It isn’t really about Edgar. Then again…

It’s funny, the things you remember.

Edgar and friends (AP)

When it comes to Edgar Martinez, sometimes what you remember isn’t even about Edgar. Fitting, isn’t it? Even for Edgar himself, he never made it all about Edgar either.(click the dates below for full game logs)

October 6, 1995 – ALDS game three against the Yankees, Mariners stagger back from New York already down two games to none in a best-of-five series. Edgar draws three walks and scores twice as the Ms stay alive. But it wasn’t really about Edgar. It was about sitting next to my wife, laughing and screaming and being part of that insane, unforgettable first-ever playoff game in our beloved concrete Kingdome sound chamber, three hours of bedlam and adrenaline next to my amazing wife, who’d convinced me yeah we better order up those playoff tickets. She knew something special was in the works. Edgar was there, but it wasn’t about him.

Never heard #ryebreadandmustardthistimegrandma until much later.
We saw it in person. But man, that call never gets old does it?

October 7 – Arguably the landmark game of his career, Edgar drills three hits and draws another walk in five plate appearances, with two home runs and a history-making seven RBI as the Ms draw even in the series and force game five. But it wasn’t really about Edgar. It wasn’t really even about that iconic moment, the one we all remember, when the crowd went nuts as his grand slam hit the tarp in dead center field. It wasn’t really about Edgar or the other 57,178 ecstatic fans rocking that building that night. It was about my nine-year-old son, throwing his hands in the air and forgetting the open bottle of Talking Rain he held, spraying himself, his dad, and everyone within fifteen feet, and none of us cared. It was about sharing that moment with him and having something to remember the rest of our lives. Edgar was there, but it wasn’t about him.

You know what’s gonna happen. Go ahead, watch it again.

October 8 – The night of #thedouble. My friends, think about this: The Greatest Moment in Mariner History was not even a championship. It was a base hit that scored a run that earned the right to play for the right to play for the championship. It was 23 years ago, and the ALCS is still as far as our M’s have ever made it. Edgar was there, Edgar ripped that double down the line past third and into the corner just like we kinda all knew he would, but it wasn’t really about Edgar. It was about my arm around my twelve-year-old son, pounding him on the shoulder and screaming “He’s gonna score! He’s gonna score!” electrified watching Ken Griffey run. Swear to God, I’ve never seen any athlete in any sport run that fast, or with the certainty, the urgency, of #24 that day. And it was about hugging my son, holding him and looking up at the big screen to see Griffey’s smiling face, full of elation in the middle of a still-young career with so much pressure on his back, plus an early season injury, and now he was just letting it all go at the bottom of that scrum pile. And then you know what happened? Fifteen years later, really, fifteen years, after that twelve-year-old grew up and lost interest in the game, gave all appearances of not caring a lick about baseball, that same young man was prepping for his final recital to earn his Masters in Jazz… and he composed a tune called “Junior Rounding Third.” Because he still remembered that moment, another future Hall of Famer making that turn and heading for glory. One swing of the bat, as Rizzer likes to say, reverberates in places you never expect. Edgar was there all right, and he swung the bat that sent Junior on his way, but it wasn’t about him.

Who?  (Baseball Almanac)

October 10 – ALCS game one, against Cleveland. Edgar is quiet in this one, 0-for-3 plus a walk, but the M’s pull out a win behind an unknown 22-year-old righty named Bobby Wolcott. Wolcott, in the only playoff appearance he would ever make, walked the bases full with no outs in the first inning, then calmly retired the side in order to escape unharmed. The Kingdome shook with chants of “Bobby! Bobby! Bobby!” by the time he left the game after seven innings. Wolcott would spend five seasons in the majors, but he’d never have another game like that, his ERA actually jumping a point a year, 4-5-6-7-8 until the Red Sox finally cut him. He may still be out there sneaking one over the corner for the Ross Eversoles, I mean even today he’s still only 45, but that’s a topic for another day. Meanwhile, it wasn’t really about Edgar. Or even Bobby. This one was about the last major league game my father would ever see in person, pushing eighty, having a tough time getting around, but he soldiered on as I made him hoof it over a mile through SODO to the ballyard, and even after an elevator ride from a kindly usher, he still had to climb thirty rows to our seats. He didn’t care about any of that, he just wanted to watch a game. With me. And man, we got a game, and we got it together. This is the same guy who sat in his apartment five years later, screaming at the TV image of Jose Mesa. Goddammit, if they’re gonna pay you three million bucks to not throw strikes, goddammit t’ hell, they could pay me to do that, right now, today!

It’s probably just as well the fans at shiny new emerald green Safeco didn’t have to hear that in the summer of 2000. But we had our moment together, that night at the Dome in 1995. Edgar was there, and Bobby was there, but this one was only about my father.

Raise the Roof, for sure.

October 1, 1997 – ALDS game one. Baltimore opened with their ace, Mike Mussina. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Edgar knocked one into the left field seats off Moose. Edgar pounded on Moose his entire career, just like he did Rivera and Halladay, and you can bet that’s coming up when we hear those acceptance speeches at the Hall this summer. Edgar was there, Edgar was burned into the hearts of Seattle fans by this point, but this game wasn’t about Edgar. My daughter was only five when she got shut out of the seating rotation for that 1995 series. So game one of this series went to her, at age seven. And the M’s lost. But we got our pictures on the big screen fan cam, jumping around  holding that cheesy “Raise the Roof” banner we brought with us, right up there where Griffey’s face had been a couple years before, and our smiles were just as big as his. And after the game we lined up next to a fence along Royal Brougham Way, waiting for the bus to take us home. Behind that plywood screen, a new stadium was taking shape. Big things were happening in town, there was promise and hope in the air for our Mariners, and Edgar still had a big part to play. Edgar was there that night, Edgar hit another homer off a future Hall of Famer, but this memory wasn’t about Edgar.

Someone once told me that relationships are the only thing that matters when it’s all said and done. Kinda like Clarence’s note to George at the end of the Greatest Movie Ever Made. Maybe that’s what makes Edgar so special. All the great things he did weren’t even about him. They were about who was with us when he did them. They were about joy and gratitude for the one I chose to spend my life with. About a splash of water I can still feel today, an arm around my son’s shoulder, a long last hike with my dad, and about a couple of huge goofy smiles on a giant TV screen. Those things. They really do matter most.

Thanks Edgar. You made it all so special. Maybe it is about you, after all.