I Want My Fucking Money Back, Mariners

$68.  That’s what it cost for my ticket.  I decided to get seats in the club section, because really, who wants to mingle with the riff-raff anyway?  $68, and that’s not counting money I spent on food, water, and a new hat.  Nor does it count the beer I had before the game at Sluggers, or the scorecard I got when I walked into the stadium.

$68.

For that $68, I got to sit (albeit, in a pretty comfortable seat) in the middle of the first row in section 213.  I didn’t move from that seat all game, except to stand for the National Anthem and again for the 7th Inning Stretch.  And maybe a few more times when there were long drives towards the right field corner.

For that $68, I got to bundle up with my hoodie.  I got to shiver and freeze for the better part of 8 innings.  I got to rub my feeling-less hands on my pants to get some blood flowing in between outs I recorded in my scorecard.  I got to wipe snot from my reddened nose and watch idiots below me try to start the wave.

For $68, I got to see the Mariners for their Home Opener.  I got to see the Mariners record three measly, punk-ass singles.  I got to see the Mariners get as far as third base only once, and that’s because Chone Figgins hit into a 1-6-3 double play to move the runner from second.  I got to see the Mariners go the final five innings hitless.  Limp, lifeless, impotent bats dripping with the pre-cum of three years’ worth of offensive celibacy.

For $68, I got to see Felix Hernandez come out on fire.  Then, I got to see him suck balls.  Then, I got to see him finish strong.  I got to see Lucas Luetge throw two pitches and give up an unearned run.  I got to see the triumphant return of Charlie Furbush, only to see him give up a home run to the most loathsome of Athletics in Jemile Weeks.  I got to see another Quality Start from Felix squandered.

For $68, I got to see yet another Miguel Olivo passed ball.  I got to see that passed ball lead directly to a run scored by the other team, because our catcher is the worst in all of baseball at everything that he does.  I got to see him fly out to right, pop foul to the catcher, and somehow get a walk to lead off the 8th inning.

For $68, I got to see Michael Saunders watch three Called-Third-Strikes go past the plate without so much as a flinch of his bat.  I got to see Chone Figgins strike out twice and then ground into the aforementioned 1-6-3 double play when we had our only real scoring threat of the night.  And I got to see Kyle Seager go 0 for 4 with what was apparently a questionable catch by Cespedes in the 7th inning.

For $68, I got to watch a 4-0 defeat at the hands of Bartolo Colon and the Oakland Fucking Athletics.  Did I get my money’s worth?  You tell me.  Was it worth $68 for the pre-game ceremony, the Hydro Races, and the fucking Dancing Groundskeepers?  Was it worth $68 to watch the home team roll over and die (except that’s not even accurate, because that would involve rolling over, and that simple action alone would require more effort than I saw out there tonight)?

$68.

$68 for memories that will surely last me a lifetime.  I’ll always look back at Friday, April 13th, 2012 as the day I decided:  no more Home Openers for me.  I think next year I’ll save my $68.  Spend it on something more useful.  Like a rope, so I can hang myself in lieu of watching a bunch of fucking losers waste my time.

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