New York City, 1996

    New York City was mesmerizing. You never forget the first time you enter Manhattan. Towers that reach for the sky creep over the taxis as if the bowels of Hell had enclosed them in an environment of perpetual traffic. Mad businessmen on cell phones hustle down the streets, bumping into one another, jostling for position in the morning rush. Their avarice seems to blast over megaphones that perch on the tops of the buildings, every bit as disturbing as the ruckus and wrath of a war. All the artists are hidden away, observing the epicenter of the modern world’s madness through the binoculars of their studios. A lone weed grows through a crack in the pavement, seeking the Pleistocene environment that flourished prior to its disinheritance, and failing miserably.
     We stayed at a hotel near Central Park. When we left to explore the city, my aunt wanted to walk all the way to the Guggenheim, which was away from the skyscrapers. I hated the idea of walking so far. In my head, the real action was south, where 5th Avenue and Broadway beckon first time visitors. She ended up snapping at me for the first time, which I felt bad about later on. But we made up for it by spending a great evening together. We ended up walking down 5th Avenue. Our moods were quickly "risen" by the skyscrapers above us. Throngs of people were walking each direction, but I didn't feel claustrophobic. It was just another out-of-this-world experience for me. We went to the top of the Empire State Building and saw the whole city under a violet sunset. I remember the Twin Towers, when they still existed, standing in the distance, and lights as far as the eye can see. It was so cosmic up there, at twilight when city life is peaking. Afterwards, we had some greasy New York pizza before walking all the way back to the hotel.

The West Coast Super Trip of '96

    Many times, when I came home from school, I’d look at maps and imagine what each place on them looked like.  I’d project myself onto the maps and imagine myself traveling on their roads, approaching any major city and national park my mind saw fit.  I’d known what the Seattle skyline looked like, but not any other cities.  My mind didn’t care though; it had the power to construct buildings out of thin air, and I even tried to draw some of the skylines that had conjured inside my head.  That’s why going on road trips is one of my favorite things to do.  The reality of a road trip always confronts my imagination with surprising results.  Los Angeles was definitely one of those cities I’d imagined driving through, so to finally accomplish that was something I was proud of doing.  Fortunately, we didn’t get stuck in any of the city’s notorious traffic jams.
    Anyways, I digress.  Where were we going after L.A.?  You guessed it- Las Vegas, the quintessential party town!  But Vegas was only a pitstop- no bars or fun there.  It actually rained when we were there, can you believe it?
        The road trip only got better as time went on.  We drove up into Utah and hiked the Zion Canyon.  I remember feeling like an Indian warlord because I’d found a walking stick that was in the shape of a spear.  I’d use it to ward off invisible enemies on the hiking trail; ones that threatened to kidnap the people I was protecting.  After Zion we saw Bryce Canyon, which has a grand assortment of rocky columns everywhere.  I remember being utterly baffled by nature for the first time when I saw that place.  It has a certain otherworldly quality that demands one to expand their mind, or admit that everything they knew was only on the surface of a much broader sphere.
        It snowed on our way to the north rim of the Grand Canyon.  The canyon was everything I expected it to be.  You can walk on the rim and there are no railings.  It totally freaked my fellow travelers, but not me.  I made it all the way to this "island" out there, where there were vistas of the canyon on all sides.  The atmosphere of that vista is something I’ll never forget.  The only bad thing about it was that other tourists were swarming over the views, too busy taking pictures to really appreciate the scenery.  I am dismayed by modern tourism's mantra, “Lets take a picture and walk away", even though I am guilty of it sometimes.  It rips the heart from a genuine experience and pastes it on a piece of paper for eternity.  Call me old school, but I’d rather live in the present and soak in the experiences of my travels instead of worry about what they’d look like on camera.
    They introduced me to a lot of weird music on that trip - techno and acid jazz.  I remember the strange sounds of Depeche Mode, Delerium, Waterlillies, the Blade Runner soundtrack, and the freakish yodeling of an 808 State song.  Stuff I had never heard before.  It made the terrain all the more atmospheric for me.
    The scorching barrens of the desert yielded to the soaring peaks of the Rockies as we headed north on I25.  We hardly stopped at all in Colorado.  Pike’s Peak was but a drifting stranger on the north breeze, and Denver was too boring to pass up a nap on.  Wyoming was much of the same, but this time we veered away from the Rockies on our way to the Black Hills, in South Dakota.  There we saw the Crazy Horse Memorial, which would be the largest sculpture in the world if it were finished by now.  It’s carved out of a mountain that’s even larger than Mt. Rushmore (which we saw later).  Only the face of the great Sioux warrior was finished when we saw it; the rest of his body and the horse he rode on was just a huge chunk of granite that hadn’t even resembled the forms they were supposed to take yet.  Mt. Rushmore didn’t impress us as much. We'd been expecting that quartet of presidents to be larger and more awe-inspiring than it appears in photographs.  But Mt. Rushmore isn’t the kind of Herculean wonder that stands out on the horizon the way Mt. Rainier does.  After all, the grandiosity of man-made objects pale in comparison to those of nature.
        If you’re ever in this part of the country, the Badlands is a place that can’t be missed.  Only 40 miles away from Mt. Rushmore, it contains some of the largest Oligocene fossil beds in the world.  Its hills are made by sedimentary rocks that were eroded by rain and wind to form bizarrely-shaped ridges that are stratified in color.  They’re separated by large grasslands that are fed on by bison and bighorn sheep.  The Lakota tribe called it “Mako Sica”, or “bad land”, because of its extreme temperature and scarcity of water.  Walking in that strange landscape, we heard the disturbing sound of rattlesnakes slithering on the sand as the sun set over the pointy ridges.  We spent a spooky night in one the cabins in the center of it all, hearing a wind that howled over the sands all night, as if its mission were to make the area’s namesake felt in the base of one’s spine.  One of my mom’s dreams is that some biker will steal her away and take her here on a motorcycle, but she never tells me who it is.  I imagine it’s probably Bruce Springsteen; he wrote a song called Badlands and it’s one of her favorites.
        The next day we started west, finally heading in the direction of home.  A major thunderstorm surprised us in Wyoming; it was terrifying and beautiful at the same time.  The raindrops were as big as water balloons, lightning as thick as the veins of Thor.  Bolts of green, red, purple and gold dropped from the clouds in stupendous arrays of synchronized color.  Someone tried to take a picture of the lightning, but it was too fast for her.
        Just after crossing the Continental Divide, we saw a long range of snow-capped peaks off in the distance.  This was the Teton range, which oddly lacks any foothills on its eastern side, offering travelers like ourselves some stunning views from Jackson Hole.  The range’s name derives from “les trois tetons”, so called by French voyageurs when they thought the mountains resembled three breasts.  These mountains, known for their aesthetic charm, are an icon of the west, and have been shown on film in several westerns.  Grand Teton, the largest of them, stood majestically in a tear-jerking scene from the movie "Shane".  My experience of seeing it was every bit as moving and memorable as it was in that scene.
     The car, the poor little Mustang, was exhausted after driving up another 8,000-foot pass.  I think by then we were all getting a little travel weary.  I couldn't wait to get home after 16 days on the road.  Idaho, Oregon, Mt Rainier, and back to Seattle we went.  I'll never forget arriving at my grandma's just in time for Sunday dinner, with the Sonics winning the Western Conference Championship over the Jazz, all in one in evening.  It was a prime time for celebration and story.  I am very privileged to have witnessed such amazing things at an early age.

