It was much closer than it should've been, mostly because McLaren stuck with O'Flaherty through the 9th, which isn't his usual role, giving up a couple bloop singles, and George Sherrill uncharacteristically walked his only batter. But we held on to win on a muggy August night, keeping pace with the Angels and staying just barely atop the wild card race. What a game.
Photos below. Click the timestamp or the title to see more than three.
New Comiskey, otherwise known as U.S. Cellular Field.
All that's left of the old Comiskey, which now serves as a parking lot. Here, a shadow of the past stands in.
Gotta pay the bills.
We've been staying with Heather and Chris for the past week and a half, so we took them out to the game as thanks for tolerating us. Here, Chris contemplates Carlton Fisk's bronze athleticism.
A less cluttered view of the field.
The M's take BP.
Chris spent most of batting practice shouting "Aw, c'mon, throwithere! C'mon!" to the three Mariner relievers who were shagging flies.
Out of Ryan Rowland-Smith, Sean Green, and Eric O'Flaherty, only Ryan would toss a baseball to whining kids. Hey Aussie, how about a little love for the only Seattle fan in the right field bleachers? Geez.
The shadow lets you know that the sun beat down upon us with the fury of a Roger Clemens hot dog.
Mmm... brats... Easily the best concession in the park. Heather and Chris usually go during the 4th inning, but we couldn't wait.
Jones in Ibanez's spot. I wonder if he would've gotten the same abuse from the drunken lout who heckled Raul all game before departing in the 9th. ("I'm a Sox fan, born on the South Side, raised on the South Side, f--- the Cubs." And he leaves early?)
The Mariners celebrate after Putz fans Erstad to close out the game.
The 6:05 games have a spectacular fireworks show afterward.
A fine way to end the evening: victory and exploding phosphorus.
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