I See Home Runs

We all loved The 6th Sense. It was a great movie. Beside the fact that some woman in the theater kept asking her husband questions, I truly enjoyed it. And I'm starting to appreciate the character played by Haley Joel Osment more and more these days, because he and I share similar abilities. I see home runs before they happen.

A little background, if you will. Ever since I can recall, my father has loved nothing quite as much as sitting on the couch on the weekend and watching football. Now my father, god bless him, isn't the world's most optimistic man. I inherited a bit of this from him - I've developed what I call Selective Pessimism. I've changed "Expect the best - plan for the worst" into "Expect the worst and plan for it." How does this work in reality? Anything better than the worst possible scenario is good, so I'm able to take bad situations and operate within them. My father? Not so much.

What makes my father's pessimism so destructive is that my father can predict awful, horrible things in sporting events. It's to the point where I actually believe that his predicting them is what causes them to become real. He does not see the future, he shapes it. For years, this has centered most clearly around Husky and Seahawk football. With the Huskies, it was always this: "I don't know son, the Cougars always love to run trick plays against us...." which of course was followed instantly by a reverse or fake punt that worked to perfection, to the dismay of Huskies the world over. With the Seahawks, my father just had a general sense of impending doom. His predictions with the Hawks were always more general, like Nostradamus, but somehow they always came true. It usually started with, "I don't know son, the Seahawks always seem to find a way to screw up in these situations...." followed predictably by a fumble, holding penalty, interception, or missed field goal.

Needless to say, when your father has this kind of power, it makes watching football incredibly stressful. Watching the Hawks and the Dawgs for years was excruciating because my father seemed to have some sort of supernatural ability to affect the outcome of the game. What was worse, he never used his power in a positive way. It was always for evil. I've tried to dissuade him, but a man drunk with power cannot understand reason. So I struggled in vain to atone for the sins of the father. It was not until 1990 that I managed to do so.

The Huskies were playing Nebraska, in Lincoln, and were having a hard time. Nebraska was good, and the Dawgs were losing a close game. They drive down to the Nebraska 40, and face a 4th and 9. Coach James decides to go for it. My father? "I don't know son, I think this is the end of the game right here...", despite the fact that it was the late 3rd quarter. I responded, "Father, have a little faith. I think they're going to get the first down." I didn't exactly believe myself. But what happened next? Billy Joe Hobert completes a pass to Orlando McKay for 11 yards and Husky first down! It was the first time I'd ever successfully defeated my father.

Fast forward to last night. I've been developing this ability over the years, and it's not quite 100% accurate, but it's pretty damn good. I am at the Mariners game. In the last few weeks, I've been able to predict a number of home runs and RBI doubles. I'm feeling it. Two weeks ago it was a Jose Guillen blast. Last weekend it was an Adrian Beltre home run. Last night, it was Richie Sexson. Richie came up in the first inning with two on and two outs. I turned to my friend the wedding photographer and said, "I don't know if he'll hit this one out, but I think he's going to hit it hard, and drive in both runs." Two seconds later, Richie drills the pitch to left center, where it hits the wall, just a few feet too low to be a home run. Two runs score. The wedding photographer says, "You were right!" It's hard to capture his excitement, but it was there.

Later in the game, I predicted a strike out by Jose Guillen. That's not really a prediction, it happens all the time. But enter the bottom of the ninth. Mariners and Twins deadlocked at 3. Richie is the first man to the plate, facing what appeared to be some French-Canadian dude with an ERA lower than my blood alcohol level. I turn to the wedding photographer and say, "He's going to end this game right here. Walk off home run." At the same time, I'm sending a text message to B Els, saying, "Time for a walk off." The next pitch, Sexson destroys. It goes flying to left center. The crowd is going nuts as the ball arcs through the thick night air. Nothing was getting out of the park in batting practice. The wind was blowing in. There was no reason for this ball to get out of the park. But sure as hell, two Twins outfielders converge at the wall, and watch as the ball sails over their heads into the bullpen, for a game ending walk off home run. I turn to my friend and say, "I have the power!" B Els sends me the following text message: "You are absurd. But I love it." Conclusion? I am He-Man.