What's Your Most Meaningful Baseball?

Here at the Mariner Muse, we often do deep dives into Mariner lore, examining the team’s history in search of new trends that are yet to be pointed out and might bring up some interesting new theories. Baseball statistics are endless in their potential – a new hypothesis can be discovered behind nearly every wall of numbers.

Our first article, for instance, examined the cumulative history of every current MLB team in search of which fanbase has seen the most – and least – success since the origin of their beloved ballclub. Last week’s article, meanwhile, took a look at the top bullpens by WAR in M’s history. The findings proved interesting, for one would surely think that the best teams would have had the best relievers – but in actuality, the most successful Ners squads thus far have relied more on hitters and starters than relievers…which potentially bodes well for this current 2017 team, given the crooked numbers the ‘pen keeps allowing and the hot manner in which both Pax and Mitch have started the season (knock on a whole lot of wood). We love our statistics, and you as a MM subscriber will receive a consistent dose of them throughout the remainder of the season.

But baseball is amazing. And this week’s article is going to investigate another amazing side of America’s Pastime: the nostalgic one. Today we take a step back from the Mariners as a team and take a look at the sport as whole, asking one simple question:

What’s the most meaningful baseball you own?

Think about it – I bet you have an answer. If you consider yourself a baseball fan, odds are that you own a few baseballs. Quite a few, most likely. For baseball is not the type of sport where you only need one article of the primary object to play (baseball’s primary object is, of course, a baseball).

Perspective: I play a lot of soccer, I own just one soccer ball. I love to toss around the football, I own one football. These are not sports where, for amateurs especially, more than one article of the primary object is necessary to play. Rarely do you lose a soccer ball during a game – and ain’t no football flying into the stands without some player being slapped with a five-grand fine.

Instead, baseball is the type of sport that requires many articles of the primary object to properly play it. Tennis and golf also share this quality: tennis balls lose their bounce seemingly every other point and water hazards…exist. But with these two sports, it’s rare that you, as the spectator, end up with one of the said primary objects. A tennis ball goes into the stands only on a shank or at the grace of a ball boy – and you ain’t going home with a golf ball unless you were tossed one after 18 or stole it off the fairway.

In baseball, it is regular for a ball to enter the stands. According to a (slightly gruesome) Boston Globe article, this happens about thirty times per game (through foul balls or home runs), and I would honestly argue for a higher total. At 3.1+ instances per inning, it’s quite normal for fans to go home with a souvenir. It’s simply part of the experience of heading to the ballpark.

People bring their mitts to baseball games, for crying out loud. Can you imagine what it would be like if you brought your clubs to the Masters – or your tennis racket to the US Open? Most would think you’re just extremely weird, and you honestly might not even be allowed in. But in baseball, it’s understood that balls flying into the stand is a regular occurrence – so much so, that mitts are even recommended at times, depending on what section you are sitting in. What other sports have a PA sound bite cued up to reward fans for catching a souvenir? (I can hear Tom Hutyler’s voice right now: “Send that fan a gold glove”).

If you’re a baseball fan, I bet you’ve got a souvenir lying somewhere around your house in the shape of a baseball. It may be one from a Major League game, it may be one from a Little League game – it may be one that never saw action in a game at all, but carries a valuable signature.

So let’s revisit the question: what’s the most meaningful baseball you own? Think about it – I bet you have an answer. I know mine immediately:

It’s an Edgar Martinez baseball.

It was not a homerun…it was a foul ball.

It wasn’t hit during the regular season,

It was hit in Spring Training.

It wasn’t even hit during a game.

Yes, it’s an Edgar Martinez foul ball that was swatted during a Cactus League batting practice session. It’s anticlimactic as shit. But I love it; it’s the most meaningful baseball I own. I have never caught one during a game of been tossed one by a player – but I remember exactly how I received this one.

