Seattle Mariners – Keefe To The City

Aug 23, 2012

Scorecard Memory: First Hawaiian Shirt Night in the Bleachers

Sheriff Tom goes back to August 17, 2001 in Section 39 of Yankee Stadium for a Yankees-Mariners game and the debut of Hawaiian Shirt Night in the bleachers.

This is a recurring series of recollections, where I will be marching though my old scorecards from my halcyon days in good old Section 39 of the Yankee Stadium bleachers. You’re invited to join me. Please bring beer.

Friday, August 17, 2001: Yankees host the Seattle Mariners.

Ah, Hawaiian Shirt Night. August means a lot of things in the Yankee Stadium bleachers including complaints about how it’s too hot, proposed pitching rotations for the inevitable playoff action and a night when a couple of dozen bleacher fans saunter to their seats in loud tropical wear. Here is today’s history lesson.

It had been weeks in the planning, as we were always looking for new and dumb things to do out there, but the fruits of our labor finally came to fruition as the first Hawaiian Shirt night commenced in Section 39, a full 11 years ago, on August 17th, 2001. My treasured scorecard from this evening is currently missing in action, which actually alarms me to no end, but I safeguarded a number of notes from this landmark event on an old bleacher message board and can put together this puzzle and recall this night, as I sip a tropical drink at my computer at 2:30 in the afternoon to keep with the theme.

A lot of the initial partakes actually showed up that night with tropical garb and a sense of trepidation, thinking it was all an elaborate gag on them, and they would be the only ones while the rest of us laughed. Feelings of joy, relief and good cheer were sure to spark in them when they noticed as they strolled up to the gates of Yancey Park across from the Stadium for some hot pregame action a dozen guys, beers in bags, bedecked in the ugliest collection of shirts since the 1970s Houston Astros. Palm trees, tropical drinks, boats, sand dunes. For some reason our buddy, 41, wore a shirt that had cars on it, but knowing him it could’ve been worse. It could have been the band KISS on the shirt. Walkman John, missing the point a bit, had an Oriental theme going on, though the colors were acceptable. Bald Ray was wearing a mesh Hawaiian shirt, something I had never even heard of. “Fat Rak” Scott topped all on this inaugural effort with a tropical shirt blasting with color, complete with nubile women playing golf on it. In one of the trivial oddities of the time “Mr. Make It Happen” Phil and Israeli Joe had the exact same shirt on. This was unusual because everyone who went to buy a shirt that summer and every summer could pick from literally hundreds of choices on every rack, and these two had a personal beef simmering at the time, so this was big news in our little world.

Strolling in that night we saw one of the legendary security grumps, “Old Man 200” ensconced by the rail. He got this monicker from wearing a navy blue cap with a big “200” on it for whatever reason (not the most stylish of headwear). Well, he actually didn’t wear “200” often since the number seemed to change without reason, but his dislike for our antics never did. On this night he was sporting No. 175. “Way to slide 25 spots!” we hollered in friendly greeting. He got me back an inning later, accusing me of “misdirecting people” who could not find their seats, only to spark a feisty exchange with Queen Bee Tina, who was in fine form and fighting with everyone like she did in my early days out there. Another well-known Creature of lore, Crazy Dave, was roaming around passing out photos he had taken of the group throughout the season, and was promptly dubbed “Johnny Photoseed.”

Just about 30 Creatures went with the theme that night, which oddly has remained one of the higher turnouts! This night is one of those that is derided by the grumpy (aside from me), those who don’t like all the bells and whistles and those who think that attire simply looks dumb. Ignorant Evan added to the fanfaronade by handing out lei’s, while MetsSuckBalls waved around the same Tiki statue that screwed with the Brady Bunch on those classic television episodes. Bald Vinny proudly proclaimed he had his “hula girl boxers” on and showed them proudly to people as early as his 4 train ride up to the Stadium.

