Dog days of fandom

‘T is not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die.

In a time where what divides confronts us ever more often, we can still find uniting principles. We all want a good job with good pay, a good friend, a good place to call our own, a good meal in our belly. That’s something we can all agree on. We all want a good life, full of good memories, of a good length. Long enough to do all the good things we want. And as such, something that unites us even moreso is the idea that we want the time we’ve spent doing, well, anything, to have been well spent. Nothing butts up against the human conscience more often than the reality that one day you will run out of time.

As a species, we spend more time figuring out how to cut time than anything else. We figure out “life hacks”, “cooking hacks”, hell, we even hack computers. We hack a device designed to “hack”. We build robots to look like humans to make humans less-necessary, we spend hours thinking of a social media post to make our time seem more valuable. Summarized, our most “successful” friends outwardly seem, more than anything, to spend time well.

As I’ve gotten further and further from my time writing for a Mariners blog this idea has become clearer to me: I could never have covered them entirely objectively. I can’t imagine anyone covering a team could. So much of your time, value, and money is tangled into the web of that team that objectivity must, at some level and subconsciously, be lost.  It conflates into this odd sort of fandom where you begin to unknowingly tie in your own worth with that of a thing over which you have no say. That’s the great difficulty of fandom, the perhaps unattainable, but worthwhile, pursuit of a journalist. How much value do you allow yourself to derive from something that you have zero ultimate control of? For me, the answer has become “less and less”.

This is just to say that, it seems like more every day, this age of extreme convenience and divisiveness has weaponized fandom. We’ve translated the exaggerated Instagram-perfect life into a fandom. It exists only at the most extreme end. If you’re really a fan, you have to feel extremely, positively, and often. There is nothing mundane about cheering for a team anymore. Fandom only posts vacation pictures.

This is where I cannot go anymore. For all the modern conveniences and services technology has afforded us, it, too, has stripped us of many human interactions. In doing so, it has allowed for a blurred line between interacting with other people online under the pretext of “we are both humans” to “we are friends”. This, to me, is where the danger is. There is no denying that as fandom moves more and more into social media platforms, and becomes less and less about being physically at the stadium, we could all use a little more humanity. But what if we’re over-correcting? What if in batting away trolls we have now started to think of total strangers, simply by playing for our favorite team, as friends? One doesn’t need to look too far back to see where that could get you into troubled waters.

Instead of thinking of these people as simply people, we put them on pedestals, and we are only bound to be disappointed. I cannot tell you how many times this year I have felt obliged to begin a player critique with, “I’m sure they’re a good person…” The very fact this phrase exists in the modern lexicon is both a critique on the general atmosphere of this political time and it also speaks to where fandom has gone to. I am entirely sure many, if not most, of the players in the MLB are good people. That’s important to them, their friends and family, their community. That doesn’t mean they are my friend, and thinking so, defending them as such, assuming as much, puts us all in a weird territory. If anything, I think it goes back to the concept of time wasted.

I’ve spent a lot of time re-reading Tennyson’s Ulysses. In a lot of circles it’s taught as an ode to taking great risks and that this risk taking brings some sort of great awakening of the soul. That taking risk is to be truly alive. I read it differently, though. Here is someone who has filled their days so full that their name is the stuff of legend. By all measures, they have seen and done all of “Life”. Yet, Ulysses cannot rest. Life itself is a labor, a toil to be met every morning, and despite what has already happened, that fact cannot be erased. There is still time for great work, to live “life piled on life”. And I think this sentiment is important, that there is still something out there to grab. It’s worth grabbing now.

More and more we’ve been confronted by the concept that the Seattle Mariners are, well, nothing more than what they are. They are a business that provides entertainment. They commit some of their funds back to the community, care for their employees in whatever way they see fit, and present themselves as they may. The bottom-line still exists, no more clear than in this year of almost unprecedented good-fortune, throwing the cost onto the fans, allowing the stadium to fill up with visiting hordes, and pricing out some who might have seen this season as the chance to buy-in. The players care about us in the way that we all care for strangers or the people who consume the product of the company we work for. There’s nothing wrong with that. You can only know so many people. You can only care so much.

