Today is the best day in the world to have a new Seahawks writer. Hat tip to you Matt Mikolas. I would be going ape shit if I had to write about the draft the past two days. I’m not a happy Seahawks fan.
I’ll admit, I’ve been glued to the NFL Draft for the majority of the past two days. I’ve got the game on DVR, and I’ll be rewinding it to see Ichiro’s throw, but I realized about 7:25 that my DVR was going to run out, and that since Twitter told me the game was still on and very good, I’d better change over.
So the one at-bat of the game that I saw was Michael Saunders. Michael Saunders, the same guy who I’d find out watching highlights hit a monster homerun off the façade of the upper deck at the Skydome, or whatever the fuck they call it now, hit what would end up being a game-winning, 10th inning grand slam.
Right before it happened. One of the more prominent members of the Seattle blogosphere tweeted this:
A great moment to be a Mariners fan. Especially because the Mariners’ 9-5 victory was the one thing after the NFL draft keeping me from going to the liquor store.
And Blake Beavan really Beavaned it today. That’s not necessarily an insult or a compliment. Blake Beavan is the living embodiment of a 5th starter. He’s what Kevin Millwood is today at age 23. He’s a 5th starter, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. If you’d have told Mr. and Mrs. Beavan that their newborn baby son would make upwards of $10,000 per week at age 23 without selling drugs or being involved with high-stakes gambling, I bet they’d be happy. If you’d have told them he’d be a major leaguer too, damn.
But he missed seven bats, walked no one, struck out more than no one, and gave up some hits. Blake Beavan is the kind of pitcher that has a roster spot until he becomes arbitration eligible.
Apart from that, I don’t know a whole bunch about today. I’ve been bartering with, and distracting my girlfriend for the past two days to let me have my alone sports time. Right now she’s watching something in the living room where the DVR is. I’m pretty sure that if I walked out there and tried to queue up the Mariners recording on the TV I’d be stoned. And not the fun kind of stoned that turns Leroy Hill from a sports car to an economy car.