Basically, according to my notes, these names will go on in posterity as participating on this landmark night (read through for a romp through memory lane and see who you can pick out of a lineup): Uptown Mike, “Mr. Make it Happen” Phil, Walkman John, Midget Mike, Big Tone Capone, Bald Vinny, Bald Ray, Milton the Cowbell King, 41, “POS” Diggity Dan, Navy Tommy, two guys I really didn’t know, me, Justin, MetsSuckBalls, Cuban Monica, Felix, Fat Rak and his friend Paul, Ignorant Evan, Water Girl Debbie, X-Pac Kenny, Kwik, Israeli Joe, Frankie Vybe, Laura, Rachel and Stacey. Of all people, Junior missed the boat on this one, although he seemed to wear a tropical shirt every other night he showed up. Big D also didn’t wear one, but I was too afraid to ask him why. And, of course, in one of the more amusing bon mots in bleacher lore, Mike “Donahuge” was not there even though this whole thing was pretty much his idea along with mine. Ironically enough, he was on the beach in Florida (possibly posing for pics from whale watchers back there in his now fondly remembered heavier days), but the show must go on, and without him it did.

The shirts themselves went over as expected from just about everyone else in the bleachers as they were met with disgust. I went over to Section 37 to rap with chicks and the consensus over there was that Midget Mike had the worst one going, a red-based anagram of putridity. My shirt was a pale orange hue, but had met my initial goal going in. Along with the requisite water and boats, my shirt featured some native folk climbing trees hanging with coconuts. Some were featured on the shirt holding this prized booty aloft with enthusiasm not even shown by champions holding aloft the Stanley Cup. One native was sitting behind a mound of coconuts, which looked more like a drum set. “Check out the guy rocking the kit!” someone shouted with glee as they pointed at my ugly shirt.

Late in the game the girls in 37 pointed out that one of the natives on my shirt, standing in a flimsy looking boat, had a strange protrusion extending from his shadowed self, and upon closer examination I must admit I managed to get a Hawaiian shirt for this event featuring a guy on a sailboat sporting a rampant boner.

Let’s salvage some funny notes from this one, shall we. I knew this was going to be “one of those nights” when the first thing I noticed when I walked up was someone eating corn on the cob. While discussing our shirts and how we procured these fine duds, someone mentioned a magical bodega-ish sort of place where you could get “a Hawaiian shirt, a dish of beans and rice, and an umbrella all in the same place!” Quite the fantasyland! Early on a pack of nerdy guys walked up and Midget Mike snarled, “Finish your math problems later and find your seat!” Soon after, Big Nose Larry sauntered over, extended his hand to little Mike and said, “Whats up, can I squash you like a grape?” Junior hopped up and yelled at Jeter as he came to the plate, “Come on, pretty boy, get a hit!” and the ever-surly Mike loudly added, “Hey, sorry you can’t order champagne out there!”

Some dopey fan had a plastic horn and was bleating along and annoying any and all. Head security honcho Sean (a dead ringer for Honeymooner’s era Jackie Gleason) stomped up to take the offending instrument away. As he walked the offending and now crumpled horn out with him people shouted, “Play us a tune, Sean!” to no avail.

Meanwhile, Grover was as usual the life of the party, pawing through his oddball collection of Bazooka Joe comics with all the jokes in Israeli. For some reason a “USA! USA! USA!” chant kicked off to which Grover hollered, “Booooo! We should have lost the Cold War!”

Some oddball stuff was going on over on the scoreboard, as Fox News’ Bill O’Reilly was asking Bad News Bears trivia on there. A Mickey Mantle tribute video played,with the background music of Toni Basil’s “Hey Mickie!” which was sorta sketchy. I loved Mantle, but I would rather have seen Basil in the cheerleader costume she sported in her music video that night up there. To top it off, San Antonio native and bullpen stalwart Randy Choate had to actually answer a dumb question about the Alamo some doofy fan sent in on the scoreboard. I’m not sure what Choate said in response, but I’d imagine it was something like, “Hey, I didn’t shoot anyone.”

Junior was feeling very vibrant, hopping up in the air every time a Yankee hurler got to two strikes, which was seemingly every hitter. It got so annoying he was promptly dubbed a “Jack-off in the Box.” And to top it all off, I noted an overzealous fan came over, asked me to take a pic with him and said, “You’re the best! I’m a huge fan of the Tom drum! Whats your name again?” Um, alrighty then!