In Thoreau’s Walden the sort of final thought is summed up quite nicely by the author, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” Perhaps this sentiment has driven us to this ground we are now occupying. Wouldn’t it be strange to spend this much time caring for people who aren’t your friends? What would you have ultimately gained from that sort of one-sided relationship? I can only speak for myself, but the answer is “nothing much”.

Personally, I’ve never felt more distant from the team and its fans. That is okay. This doesn’t have to be for me. I keep wondering what a good use of my time is, and I can’t say the answer is investing more in this thing I don’t control; Of turning my time into points I gain. I think there’s something more important out there. I think I’m becoming a fan of taking a couple steps back.

If it all goes right

I think one of the most comforting things about Baseball for a large number of fans is that it’s pretty much always the same. Almost every team ends the season within about a 20% margin of wins. The difference between a good year and a bad year can be as small as five or so outcomes out of one-hundred and sixty-two. You can sort of float in the space that Baseball exists in, if you so care. You can take a week off, think about something else between the innings. The time for time away is allotted for. Perhaps, this is the most appealing aspect of being a fan of the Seattle Mariners. They’ve taught us the true value of Baseball. It’s sort of all the same.

This maybe has been part of the problem, too, of being a Seattle Mariners fan. Perhaps the recent years of yo-yoing around 81 wins has lulled us all to sleep. We often talk of the doldrums before Jack Z took over, but the Mariners have yet to surpass the 88 wins of 2007 since. Yes, in contrast to early parts of the playoff drought, the recent success of 2014 and 2016 makes the team feel relevant, feel on track, but there were other times, too. This is likely how we all felt in 2007, like everything was coming together. Watching Ichiro, Miguel Bautista, JJ Putz, Felix, and Beltre succeed with a young Adam Jones ready to make 2008 the year we made it back. It’s easy to remember how poorly it all went.

For it all to go right, this organization needed outside circumstances to dictate a change of direction. They needed a drastic and obvious disparity between themselves and the teams actually competing for a championship. Something no fan could deny. Last year they could name injury as the cause of incompetence. The year before, they were simply a few games from postseason play. In 2015, a World Series favorite sputtered out of the gates and never caught asphalt. In 2014, a world-beating Felix Hernandez almost single-handedly willed his team into postseason contention. All along, the core became older and older, and while we weren’t looking behind us, the window shut a little bit more. This year, ten games out of a wildcard spot by mid July, they were finally forced into confronting their own reality.

Ben Gamel and Guillermo Heredia both remained injured enough to allow Ichiro a final season. Felix was never totally lost, but made it clear he’s never going back to being an ace. Kyle was Kyle. Cano had lost a step and Segura’s injuries followed him through the season as well. The pitching was what we thought it would be. Rough innings meant a bullpen, short David Phelps for the entire season, had to mop up too often in the fifth inning and on. There were too many big innings by the opposition. There was too much Taylor Motter for this team to ever be in it. Too much Andrew Moore. Too much not enough.

Perhaps the most encouraging moment was the announcing of the extension of Jerry Dipoto in late June. The organization finally put its foot in the ground and declared a direction, despite the poor product on the field. We all could guess what was coming next. The inevitable trades of Nelson Cruz, James Paxton, and an on fire Edwin Diaz seemed written on the wall for a team who looked so clearly out of it. There would be no catching the Astros, Cleveland, New York. Boston and the Angels and the Twins all showed superiority at the outset and never looked back.

There were fun moments though. There was Dee Gordon robbing Aaron Judge at the wall by the Pen. The Ichiro walkoff against Cleveland in the opening series. The Zunino grand slam against the Giants. Haniger’s torrid August. Daniel Vogelbach started the season right where he left off in Spring. Yet, we all knew none of the results from this particular season would weigh much in a decade’s time. No, what we hope to remember are the flashes of lights from the farm. Kyle Lewis finally started playing baseball again, and well. Sam Carlson put together an almost-full season and Evan White looks to have knocked the ceiling off his power tool. The players traded for at the deadline have to be encouraging, too.

