word essay attacks just one of those blind spots. Trust me, it’s fiction. But it addresses a theme that’s rife in both Diamonds and Dirt and the upcoming sequel Tenth Inning.
For those books, I still need a publisher. But for now, here’s that essay…
Son of a bitch. Another mob. These people are relentless. They need pitchforks, torches, buckets of tar. I’ll be your metaphorical Frankenstein again today, day after day. Someday you’ll go away.
Hey, I’m getting paid for this. For once I know who the good guys are, and it’s not that crew of pathetic vindictive punks. Continue reading “Not today, Satan”
The eyes got me.
They weren’t the first thing we saw. The first thing was a grocery cart, packed with stuff. And a figure hunched alone on a stool, wrapped in layers. And the cardboard sign that turns so many people away.
“Would you give me $5 or a blanket?” is all it said. But the images swirled, angry faces, righteous people. How often has every one of us claimed there shouldn’t be any begging, there’s plenty of help available, dammit there’s free food everywhere you look and what sucker would give these beggars any money when they just buy booze or go off to the casino.
But we needed to talk, a couple old well-fed dudes volunteering for the government, doing the annual Point-in-time Count with a clipboard and a backpack full of fresh socks and granola bars. Continue reading “Leann’s Brown Eyes”