Take me out to the hot dog stand

I never learn. Back in March, a friend who buys Mariners' season's tickets each year once again gave me a chance to buy in for a few games. Wow, I thought (as I'd thought so many times in the past): a home game against the Yankees in September. Two division leaders showing us a preview of the play-offs! Or, at worst, a battle for the wild card.

Last night was the game. Pat M. and I walked to the stadium from downtown. The Yanks had carried out their side of my plans, holding a nice four-game lead over Boston. The Mariners? Uh oh. Not so much. A 62-86 season to date, and lolling about comfortably in the division cellar.

Again. For another year. The crowd was underwhelming (see inset).

Make that record 62-87, because they lost again last night, 3-2. But, I have to admit, it was an interesting game, as the score suggests. The game wasn't lost until Ichiro was picked off stealing second, with two out in the ninth inning.

But there's more to baseball than the score. Or, in fact, more than the play on the field. In terms of square footage, I'd guess that as much space is allotted to the concourses running around the exterior of the stadium, including the dozens of concession stands, as is to the seating itself.

And, like the kid I am, I gave as much thought to what was available out in the concourse as I did to the game itself. My own personal score card for the game: Start of the first inning -- jumbo dog with sauerkraut and condiments, bag of Fritos and coke. End of third -- soothing draft of IPA. End of sixth -- cup of tiny ice cream balls, mint chocolate. (I passed up the opportunity offered by vendors to buy my choice of pink or blue cotton candy.) I have, in fact, eaten more steadily throughout games in the past, but Pat was restraining himself last night putting some brakes on my own dreams of gluttony.

In my near future, no doubt: a Lipitor prescription.

My second and final game of the season. Not like the old days, when I might go a half dozen times a year. Baseball's a great game. But for a fair-weather fan like myself, twice a year is about all I can persuade myself to attend, so long as the team's sporting a 62-87 record. C'mon guys. You don't even have to get into the play-offs, but you've got to give us fans some reason to keep up our hopes right down to the end of the season.

But, as an excuse to eat all that great junk food that I'd never be seen eating "in real life," the night was a treat and complete success.