For the first time in a very long time there is a tomorrow for this team, not simply a today. Perhaps this is what we’ve been lacking as Seattle Mariners fans. Something that our minds can reach out towards, instead of clinging on tightly to. No longer does the future feel precarious. It feels boundless and unencumbered by expectation or old age or poor health. No longer must we squint through an offseason, wondering which player could add that final piece to a roster that looks more and more like a puzzle missing pieces with every passing year.

I can remember the first time I watched Michael Pineda pitch in a meaningless Spring Training game. I remember the feeling of unknown possibility. Instead of living in the world of “ifs”, these young players give us the world of “what ifs”. They take us away from the tragedies of the past, of the sameness of nearly two decades without a playoff game. Without the gravity that baseball can provide. These young players, these future beings allow us to cast our minds forward to an age-old call, “The Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship.” The idea that someday we could hear that phrase again.

It’s funny how some words when you say them enough start to sound funny out loud.

“Someday.”

 

 

 

 

Shohei Ohtani signs with LAA Angels

The worst-possible outcome has happened. Let’s think about what that means.

In what is likely the worst-possible outcome for a Seattle Mariners team hoping to compete for a wildcard spot, Shohei Ohtani announced today he will sign with the LAA Angels. Following this announcement, and assuming the transaction gets the all-clear from the MLB FO, one thing is certain, the Angels are acquiring a potentially transcendent talent at the lowest possible risk.

Shohei Ohtani has yet to face an MLB hitter or an MLB arm, but if the scouting report holds true, he is a likely top-end starter with at least an average bat. If the hype is true, the Angels may have essentially just added a second Mike Trout at the cost of pre-arb Willie Bloomquist who can pitch and hit (imagine ’98 Pedro with Frank Thomas’ power). This sort of player has never really been in the conversation before, ever, in the MLB.

A million articles will be written about this move over the next few days and weeks and months, less about the impact on the Mariners, but let’s touch on this briefly. Ohtani arriving with an ALW rival is the worst-possible outcome for the Seattle Mariners in their current build. The M’s need pitching bad, needed the West to get worse, and need to spend all sorts of money in an inflated pitching market. This plays directly against their hand and in likely the largest way possible for a playoff appearance in 2018 and even worse in ’19.

The time has come to start to consider the current window shut and while Dipoto likely will not, and it is not the ONLY way out, the current MLB roster needs to be seriously evaluated for what other organizations may want in exchange for bolstering Seattle’s farm. Use the newly acquired international slot money to find the next generation of Mariners. It’s time to sell.

The new era of the Seattle Mariners should begin today, and while it isn’t the one we wanted, it’s the one we have.

 

Darryl P. Skeeby: Or How I Came To Love The Bat

If you don’t read this you probably still play Pokemon GO.

The truth, huh? Alright, I’ll start with the truth, but truth can be a tricky thing when you’re face to face with a bull gator and nothing betwixt you and a bony dinner but the home-made poultice of orange-rind and cinnamon that Momma P. made for warding off the spirits. If you want the truth, it’s simple – Ol’ Darryl was knee deep in his evenin’ pastrami and egg sandwich when my pager went off.

Beep. Beep. Bop. Boop. Boop.

That’s how you always know it’s gonna be a good one. That late-night buzz. I know what’s coming next, I do.

A ring-a-ding-a-ling and what do you know, a familiar number flashes across the screen of my brand new Apple Watch, a gift from my Cousin Gus. A voice I know all too well, low and severe, like a riptide on the Snake River, cuts through the late-night air of my penthouse Motel 5 room,”Darryl, we need you.”

If I had a nickel for every time I heard it, well, I’d be one Dapper Dan. Which is to say, I’d have enough to purchase a can of pomade.

“What’s the skinny, Jules?”