I remember for years recalling the game that night “nondescript,” but that’s not totally fair. The Yankees shut out the Mariners 4-0, behind seven strong by Mike Mussina. After Mike Stanton ducked in and out, Ramiro Mendoza locked it down with his fifth save on the season. One Paul Abbott took the L for Seattle, which amazingly brought his record down to 12-3 (WTF?) The Tankees did all their damage in his four innings of work and this included taters from Alfonso Soriano, Derek Jeter and Shane Spencer. In another fun note, current Yankee Icihro Suzuki was nailed attempting to steal, which I’m sure was met with joy.

54, 616 were on hand that night, with approximately 54,586 not in Hawaiian shirts. The game clocked in at 2:51, which is actually short for the usually notoriously long Friday night games we are all accustomed to. Your umpires on the evening were Matt Hollowell (HP), Jeff Nelson (1B), the life-saver and perfect game shatterer Jim Joyce (2B) and Tim Timmons (3B).

So yes, this is a tradition that has lived on for over a decade now. And yes, it’s a tradition that will never die. Next Friday, August 31, look for that cluster of tropical color in the bleachers in and around section 203, as the mantle for organizing this thing and fighting the establishment has gone to our good friend Rocky as it lives on. I will indeed be in there, making merry, but probably not until the fourth inning. Beer is cheaper outside than it is inside!

Aloha!

Number 31, Ichiro Suzuki, Number 31

The Yankees added the perfect piece to their 2012 puzzle when they traded for Ichiro.

It’s rare that I really like non-Yankees. I always had a soft spot for some Tampa Bay players (before they became the Rays and actual competition) like Carl Crawford (before he became a Red Sox) and Scott Kazmir (before he became an Angel because the Mets — I found out on Tuesday morning that he is now pitching for the Sugar Land Skeeters of the Atlantic League). For some strange reason I liked Rey Ordonez because of his fielding even if he was a .246 career hitter, and I also liked Carlos Baerga (again I don’t know why). But my favorite non-Yankee of all time is now playing right field for them.

Maybe I never would have liked Ichiro if the Yankees hadn’t steamrolled his 116-win Mariners in the 2001 ALCS, and he had burned them the way that Juan Pierre would two years later in the World Series. But the Yankees did destroy them, and Ichiro and the Mariners haven’t played October baseball since their 12-3 loss to the Yankees in Game 5 of that ALCS on Oct. 22, 2001.

That game, which happened almost 11 years ago, is the reason Ichiro changed clubhouses, numbers, positions (when Nick Swisher gets back) and roles on Monday. That game is why Ichiro went to Mariners ownership and asked to be traded in the final months of his $90-million deal for a chance to play in the postseason for the first time since his rookie season.

I grew to love Ichiro because he was and is cool. Everything about him from putting his first name on the back of his jersey (which I didn’t like at first) to his jersey pull to the way he swings (in the summer of 2002 I mirrored my left-handed Wiffle ball swing after his); the way he leaves the box; the way he fields; the way he throws; the way he runs; the way he talks to the media like this gem with Bob Costas, and even the way he could hit a walk-off home run off of Mariano Rivera.

I was eating dinner on Monday night and trying to make sense of the surreal feeling that Rick Nash is actually a Ranger (after months of campaigning on Twitter with WFAN’s Brian Monzo) when my friend texted me to say that he saw “Ichiro was switching clubhouses.” I had texted him earlier in the day about the Nash trade and then the Tigers-Marlins trade, so I thought he was just mocking my excessive trade texts. I went on Twitter and there was Jack Curry’s tweet followed by dozens of responses to the deal, which took longer to scroll through than the Pearl Jam section of my iTunes.

How awkward must Monday have been for Ichiro? You’re the face of the only franchise you have known in the majors and you’re traded to a team you’re supposed to be playing against in just a few hours. So before you walk to the other clubhouse and put on a new uniform for the first time in your 12 years in the league, you have to sit beside your owner and GM, who you asked for a trade, and watch your owner read a prepared speech about your career straight from paper like a nervous third grader giving a student council election speech. Then you give your own statement in Japanese. Then you have to sit through your translator give the same exact statement in English. Then your new manager comes out to tell the media how you will be used on your new team. Then you take questions from the media about leaving the only team you have ever known only to play against them that night in their stadium. Whether it was when he was getting ready in the Yankees clubhouse or putting on his No. 31 jersey or when he took the field at Safeco in the bottom of the first instead of the top, at some point Ichiro had to have asked himself: Is this real life?

