Pasteurized American slices

It’s cheesy, really. A whole book of cheese. We love cheese. With baseball in particular, our weepy overwrought technicolor memories of perfection are just… well yeah. Cheese.

It’s Mudville Diaries, A Book of Baseball Memories, Collected by Mike Schacht. 

But I gave him the book anyway. And now I’ve had it longer than he did. It was Father’s Day 1996 when he got it from me. With love. Says so right there in my red scribble on the title page. 

Tonight’s serving with cheddar please.


It was the June after I took him hobbling up the Kingdome steps to the last MLB game he’d ever see in person, the ALCS opener against Cleveland, when Bobby Wolcott, in the only postseason action of his short career, walked the bases full with nobody out in the first inning. Right about then Dad might have said “well shit, let’s go home” before Bobby found himself and worked the next seven frames for the W. 

And it was still a few years from those same Indians sending us a special gift in the form of Jose Mesa, whose two seasons in Seattle were defined by an ERA over 5.00 and by my father’s habit of screaming at the TV that goddammit if they were going to pay any random SOB three million plus to just serve that shit up, why the hell didn’t they let him, Kirby Walker, do it for half that much at 82 years old? 

Those are just the kind of cheesy stories that fill the pages of Mudville Diaries. Minus my dad’s endearing profanity of course. People’s best and worst memories of baseball. Verbal imagery. Classmates, teachers, teammates, opponents, brothers, sisters, moms, ballparks, balls, gloves, heroes and goats. But the recurring theme, bang, there it is again, is Dad. And again. And again.

And my dad left the bookmark right at the page where I put it, all those years ago. “Dad, read this” it still says, in that same red scribble. It’s the page that stood out from the cheese. The page that held, for me as I read it in that bookstore, what’s real about men and kids and a game that, like Santa Claus, stays magical for only those lucky few who hold on and believe it to be so. My dad was one of those guys.

Still there after 26 years.


And under that bookmark, still there where I left it on Father’s Day 1996, with love, are these words from Gene Carney:

He was bigger and stronger then
And you knew he could knock you over
If he really wanted to cut loose
He lobbed at first
And as he threw harder
You knew he was testing you
Seeing what you were made of today
Noticing how you handled the stings 
Watching how you backpedaled 
When he tossed infield flies
He made you run
Firing one wild high or
Bouncing it past your dive
Maybe so he could rest up some
Maybe so you could rest up some
So the game could go on
Till dinner time or till dark
Or till one of you
Grew up

Did we really have that game of catch every day? A couple times a week? Once every season? Once, ever? Did we really, ever?  …does it matter?

He was 90 when we lost him. It still hurts after fourteen years, a fresh, jagged blade in the ribs whenever I have big news to tell him, advice I need from him, a ballgame I’d like to share with him.

Or when I just need a game of catch. Cheese and all.

Ex-Mariner of the Year: Ross Eversoles Bracket

The page is brown. It’s fifty years old, of course, half a century since I slid a buck and a quarter of lawn mowing money across the counter in Jess Ruttles’ Port Gamble General Store, when Mom turned her back to grab a couple cans of chili. Half a century since a book changed me forever.

No filter. The page has faded but the final words of Ball Four are as true as ever. Copyright – the late Jim Bouton.

It’s brown with age, and it’s brown from flipping to the end countless times in those fifty years.

“…would I do that? When it’s over for me, would I be hanging on with the Ross Eversoles?”

Do you think, when Jim Bouton wrote those words, paused, held his pen over the paper, deciding what to write next… Do you think he knew they’d lead into the greatest closing line of any book ever?

Continue reading “Ex-Mariner of the Year: Ross Eversoles Bracket”

Your 2019 Ex-Mariner of the Year is…

Pitchers and catchers report to Mariners camp in just eight days. Winter wasn’t so long was it? Over here at Playin’ in the Dirt we spent the offseason deliberating how the hell to come up with a winner. A man fully representative of the perils, glories, and heartbreaks of ex-Marinerdom. A man fit to join our grand pantheon, a man worthy of the title Ex-Mariner of the Year.

A look at our past awardees:
2016: Mike Montgomery
2017: Munenori Kawasaki
2018: Mike Marjama

“When it’s over for me, would I be hanging on with the Ross Eversoles?”
– RIP Jim Bouton

We’ve lost track of how many beloved ex-hometown favorites are out there, still dancing on basepaths somewhere north of the Ross Eversoles. But just a few stood out, for us, in 2019. Continue reading “Your 2019 Ex-Mariner of the Year is…”

Still 30 years old, still dreaming

Everybody likes to quote the story’s closing line. It’s a classic, no doubt. But the opener sticks with you. And those first few words stay fresh, forever young, while the part about the baseball gripping you back, well, it gets overdone and worn and cheesy.

Here’s to Jim Bouton, pullin’ up a chair and poundin’ some ol’ Budweiser with Schultz, Mincher, and Oyler.

“I’m thirty years old and I have these dreams,” Jim Bouton began in 1969. Jim Bouton died this week. The papers said he was 80. But he’s still right there in our memories, in the green shining grass of that one unforgettable season of Pilots  baseball, and he’ll never be anything but thirty. Still dreaming. still grousing about Schultz and Milkes, still searching for a place to fit. And we, the lucky fans who saw him pitch, who snuck a peek at his book on the grocery store shelf a year later, who saved our dimes and bought a copy when mom wasn’t looking, well, we still have dreams too. Continue reading “Still 30 years old, still dreaming”

Springtime Mariners nametags

Yeah, come on, it’s spring. All things are possible. This is the year, man, it’s gonna happen…

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”

Ex-Mariner of the Year

Pitchers and Catchers report today!

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”

A Monkey Never Cramps

There’s nothing but joy in this man’s game.

Munenori Kawasaki is remembered by Mariner fans as the bouncy Tigger® of their 2012 infield, a grin super-glued to his face saying how lucky he felt standing there, spikes caked at last with Major League dirt.

Who cares if he hit .192 in only 104 at-bats, appearing in less than half the Mariners’ games? That smile stayed on his face on the bench, lighting up the dugout. TV cameras loved the guy, check him out, what a great influence on his teammates, slapping backs, cheering on every pitch, just happy to be there. Continue reading “A Monkey Never Cramps”