The Runaround

I, for one, cannot wait for this year to be done with.

Come summer, I can sleep in until noon, spend cash at Subway and end any sentence I want with a preposition.

As you can see from my first sentence, I am well on my way to a summer of grammatical irresponsibility.

In the spirit of summer, I’ve decided to devote the next 600 words to a favorite school-ending hobby of students everywhere: burning bridges. Objective to the bitter end, I plan on leaving no stone unsinged.

Break out the kerosene and rags; here it goes. I am not a Seattle Mariners fan. In fact, I regularly root against them and take great joy in every groundout, strike out and loss. My dislike for the franchise borders on hate.

But before you throw this paper down in disgust, storm up to my apartment and tear the labels off my canned food items, let me assure you that I have no good reason for not liking them — and I have no canned food.

You’ll have to be more creative.

I do not intend these next few paragraphs to provide excuses for my Mariners aversion, but rather to vent about their popularity, explain my intense dislike and rub in their awful start.

When I came to Seattle, the only thing bigger than the Mariners was coffee. So not only was I entering a land in which my least favorite baseball team was a deity, I was also entering a land flowing with lattes and Frappuccinos — two of my least favorite drinks and words. Had I died and gone to hell? I couldn’t have; there wasn’t enough country music.

Those of you who aren’t writing hasty, angry letters to the editor at this point are probably asking yourselves, "Well, why go to school here?"

For the amazing experience of working for The Falcon, of course.

(You’ll have to excuse the remainder of this article because I was just informed that, due to my inappropriate sarcasm, the Falcon staff — including copy editors — has stopped reading at this point.)

Seriously, though, Ichiro is more popular in Seattle than Joseph Smith is in Salt Lake City. I bet if Ichiro had a dream in which God gave him magic scrolls and told him polygamy was okay, the Mariners’ right fielder could start a religious sect to rival all others (goodbye, Mormon readers).

I have such an acute distaste for all things Mariners because of my exposure to the team. In Idaho, if you’re not farming, fishing or shopping at Wal-Mart, you are hearing about the M’s. And in much the same way as people either love or hate the Cowboys and Yankees, I found myself on the hate side of the Mariners thanks to their success and popularity.

You can imagine my joy, then, when Seattle’s best started with a string of losses that dropped them, for the time being, to the bottom of the division. Their pitching is more anemic than some freshmen girls at Gwinn are. They get hits about as often as Campus Ministries reads a thoughtful CFE report. They were just swept by the Texas Rangers (yes, those Rangers).

Can it get worse for the Mariners? I sure hope so. Can it get worse for me? I doubt it. Having already offended Mariners fans, coffee drinkers, country music lovers, my fellow Falcon staff members, Mormons, Idahoans, females and the CFE program, I have very few bridges left.

And for that reason, I’m going to keep my thoughts on the alcohol issue to myself.

After all, summer is still six weeks away.

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Title: The Runaround | Author: Kevan Lee | Section: Sports | Published Date: 2004-04-28 | Internal ID: 3951