(What happens with Ichiro’s translator? Does he get traded too? Does he join the Yankees’ payroll and uproot his Seattle life, or is he unemployed?)

And talking about awkward, how about the Mariners fans who aren’t Internet savvy or aren’t Twitter users or just weren’t aware of the trade when they showed up to Safeco on Monday night? “Honey, why is Ichiro playing right field with a Yankees uniform on?”

A lot of critics have been quick to joke that this trade is about seven or more years late, but no one is mentioning that Jayson Nix and DeWayne Wise were getting regular playing time with Brett Gardner out, or that Raul Ibanez was playing a little too much left field. Was anyone really going to feel comfortable with Wise facing Justin Verlander or Jered Weaver in October? I know I wasn’t. Did anyone want Andruw Jones going into left field as a “defensive replacement” with a one-run lead in the ninth inning of a playoff game?

Two-plus months and October of Ichiro for D.J. Mitchell and Danny Farquhar? If Glen Sather hadn’t fixed the Rangers’ scoring problem by getting one of the only true pure scorers in the game for just Brandon Dubinsky, Artem Anisimov, Tim Erixon and a first-round pick earlier on Monday, Brian Cashman might be on a float up the Canyon of Heroes this morning. I guess he could still take a cab up it if he really wants to.

This isn’t the Lance Berkman deal of 2010 (at least I hope it’s not) even if has a few similarities like going from a last-place team to a playoff team or the pending free agency. So, if Ichiro becomes overweight and looks a slob for the final two months and then signs with the Cardinals, gets into shape and rededicates himself to the game and saves his team’s season in Game 6 of the World Series in an eventual championship then I will really move to Europe and become a soccer fan.

This deal isn’t the Ivan Rodriguez deal of 2008 either. This isn’t the Lance or Pudge deal because I don’t think Ichiro lost it overnight between 2010 and 2011, and I don’t think he’s mailed it in for the last year and a half the way Berkman did with the Astros and Yankees. I think Ichiro is a superstar who has deserved a better supporting cast in Seattle since Oct. 22, 2001, and hasn’t gotten it. He’s been stuck in a lineup with Brendan Ryan and Chone Figgins. Casper Wells leads the Mariners in average, on-base and slugging with a .261/.331.447 line, and Justin Smoak, the team’s home run leader with 13 was sent down to Triple-A after Monday’s game. If Kevin Youkilis’ situation in Boston screamed “Trade Me!” then Ichiro’s situation was in need of a 20-story billboard in Times Square, a Super Bowl commercial and maybe even the rights to a stadium name reading “Trade Me Right Effing Now!” the way Denis Lemieux asked to be in Slap Shot. Over the last few years, Ichiro became the poster boy for “change of scenery” and he went about getting it the right way.

Today’s Ichiro might boast a poor .261/.288/.353 line, which is far from where he was just two years ago (.315/.359/.394), but at this time yesterday Ichiro was probably counting down the days to the offseason. He was going to go to Safeco to likely hit second behind Casper Wells and his 123 career hits with the 100 hits and 13 career home runs of the 22-year-old Jesus Montero as his protection. At this time yesterday Ichiro and his Hall of Fame resume was going to play the first game of the Yankees series in the same lineup with possibly four players hitting under .200 in Miguel Olivo, Justin Smoak, Chone Figgins and Brendan Ryan. (The Mariners only ended up playing two guys hitting under .200 with Smoak and Ryan.) Instead Ichiro hit eighth for the Yankees, lost in a lineup where he isn’t being asked to be the offense, but rather just part of the offense.

The Yankees don’t need Ichiro to be the 28-year-old Ichiro for 162 games, which is what the Mariners needed. The Yankees just need Ichiro to be a piece to the puzzle for the second season. And this piece fits perfectly.

***

My book The Next Yankees Era: My Transition from the Core Four to the Baby Bombers is now available as an ebook!

Former Bleacher Creature Foe Ichiro Now a Friend

Sheriff Tom welcomes Ichiro to the Yankees by looking back at the hard times the Bleacher Creatures have given other legendary players.

