Diamonds Aren't Forever

Most professional sports venues offer something where fans pay ridiculous money for front row seats and unlimited food and booze. At Safeco Field, it's called the Diamond Club. Or in my case, the Let's See How Many Calories You Can Consume Before Going Commatose Club.

Considering I've been to hundreds of Mariners games in my life, what made last night special was that for the first time ever, I went to a game with just my mom. For anyone who has yet to experience a sporting event with just their mother, I highly recommend it. She still can't understand why they don't serve popcorn (aka kettle corn) in the Diamond Club.

I've sat in the Diamond Club probably five times before Wednesday night. And what I really enjoy, aside from all the food, is being close enough to the field where I know the players can hear my obnoxious taunts. Unfortunately, someone must have tipped off the Mariners brass before my arrival because my two most hated Mariners, Fats Vidro and Redneck Richie, were coincidentally absent from the lineup. (I figured Milton Bradly would be off limits because a) he's psycho and might tear through the net behind home plate and spike me in the eye and b) he's actually really tight).

Now I'm not bitching about sitting in the Diamond Club, but I still haven't gotten a valid answer as to how my step dad got suckered into dropping $500 on two tix to watch the M's take on the Texas Rangers.

Still reeling from Brad Wilkerson's off season defection, the Rangers appear determined to battle the M's for shittiest team in the AL West. Luckily for the Rangers, they have a great starting rotation, anchored by perennial Cy Young candidate Vincente Padilla.

Before the game got underway, I scarfed down a Gyro (Diamond Club exclusive), some pita and hummus, 3 pineapple slices, carrot cake, cheescake and something called a Georgia peach. To wash it all down, I threw back two ice cold Hefeweizen's.

Once we sat down at our seats (the prior feast was in the Diamond Club's private dinning area), I immediately picked up the food order menu and mini golf pencil and filled out an order for a slice of Garlic Jim's Pizza, a hot dog, nachos grande and another ice cold Hefeweizen.

When the food got delivered, my mom poignantly asked, "are you trying to be like John Belushi in Animal House?". She had a point.

By the top of the fourth, it felt like I had lost all feeling below my waist. My eyes got very heavy and I felt like I might pass out. This reminded me of Super Bowl XXXVII when Tampa Bay thumped Oakland, and I decided to inhale two Big Mac's (they were offering 2 for 2 bucks at the time). With about ten minutes left in the first half, my roommate asked me a question, only to realize I had fallen into a food coma. When I awoke with two minutes remaining in the third quarter, I had no recollection of anything that transpired after finishing the first juicy Big Mac.

And since the M's had mustered all of one hit through the first 1/3 of the game, I feared another food coma coming on.

Luckily, Miguel Cairo's red hot bat kept me wide awake. Also, I felt sympathetic towards Rangers catcher Jarrod Saltalamacchia , who is in record books for having the longest last name in MLB history. Imagine a young Saltalamacchia growing up playing Triple Play 98 on Playstation, trying to create himself, and ending up with "Jarrod Saltalam". That must have sucked.

Back to the game, the only thing I could say to any player was to apologize to M's starting pitching Erik Bedard for throwing yet another gem, only to end up with the loss because M's GM Bill Bavasi is a high functioning retard and forgot that the team has to bat every half inning.

Mariners starting pitchers currently have the toughest job in baseball. If they make one mistake, the game is over. Having that kind of pressure will only wear on these guys.

My mom and I split after the seventh because down 2-0, and Jamie Burke, Cairo and Ichiballz batting in the eighth, the team really stood no chance of winning.

And that's the beauty of the Diamond Club. Because no matter how much money you spend on tickets and how much food you eat, nothing can help the Mariners hit. So you leave the game physically feeling like the pregnant man, mentally angry like Reverend Wright.