Spring training: 2002. 10-year-old me stood in the hot sun, having driven down with my family to visit Arizona for the first time and catch a little bit of Mariners-in-March. At this point, I was submerged in childhood baseball fandom. My life revolved around Saturday ballgames I’d play in and then the Ners games I’d watch that night. I ogled at the Seattle 25 because I imagined that that would be me one day – I assumed that that would be me one day. For at that age, when staring at our idols, “dream on” is not yet a phrase registered in the lexicon. In the immortal words of long-time-M’s (Mets, unfortunately) fan Jerry Seinfeld: “These were not dreams, these were options.”

What's your most meaningful baseball? Tell us its story and we'll feature it in an upcoming newsletter! Tweet @marinermuse with #MyBestBaseball or email marinermuse@gmail.com

Meanwhile, the Ners had just completed a year in which they were the best team in the history of baseball. 1995 had been the start of my Mariner fandom – 1997 an insurance run – and 2001 the final out in solidifying me as a lifelong fan of Seattle baseball. And all of a sudden, the Ners were the best in The Show. Therefore when 2002 rolled around, to say that I was “excited” was the utmost of understatements.

So there I was, 10-year-old-me sloshing about in his flip-flops, some baggy Champion shorts (navy), a Ners tee (white), and my North Central Little League baseball cap (black, yellow lettering). I’m sure I had begged my mother to wander out to the BP fields with me, just to try and get closer to what was surely my future occupation. I stood near the foul pole and stared – and watched as Gar roped some BP-BS fastball down the line. It bounced about three feet to the left of the chalk foul line and screamed over the fence, kicking off a cement barrier and nestling itself behind the foul pole.

Now, this particular part of the field was marked off for fans, but I still raced over to it nonetheless and toed the line behind the boundary-marking sign. Sitting on a green chair about fifteen feet in front of me was an old man who clearly worked for the Peoria Sports Complex, living out the retirement dream. Resting roughly two yards behind him was the ball. It was the only thing in the world that mattered to 10-year-old me.

The man, a veteran in his ability to gauge the true importance of the situation, certainly felt my eyes boring into the side of his head. Cracking a slight smile, he raised his head somewhat melodramatically toward the sky and said a phrase I’ll never forget:

“I don’t see a thing, kid.”

The baseball is still with me today. In fact, it sits on the desk upon which I now write this piece. Along with a select few other meaningful objects from my life, this Edgar Martinez Baseball (because yea, that’s what I refer to it as) accompanies me whenever I work. It’s slightly scuffed, it’s endorsed by commissioner-at-the-time Allan H. Selig, it’s a total nothingburger for those who don’t know its context – and it’s perfect.

So what’s the most meaningful baseball you own? Think about it – I bet you have an answer. However received, a souvenir baseball has played a large role in the lives of many people. The guy who caught Barry Bonds’ 756th home run sold it for over $700,000 – a sum I can’t even fathom appearing in my bank account. The Sandlot is essentially written about someone who loses their most meaningful baseball. Hell, Eric Young even made a poor, awkward career out of proclaiming the importance of a baseball keepsake (shoutout to Souvenir City).

If you’re reading this article, it’s probably because you have a weak spot for baseball stats and stories – which means that you’re a baseball fan (whether you actively declare it or not). And if you’re a baseball fan, I bet you’ve got a ball that means more to you than the many others you own. Even my sister, who is nine years younger than me, does. She has attended one game at Safeco in her life and received two baseballs tossed to her that evening: one from Ichiro, and one from Jamie Burke. I’ve attended well over 300 – nothing. (Also, shoutout to Jamie Burke).

Isn’t baseball fun like that? What other sport so easily incorporates tangible memories from its viewing experience?

So one more time: what’s the most meaningful baseball you own? Think about it – I bet you have an answer. I know mine immediately:

It’s an Edgar Martinez baseball.

It was not a homerun…it was a foul ball.

It wasn’t hit during the regular season,

It was hit in Spring Training.

It wasn’t even hit during a game.

Yes, it’s an Edgar Martinez foul ball that was swatted during a Cactus League batting practice session. Yes, it’s anticlimactic as shit. But it holds crystal clear memories of my foundational years as a Ners fan – and to me, it’s perfect.

#NerNostalgia