Julia Peffercorn is the toughest chief investigator I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Sure, most elevated to the position have some sort of chip, or bag of chips, on their shoulder, but her chip was more a whole plate of nachos. She never took “No,” for an answer, and never tried my herbal tea mix that I promised her would knock a possum out a tree at midday sun.

“Someone stole Griffey’s bat.”

It was then I knew that trouble was afoot. Steeped deep in my stories and a long cup of the self-same herbal tea mix I just described, I knew it had to be mere minutes past 10:37PM. The time for perfect crime. Quickly, I reached for my notebook.

Flipping through important sketches of 3D cubes I had made while waiting to get a hold of a real person at Comcast (I don’t trust robots) and a grocery list for the butler detailing the seven different beans I needed to make Mama Skeeby’s Famous Bean Salad for weekend supper, I came to my List of Lists.

Yes, dear reader, any detective worth their salt and pepper has a good, old-fashioned List of Lists. In there are all the learnings of a life hard-lived. I have pros and cons on purchasing a yellow car, hats and their proper occasions, different uses for paisley, and a whole sublist of lists containing best chili recipes. Having so many lists, I finally got to the one I was looking for: Reasons for Stealing A Bat.

What follows are trade secrets on motives for stealing a bat:

  • Researching origins of mammalian flight
  • Vampire breeding
  • Echolocation – I think that speaks for itself
  • Infect enemies with rabies
  • Too many insects in a room
  • Lonely – if you’re all alone a bat would be a fine pet, I suppose

The rest of the list has been redacted due to the explicit nature of the content and the potential of compromising Deep Cover friends. I still care for you, Barney. I called Julia back, certain I knew exactly who did this: Daniel Paul Valencia.

The motive was obvious. Who could more clearly be trying to master echolocation in order to find the strike zone again? Who could be more concerned with mammalian flight than a man in his mid 30’s looking to regain strength to “fly” across the outfield grass. Lean in closer, dear reader, and let me show you exactly how I know it was him.

In the Spanish League of soccer, known to the cosmopolitans amongst us as “La Liga”, the team representing the beautiful and cultured city of Valencia Spain has the following mascot:

Valencia

A bat, indeed, Daniel.

Full of culture and dreams of tapas, I call Julia.

“Ken Griffey Junior’s bat from the statue, you idiot. I swear to G-”

I quickly hang up, I cannot take her scorn. Embarrassed, I return to my List of Lists. This time, quickly searching for a list I made when I was a younger man, playing semi-pro ball in the lesser-known Cape Halibut League. Oh, the fish and chips we’d have. Simply sublime it was in those days. Lost in visions of lemon wedges and tartars, that’s when sleep became me.

I arose the next day with renewed strength and ambition. After a particular dream I called Julia again, sure that my night terrors had given me the answer to the case at hand. Ready to prove my worth to the investigator who just hours before had scoffed at me.

“Julia, I kn-”

“Darryl, let me stop you right there. We caught the vandal and the bat has been safely returned. We’ve had enough of your help on this case.”

Sensing this for the cover up I knew it to be, I pleaded with her for one more consideration. Sure that there was no chance they had apprehended the real criminal, I played my cards.

“The man you’re looking for is Daniel Paul Valencia, former first baseman of the Seattle Mariners.”

She waited a beat, released a short chuckle, “How do you figure, Mr. Skeeby?”

“The answer is quite obvious, Julia.”

I waited a pregnant pause.

“He still needs a bat.”

 

 

A too-early offseason post

If you’re going through Hell, well, sometimes there’s just more Hell.

The 2017 MLB Playoffs are roaring, and while one team from the AL West has already advanced to the Championship Series, the Seattle Mariners have not. In fact, the Seattle Mariners are all mostly on vacation, I’d assume. Some might be taking on new hobbies, others likely have been told they are not Seattle Mariners anymore. Some will comment, years down the line, on how, “It didn’t actually rain that much.” Others still might forget they ever played in Seattle in 2017 (‘sup Jean Machi). With all that being said, and the season-past still not-yet-passed, let’s take a brief look at what the viewing audience might expect from the Seattle Mariners this offseason, juxtaposed with the subjective opinions of this author. Admittedly, I am not a professional baseball executive. I do, however, have a Masters Degree from the University of California, Davis, and that’s basically the same thing.