1995 Mariners

    The timing couldn't have been more right for one of the most magical seasons in sports history.  I was 11 years old and just beginning any boy's fascination with the sport of baseball when the Seattle Mariners did the impossible: came back from 13 games behind the California Angels and won the division.  For much of the beginning of the season, up until late August, the Mariners had been way behind the Angels in the standings, so much that nobody in the world of sports thought they could have made a comeback.  But they did, and it was a great time to a fan of theirs.
    In late August, the Mariners were 13 games behind the Angels and one game under .500.  Playing the Yankees at home, Ken Griffey Jr., arguably the best player in baseball at the time, came up to bat with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning.  Ken had just come back from a severe wrist injury that had put him on the bench for most of the season.  He hit a two-run home run to win the game for the Mariners with that sweet swing of his.  Unknowingly, he’d started a chain reaction that wouldn’t end for weeks.  No one could have possibly known it would become the spark that ignited one of the great Cinderella seasons in baseball history.  It's as if he’d lit an Olympic torch with his game winning home run, and each Mariner in turn played a part in relaying it to the finish line.
    From then on the Mariners just kept on winning.  What's even more striking is the way in which they won all those games.  On September 10th, Joey Cora hit an 8th inning double on the road to help the Mariners earn a victory.  Another come-from-behind victory came against the Twins on September 13th when Jay Buhner hit a 3-run home run in the bottom of the 8th to defeat the pesky Kansas City Royals- a team who’d been leading the wild card race at the time.  At this point, the Mariners were just two games behind the Royals and five games behind the Angels: an improvement of eight games in less than a month.  Norm Charlton also earned his 9th save in 15 games.  Three days later, another Mariner hit a walk-off home-run; this time it was Dan Wilson’s turn.  Three days after that, Doug Strange hit a home run in the ninth inning to tie a game, setting up Ken Griffey Jr. to hit a game winning single in extra innings.  The Angels then lost five games in a row and the Mariners took the division lead with 10 games left in the season.  That means they’d gained 14 games on the Angels in less than a month.  This seems remarkable in itself, but the magic didn’t stop there.
    They swept the Rangers easily; then they swept the hated Oakland Athletics.  The series against the Athletics was the second most memorable of the season.  In game 1 they were down 6-0 and scored four runs on Vince Coleman's first ever career grand slam.  After Edgar Martinez hit a home run to tie the game, Alex Diaz hit one that won it.  In game 2 the 6’10 pitching ace Randy Johnson, that tall and lanky harvester of doom, shut them out on 15 strikeouts.  Game 3 was a see-saw game, arguably the most exciting of the season.  First Edgar tied the game with a double in the 7th, then Norm blew a save by allowing Danny Tartabull a two run home run.  In the bottom of the ninth, Tino Martinez was the next Mariner to join the hero parade.  Legendary Mariners announcer Dave Neihaus made this famous call when it happened:

    Here’s the pitch to Tino: swung on and belted, deep to right field and that will fly away!  And the Mariners win it 9-8, in perhaps the most incredible game in their history!  Back and forth, back and forth and Tino Martinez has his second home run of the game!  Unbelievable!  Off Dennis Eckersley!  And forty six thousand fans are losing their minds here in Seattle.  Tonight I’ll guarantee you it will be sleepless in Seattle for everybody who was here today, including me!

