A Grip on Sports: Seasons change and injuries happen but we don’t have to like either
If you are one of those people who need convincing the seasons – sports and otherwise – are changing, Wednesday morning in Spokane was perfect for you. Windy, cloudy, rainy. A fall preview in late August. And pretty much football weather. Or World Series weather.
We’ve always imagined the reason football was invented was to give young men, who have a tendency to hit each other just for fun, an outlet for their natural aggression during sweater weather. You know, when early fall in the northern climes made sweaters necessary, some way to exercise had to follow.
How about one group of guys moving a ball from one spot to another, all the while another group tries to stop them? Physically. By hitting them. And the more sweaters you wear, the less it hurts to hit the other guy. We’ll call it football, though we’ll use our feet to move the ball only occasionally. This is America. We can call it whatever we want.
That’s not anywhere near the true story of football’s invention, sure, but the game certainly fits better in poor weather than it does in bright sunshine and extreme heat.
We are seasoned enough to remember a time when college football’s schedule actually started in the fall. No, really. When the leaves fell, so did the first quarterback. And, other than a couple of handfuls of bowl games, it finished before Thanksgiving. Now, thanks to schedule-creep, here we are, Labor Day weekend, and the season is kicking off in earnest. Heck, it started last weekend . Conference championship games? They come in December. When more than a sweater will be needed to stay warm.
We’re not complaining, but just stating the obvious. Football is so dominant in our sporting culture, it has to be played in the summer, fall and winter. And then practiced in the spring.
And by “has to,” we are referring to the need to justify the financial investment. Not just of the schools or NFL franchises, but of their media partners.
So here we are. The end of August. College football games have already been played. The rest of America will take to the gridiron this weekend. It’s only right the weather should follow.
Storm warnings were up at T-Mobile Tuesday. The first casualty was starting pitcher George Kirby, scratched due to an illness a couple of hours before the first pitch against the woeful A’s. OK, the M’s had a backup plan.
Then, just before the game, the hottest hitter in the universe, Julio Rodriguez, was ruled out due to a sore foot. Not good. And a huge blow to a lineup that had been running warm mainly because he’s brought it to a boil. Then a few outs in, Ty France gets knocked out by, of all things, being hit by a baseball. Not at the plate, mind you, but in the field. Luke Weaver’s poor pickoff throw and the ensuing awkward tag nails his thumb and nails him to the bench.
Bad, worse and awful. Could Aug. 29, 2023, be a night that lives in Mariners infamy? When it was over, the status of the three was still unclear. (But France, nursing a bruised thumb, played in Wednesday afternoon’s game). Shortstop J.P. Crawford (who also played Wednesday) limped a bit after a hard slide and, even more upsetting, the A’s had picked up a 3-1 win.
With wins from Houston (in Boston) and Texas (in New York), the American League West lead featured, basically, those three teams.
Mariners fans, conditioned as they have been since birth, were fearing the worst. And wondering about Julio’s foot.
Scott Servais said following the game Rodriguez had a pinched nerve and would be day-to-day. He didn’t play Wednesday. And Kirby? He’ll be back when he’s better.
As Tuesday nights in late August go, we have seen worse. We just can’t remember when.
After months of warm-to-hot-to-scorching weather, Wednesday morning’s cool air is refreshing in one way. Goose bumps on bare legs are always refreshing, right? But, please, can we have another month of warmth? It’s hard enough to fight off the Social Security-age instinct to flee south for the winter and a cool September certainly wouldn’t help.