Let’s sum up 2017 in a few quick sentences here since we all saw it, unfortunately. The Seattle Mariners, in their second full-season under GM Jerry Dipoto entered the year with an offense projected to be towards the upper tier of the AL and a starting rotation that looked like its ceiling was somewhere near the middle-of-the-pack if you squinted. The bullpen, a mix of retreads, up and comers, and some known quantities was, well, exactly what every bullpen sounds like before the bullets start flying. Dipoto solved offseason questions at shortstop and in the outfield by acquiring Jean Segura, a cost-controlled Mitch Haniger, and trading for Jarrod Dyson. Mike Zunino bounced-back from an atrocious end to 2016, and despite an early demotion, finished the year as a top-10 catcher in all of Baseball. Injuries hampered the season, but were likely less due to luck, and much more to team design, as the team was built to rely on countless players on bounce-back years or on the wrong-side of thirty. In short, the Mariners finished 78-84, good enough for 4th in the AL West, in a season that they somehow managed to be “buyers” at the deadline.

The offense was as-advertised, if not a little under-performing. In the end, they were tied for 5th in MLB in team wRC+ (with the Twins and Athletics), and 12th in total offensive team fWAR. Robinson Cano and Kyle Seager both experienced relatively disappointing seasons in respect to their 2016’s, Nelson Cruz fell-off somewhat but only just-so, and first base remained a disaster. The loss of Jarrod Dyson in centerfield, and Leonys Martin before him, forced several outfield reshuffles that exposed just how much “depth” had been built up at that position (read: not much). Mitch Haniger appears to be the real deal, as his WAR/600 extrapolates to almost a 4-Win player as a corner outfielder. Jerry in his postseason press conferences has expressed a willingness to open 2018 with Haniger as his Opening Day centerfielder. I am not as optimistic about the defense holding up there. Gamel and Heredia both appear to be what Mariners teams of yonder years have had plenty of, 4th outfielders.

The time has come for us to face the music: Felix Hernandez isn’t going back to 2014. As such, the rotation as it looks will be built around James Paxton, a fitting ace, with a penchant for injury, and thus exists just bellow bonafide Ace-dom. Acquisitions of Mike Leake and Erasmo Ramirez have tied in the back end of the rotation, but there’s zero organizational depth that should be relied upon for a successful (read: playoff(?)) 2018. The Mariners are left in a tough spot with their pitching. Felix is still on the books for $25M while providing, at his best, the quality of a 2-3 starter. Paxton is cheap, but can’t be relied on for 150 innings. So, left with the choice of Andrew Moore and a host of unknowns, they’ll likely have to spend. In comes the question mark named Shohei Ohtani.

Ohtani will post sometime within the next few months and will be had by some team at a massive bargain if the hype is real. A player who appears to have more arm-talent than bat, he allegedly may have the chops to be a two-way player in the MLB. However, if he’s truly arm-first, my personal belief is that he and his organization would be better-off having him focus on pitching, and leaving the DH’ing to field players. Ohtani represents a real chance for the organization to extend the current window. They simply have to land him before dozens of other teams and hope he’s truly a 5-7 Win pitcher.

It all depends on how you view this organization, but per their words, they aren’t letting 2017 put them in sell-mode. The fact is this: anything tradable within the organization was either traded already or lost value over the past season. Edwin Diaz, Nelson Cruz, hell, even Kyle Seager, are all worth less now than they were this time last year. Moving large contracts like Cano or Felix would likely mean eating a ton of money, which the ownership hasn’t expressed a willingness to do. So here the Seattle Mariners are, stuck in the middle with an ever-aging roster and as close to zero in-house talent to improve them as imaginable. In all reality, 2018 might be the last chance this team has in creating a Wild Card roster in years. So, let’s go forward assuming this is the strategy of the front office. One last hurrah with this window.