    A few days later, Neihaus made another famous call in Texas.  It was after Ken Griffey Jr. stepped up to the plate with the game tied, two outs, and the bases loaded:


    Swung on and hit deep to right field and it’s... Get out the rye bread and the mustard grandma, it’s grand salami time!


    At that point I couldn't believe what was happening.  Every time the team made a dramatic comeback, my excitement increased to levels I’d never known.  It was as if the Gods of baseball had opened up a portal to another dimension where all my dreams were coming true.
    At the end of the season the Angels made a comeback of their own, tying the Mariners for first place on the last game of the season.  There was a one game playoff for the division title, and it shut the entire city down.  At school every classroom’s television was tuned into the ballgame at the Kingdome, where Randy Johnson was throwing a perfect game into the sixth inning.  The game was tied at 0 in the seventh when the Mariners loaded the bases for Luis Sojo, another unlikely hero.  Out of all possible scenarios, Luis hit a ground ball down the right field line that got under the glove of the first baseman.  Somehow the ball got lost in the Angels bullpen, and before the right fielder could throw it back to the infield everyone had scored and Luis was on his way to third.  The ball was overthrown and when Luis rounded third base the Kingdome practically exploded with joy because everyone knew he’d make it home on an inside-the-park grand slam.  The look on Angels' pitcher Mark Langston's face after that was an absolutely priceless expression of disbelief.
    Eventually Randy Johnson gave up a run, but he pitched the game all the way to the finish.  He lead the Mariners to a 9-1 victory and a first place finish in the AL West.  The last pitch was a called strikeout, and no one will ever forget Randy's long arms extending to the sky just before the bench-clearing victory mob swarmed him with celebration.
    The Mariners saved their best for last in the 1995 ALDS against the Yankees.  They lost the first two games in New York; game 2 was a heartbreaker that went fifteen innings, but no one in their right mind would have counted this team out.  I certainly didn't, and nobody else in Seattle did either.  After the Mariners won game three, the biggest hero of them all, one Edgar Martinez, really took late inning dramatics to a another level.  In game four he hit a three run home run in the third, but the Mariners were still behind 5-4.  In the 8th inning, the game was tied at 6 when Edgar came up to the plate with the bases loaded and launched a grand slam to win the game.  Then in game five, arguably the greatest moment in Mariners history came during the 11th inning after the Yankees had scored a run in the top half and threatened to win the series.  Joey Cora laid down a fabulous bunt hit up the first base line, just like he'd done before Edgar's grand slam in the game before.     Then Griffey got a base hit up the middle, which sent Joey to third.  With runners on the corners and the Mariners down by one, Edgar approached the plate.  At this moment, you could almost sense the culmination of a month's worth of magical wonder rising off the floor of the dome, ready to decide the outcome of another close game in which they'd come from behind; from behind in all three facets- season, series, and game- against stupendous odds, making it all seem like something out of a fairy tale.  With the count 1-0, Edgar sent a line drive down the left field line, scoring Joey easily.  Junior ran as fast as his legs could carry him.  The throw was accurate but late, and Junior slid into a pile of white jerseys with happy faces under an umbrella of fireworks that alighted the Kingdome in an explosion of rapture:

    [The pitch is] swung on and lineddowntheleftfieldlineforabasehit!  Here comes Joey!  Here comes Junior to third base they're going to wave him in!... the.throw.will.be.late.the Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship and it just continues!  I don't believe it, MY OH MY!


    In the ALCS, the Mariners faced their greatest challenge, a Cleveland Indians team that had doubled up on their wins to losses (which is pretty rare in baseball).  They were a classic offensive juggernaut; as a team they’d ended up batting around .300 for the whole season.  The series wasn’t even close; the Mariners lost it four games to two in what was surely an anticlimax to the season.  In the World Series the Indians lost to the Braves in a major upset.
    It was a run for the ages though.  Victorious underdogs are the pride of an oppressed people, for the people are always unfavored against the powers that rule them.  A sports team can resemble a nation’s struggle against forces above them, forces that are set into motion by things like war and economics.  Strategies are drawn up, odds are weighed, and if by some miracle the people win the day, their momentum increases and the oppressor’s fear increases.  The 1995 Mariners were like guerilla soldiers ambushing legions of the finest warriors, who had better weapons and larger numbers.  Their hearts were steadfast against teams like the Angels and the Yankees, and for that we salute them.