In this age of social media slamming, it was interesting for me to watch the reactions across the board from Yankees fans when Ichiro was traded. It actually sailed by the head of one of my buddies, who was out mini-golfing of all things. He came home after chopping up that course, had a hearty repast and settled in for the Yankees game. Imagine his surprise when he saw Ichiro settling under a line drive in Yankees duds.

Immediately after hearing of the deal I scrambled to my binders of scorecards to seeing if I happened to be in attendance for the fanfaronade of Ichiro’s 2001 debut, or any other big games the man partook in. Well, I got hit with the slapdash of reality that my last scored game was from 2000, even though I have surely been out there a fair deal since then. My days of “scoring” stopped once I started getting into the games in the fourth after prolonging my drinking time outside, so I have nothing documented on this man, but I do have the memories.

I remember Hiro, a longtime creature who was also from Japan, eagerly giving us lessons in the language out in the seats, so we could shout an insult Ichiro would actually recognize. And I remember our good friend MetsSuckBalls coming in with printouts from his computer with all kinds of naughty Japanese words. (Hey, its how we worked out there!) The printouts weren’t just for Ichiro. They were for all the Asian baseball fans he brought in with him. Bless them.

Did people respect Ichiro? Surely. Did we boo him? Oh, very loudly. When a legend comes to town you take a moment to appreciate them, and then move on and fight for your home turf. I think back to when Tony Gwynn, that roly-poly hitting machine, came to town for some hot World Series action. The first time he came shambling out to the outfield, we welcomed him with a warm hand. We were standing, waving, welcoming him to New York and wishing him well. He grinned and waved back. Everyone was happy. Then the game started and the first pitch was thrown. “Hey, Gwynn!” someone hollered. “You suck!” At this, hundreds of people jumped back to their feet and a “Gwynn sucks! Gwynn sucks! Gwynn sucks!” chant boomed through the night. Gwynn was taken aback. The affair was over. Respect was shown, but now it was time for rancor.

Ichiro understood this. Sure, we would talk out there about how annoying he was, how stupid it was that he was swinging at pitches over his head or buzzing the ground and pinging them for hits, and throwing beams from the outfield and busting rallies. He looked wispy and even frail at times. He ran fast, but it was sort of funny looking from where we sat. He was always playing hard and while you love that in a player you don’t like to see it against your team, so you boo it.

While I’m sure the Bleacher Creatures are no way in Ichiro’s head, I’m confident that if asked about that group and other rowdy Yankees fans he has encountered from the opposite sides of the fence, he would have a chuckle. But now it’s the foe becoming the friend, and it’s time to move on.

It only took about six minutes after the first tweets earmarking the deal had hit before the “He’d better not touch No. 51!” started flying about. While Bernie Williams’ number hasn’t been retired, Yankees fans continue to scare everyone else away from it. I’m not adverse to someone claiming the digits sometime in the future if the number isn’t retired (and Ichiro with his Hall of Fame resume surely would be deserving of the accolade), but this may simply be a two-month rental, and it’s not the time. It was interesting to watch the salvos going back and forth, and a longtime bleacher denizen and buddy of mine, Justin, tweeted “Future HOFer Ichiro Suzuki can’t have non-HOFer Bernie Williams’ number, so he gets HOFer Dave Winfield’s number instead. Got it.”

Another interesting crop of fans are the ones that dislike the deal. There are few who are ruminating on the loss of D.J. Mitchell or Danny Farquhar, but I’ve seen a lot of grumbling over the loss of DeWayne Wise. Look, I liked Wise in his own way, but I prefer taking a flyer on a player like Ichiro. Sometimes Yankee fans (myself included) like to complain just to complain. I was actually a D.J. Mitchell fan, griping that he was passed up for spot starts last year and was always behind Adam Warren in the pecking order.

For now, Ichiro is our friend. He will be greeted with cheers that immediately turn to jeers once the first pitch is thrown. He will get to come up with a way to acknowledge Roll Call, and get a groaner of a home run call concocted by Jolly John Sterling. And after the season is over, he will probably move on, and we can boo him again.

Tag: Seattle Mariners

Scorecard Memory: First Hawaiian Shirt Night in the Bleachers

Number 31, Ichiro Suzuki, Number 31

Former Bleacher Creature Foe Ichiro Now a Friend