The organization has to buy pitching, probably needs to find a rent-a-firstbaseman since they appear unable to make Daniel Vogelbach stick there, and has expressed desire in acquiring an outfielder (again). All this is to be done with what appears to be tight budget restrictions and in Jerry Dipoto’s apparent final-contract year. Shohei Ohtani represents a chance for this organization to really change its outlook for the next two or three years, yet its a long shot and a gamble all wrapped in a massive “what-if”. If anything, maybe that sentence is the most honest outlook for 2018 I could write.

Forced into an offseason coming off a disappointing year, with bloated contracts to aging stars, and a farm that appears to have no help arriving soon enough, the Seattle Mariners will likely be able to squabble together a squad that could be in the running for a Wild Card Spot. That likely means something to a large part of the fan base and shouldn’t be discounted. However, there’s no denying the truth that they’re years behind the Astros, and could easily be outpaced by both the Angels and Rangers again. Is building a team that simply hopes to compete for a play-in game a strategy that can allow the organization to overcome its obvious shortcomings? I guess we’re all going to find out together, huh.

Festina lente

On hurrying, slowly.

There’s a lot of writing about baseball that opens up the sport as an allegory or metaphor for something large, something obtuse. Baseball as love, as heartbreak, as life itself. This can be quite powerful and evocative for both reader and writer alike. I’m quite guilty of it myself. The sport lends itself to daydreaming between the pitches. Three hours is an awfully long time to be doing anything. You’re bound to muse, if you’re so inclined. Lately, though, I’ve begun to think something else. What if baseball is simply its own space to be left alone? What if something could plainly be what it is and nothing else? Isn’t that just as special, if not more so, than allegory or metaphor?

I’ve come to this sentiment as I’ve come to a similar view within my own life. That spaces don’t always have to be shared. What if I could only make a beer? Forget style, forget pleasing customers, forget costs. Forget all of that. Does the intensification of a singular act allow for a better process? And what is a better process? Optimization and singularity are often spoken of within the same breath. While I cannot claim expertise or even a remote sense of completion in this line of thinking, I can ruminate on the recent months of my life. Perhaps I have recently found joy by taking things more plainly. Perhaps, if I could do the same with Baseball, the same thing could be said. What if I could go back to simply playing catch in the backyard. To the slap of leather, the motion, and the toss. The unspoken trust of hurling a ball of leather towards a team mate, a family member, someone you love. What if I could break baseball down to this core value?

August is a time within the 162-game schedule for reflection, but only for a moment. July has passed and the heat of the day seems to magnify greatly the strengths and shortcomings of every roster. The point of the season has arrived where managers know exactly what they have in their deck of cards and all that is left to do is simply play the hand. For two months, inevitability and talent, and perhaps luck, are your guides down the river. Just don’t stop paddling. If you do, the rapids will take you; but if you paddle too hard, you won’t make it to the end due to exhaustion. Simply read the river, moment to moment. Be singular in your task. This is the sentiment for every game from here until the end of the season. Now is the time for this sort of single-mindedness within ourselves, too.

You can feel it in the morning air, can’t you? I know I find myself bracing for Fall. For the crisp mornings and the end of lazy afternoons. Often we hear of the awakening Spring brings, but there is also one in the Fall. Awakenings happen wherever change can be found. Within touching-distance of a playoff spot, perhaps it is time for the Seattle Mariners to have an awakening of their own. Maybe the simple act of a baseball game, won or lost, can transcend a million other simple acts until, finally, a city is alive with the buzz of October baseball. It takes many small events to go from scoreboard to city-wide energy, but it’s simple enough. It takes a focus. It takes structure for the sake of achievement. It is the same idea across any form of accomplishment: winning a baseball game, falling in love, or playing a game of catch.

