Published: Sunday, June 8, 2008
All of M's fury signifies nothing
By John Sleeper Herald Columnist
The pressure had been simmering for weeks before Mariners president Chuck Armstrong pierced the eardrums of the coaching staff Wednesday morning and manager John McLaren left a blue cloud in the interview room Wednesday night.
Some days earlier, pitcher Carlos Silva noted a distinct lack of teamwork, that some unnamed players only looked at their own stats, that the most important part of the game was whether they got two hits, not that the team won or lost.
Silva had become one of the few players who bothered to address the media.
Increasingly, the post-game ritual for the players was to hide in the clubhouse, off-limits to the press. Chief offenders were Adrian Beltre and Richie Sexson, leaving members of the media to pick from Brandon Morrow and Miguel Cairo and the like for analysis of the latest defeat.
Mike Hargrove was a believer and example of the baseball adage that, as long as the season was, the way to move forward was to keep an even, steady emotional mode, to neither get too high nor too low. Over the years, this bunch has taken that philosophy to an extreme.
That's especially true for this lost season. No matter how bad it's become, no matter how badly the walls crumble around them, the players remain Tyrone Willingham.
Yet at some point, success in anything we attempt requires the energy that only fire and emotion can bring. So when Armstrong and McLaren blew a gasket on the same Wednesday, the overwhelming feeling was … great, but what took them?
Look at the Boston Red Sox. Manny Ramirez and Kevin Youkilis got into a very public tiff in the dugout. Why? Reportedly because guys were torqued by Youkilis' penchant for tossing bats and batting helmets after lousy at-bats.
Call the Red Sox what you want. I call them defending World Champs.
That won't happen with the Mariners as we know them today. No player on the roster is emotionally capable to lead. No player on the roster can confront and demand of his teammates to battle together.
A couple of years ago, Raul Ibanez slid into home and was called out. Incensed, he screamed a few choice words at the home-plate umpire. Finally, Ibanez showed some fire. Finally, he showed he cared. Finally, he showed he was willing to fight, right or wrong.
Then he ruined it all after the game by apologizing during an interview.
Champions don't apologize. They go about their work with purpose, intelligence and yes, fire. They are single-minded in fighting for the ultimate goal.
They don't apologize for a few expletives, as Ibanez and McLaren did.
Frustration breeds fire. We finally saw some Wednesday.
Unfortunately, it was too little and it came too late.
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My greatest memory of Jim McKay came during the 1972 Summer Olympic Games in Munich, when, after 16 straight hours of covering the Black September terrorists' taking and murder of Israeli hostages, his bloodshot, baggy eyes locked onto us in our living rooms as he told us, "They're all gone."
That was McKay at his best, the summit of the work of a man who was the best ever at his profession. So many memories come forth upon the news that he died this weekend at age 86.
McKay worked 12 Olympic Games. He was the first sports commentator to win an Emmy. Then he won 12 more.
When McKay retired, the events he worked never seemed the same: the Indianapolis 500s, the Kentucky Derbies, the British Opens. McKay was the one who started "ABC's Wide World of Sports" in 1961.
No sports broadcaster told a story better than McKay. No one comforted us better. No one broke bad news to us better. He will be missed.
Sports columnist John Sleeper: sleeper@heraldnet.com. For Sleeper[`]s blog, "Dangling Participles," go to www.heraldnet.com/danglingparticiples.
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