Game 74

At times, being a cynic comes in handy. Resigning one’s self to pessimism is a warm, comfortable rock in the sun, as clouds pass over the rest of the world.

Ryan Franklin and I have this thing, you see.

He’s currently got the lowest run support of any pitcher in the AL. And every time he has a really big game, I happen to be there.

To bad the Mariners weren’t.

The evening starts as most others have this week, with drinks. This may seem wacky, this constant affair with the booze, but it’s not really like it was 10 years ago. One or two, and then into the drink free zone of Safeco Field. Dancey and Cassady LLP are present, one half of which will go on to attend the game.

Japanese restaurants do not make good nachos, but chicken on a stick is pretty hard to screw up. Unfortunately, I receive the last glass of Mac & Jack’s , a clear sign that it is time for baseball. We get a ride down in Rich’s nifty rental car, which is spacious, clean, computerized and efficient.

Inside, we are treated to a pitcher’s duel the likes of which we rarely see iin Seattle. the last game that came even close was Pineiro vs Clemens, and that did not end well for the M’s.

Tonight is a marvel, with a scoreless tie into the 8th. For the fourth time this season, Franklin keeps the ball in the yard, and puts himself out of contention for his first 20 loss season. In fact, only two balls leave the infield at all, the first being a triple crushed so hard it nearly became a double.

Delaina and I spend much of the evening discussing the relative heights of Professional baseball players, a discussion “aided” by an official scorecard. But since the scorecard says that David Eckstien is clearly not 12 years old, we view it with some skepticism.

Above reproach are Ichiro, Winn, Ibanez, and Jeremy Reed, who is bound and determined to show Seattle why he was Minor League Player of the year in 2003. However, Only Ibanez can eat steak tonight, as one of Ichiro’s two times on base sets up a scoring play.

The only one of the night.

I have now been present for all four of Franklin’s shutout bids, a staggering total of 34 scoreless innings of baseball. I’d gladly take a cut of his salary for the aid, but since I’ve also been present for about a million runs given up, the zeroes aren’t counting for that much.

In a remarkable show of confidence, Bunting Bob lets Franklin close it out, an honor he did not give to Bobby last night.

Mariners win. Again.

Now how often to you read that in this space?