And so that is what I am going to do. In a week I will take my first vacation in nearly two years and fly down to see someone I love in a place I once lived. It’s a simple thing, really. To make a journey to a destination worthy of the trip is an easy choice. We’ll do the things people do when they’re in love and in the same place. We’ll walk places together, talk about where we’ve been and where we’d like to go. We’ll focus on the moment. Packed in my suitcase will be my glove, as well. An old piece of leather that has seen better days and survived nearly a decade of constant use. It should be replaced, in all reality. However, the root of things shouldn’t always be discarded. Perhaps, if anything, it should be sought out again this time of year. Maybe that’s what we’ll seek together, her and I.

Maybe we’ll simply play some catch, too.

Jerry Dipoto presents: Return of Erasmo

It’s late-July and I’ve started to do that thing where I’m worrying about Summer someday ending. The same is true for MLB teams all over this nation, and for their respective executives and managers. It’s high-time for big moves to make a splash, one last chance at summer romance, and maybe by the end of the whole thing we’ll have some great memories to embellish and share with our friends when school starts back up again. In a transaction that is sure to move the “swoon” barometer approximately one tick towards “hard swoon” and then another tick back towards “hard pass”, Jerry Dipoto traded Steve Cishek for former-now-again Mariner Erasmo Ramirez. I always hate when I start thinking about Fall again.

Acquiring Erasmo Ramirez has a million different angles that I can think of but let’s start with the obvious one. If the Seattle Mariners are going to Do The Damn Thing they need live arms that can throw strikes that are not in turn hit over a fence. This is not necessarily what Erasmo Ramirez is in 2017, but he has run out a GB% slightly above league-average this year in 69 nicely pitched innings. Ground balls are something the Mariners are rather good at dealing with. This site would like to put itself forward as a pro-grounders blog. Erasmo is, however, also running HR/9 and HR/FB numbers that are both slightly above league-average, so really what the M’s received is someone who is a bit better than league-average (his FIP agrees). But just barely.

What has to be said is that the acquisition of David Phelps clearly made Jerry feel comfortable in giving up a ~late-inning bullpen piece to potentially stabilize an often frightening rotation. This may or may not prove to be prudent, but this was certainly not a case of dealing from a position of strength. The bullpen has recently felt more stable, but the idea of Phelps-Cishek-Diaz as all potential shutdown arms at the back end of a close game felt a lot better, stuff-wise, than Phelps-(insert like four names)-Diaz does now. The Mariners are a bat-first team and it is 2017. Wake up, Sheeple.

It’s also hard to say, and I’m sure by the time I hit ‘publish’ this will be foolish because some quote will have come out from the front office, exactly how Ramirez fits into the 25-man. Does he straight swap out Moore or Gallardo? Does he immediately move to the bullpen as a three-inning swing arm? Does he convert to an 8th inning guy and blow 99 mph fastballs under the chin? I’d bet against at least one of those.

It feels mostly like a lateral move for this season. While Erasmo has eight starts in 2017, he certainly isn’t a massive upgrade over Moore or Gallardo. The same problems are there, really. Stuff that can be thrown for strikes, but maybe too many strikes. The Big Inning being the downfall, or being bled to death by spreading four dingers over six innings. While the cost is relatively low in giving up a bullpen arm with only three months left on his contract (plus $1M), in exchange for an arm with 2.5 years of club-control, it has to be said that the Mariners kinda already had this arm before 2017 began in the form of Vidal Nuno. Vidal was, of course, flipped for Carlos Ruiz to shore up a backup catcher position after Jerry decided to let Chris Iannetta walk. It all just feels lateral, maybe almost revisionist, to go get a league-average swing arm in late-July.

There is another angle here that expands beyond 2017, though. With acquisitions like this and David Phelps, Dipoto could be pre-empting a 2018 trade market that should value swing arms. Erasmo’s 2015 season is well-behind him at this point, and maybe he is a guy that steals a couple wins by locking down the 6th and 7th for the Mariners in August, but this could also be a play to acquire future value for the 2018 season. It could also just really do nothing.

It’s Summer – go have some fun, you knuckleheads.