The blogosphere lit up like my uncle at Thanksgiving Dinner with takes on the Mariners v. Rangers extravaganza at Safeco Field on May 8.

Whatever Richie Sexson was on, don't try it at the next rave, oh band of grungeons.

"When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead..."

As fights go, it wasn't much after the first few furious moments. But as base-brawls go, Mariners v. Rangers; Sexson v. Kevin Gabbard in the main ring, was one of the stranger events of the last decade, or so.

Sexson's imminently, eminently, legendary meltdown on a pitch not even in the same Zip code as his head precipitated the big event. But it had been simmering for several innings, not to mention many games in the case of the not-so-merry M's.

"And you've just had some kind of mushroom

And your mind is moving slow..."

Expected to compete for, if not flat-out dominate the AL West, Los Angels notwithstanding, the Mariners have been dreadful. Can't score a lick. Which should make for a grand round of nothing ball next week when that other grand underachiever and offensive underling, the San Diego Padres, come to town for the overheated annual cross-league rivalry (not) next week. But, we digress.

Coming into the pugilistic outburst about when "Lost" got found Thursday night, May 8, the maniacal Mariners had rocked the cellar at Davy Jones' locker with the grand tamale of zero runs in the previous 15 innings, or so; one run in three games.

Coincidental with giving up an Ian Kinsler home run, and some other collateral damage, Felix Hernandez asserted his keys to the kingdom by hitting two, including Kinsler, who was not amused in the least, but refrained.

Nerves were frayed, but let's make this perfectly clear. The pitch thrown by Gabbard was high.

"Go ask Alice

When she's ten feet tall..."

But that was about all.

A little lower and the ball actually would have been a strike. As it passed the plate, nowhere near Sexson, he immediately flung his bat and sped to the mound.

Gabbard had that deer-in-the-headlights glare. As with Claude Rains in "Casablanca" he appeared shocked, he'd tell you, shocked. Maybe he shouldn't have been. Sexson's attack was premeditated, no doubt about it. This was the inner hockey player in him causing a little havoc to try to right the Mariners' sinking ship.

"Go ask Alice

I think she'll know..."

Most shocking was the helmet toss portion of the event. As Rangers announcer Tom Grieve -- during an also now-legendary mic meltdown -- correctly surmised, Sexson throwing his helmet at Gabbard before he tackled the poor guy was well beyond the pale. Not quite Marichal on Roseboro, but nowhere near kosher.

(Grieve got on a roll with about a dozen dartful zingers at Sexson during the event; everyone has their favorite by now, mine: "If he's going to hit a hitter, he's going to hit a good hitter." And something to the effect, Sexson couldn't hit the side of a boat. Meantime, Mike Blowers on the Mariners broadcast side, effusively praised Sexson for firing up the team. Sort of Obama-Clinton light.).

"And the Red Queen's 'off with her head!'

Remember what the dormouse said..."

And then the scrum materialized. High-low-lights included Hernandez ranting and raving near the mound. Several teammates had to fake restrain him. And in the far corner,  Eddie Guardardo made a rare appearance on his old home field -- two actually, for he also pitched -- serving as ringmaster/peacemaker. Next stop: Beirut.

Slipping from the sublime to the ridiculous, however, was the amazing display by, who else, Milton Bradley, no ingenue in this set drama.

Bradley swooped catcher-clad Gerald Laird clear off the ground and carried him away -- superhero fashion -- from the WWE Raw ring. Bradley angrily lectured Laird, and all who would listen, to steer clear of fight club. Incredible, considering how Bradley finished on the disabled last year. That following his own bizarre argument with an umpire -- the ump actually got suspended over it -- punctuated by Padres manager Bud Black wrestling him to the ground to save him from certain ejection.

Speaking of the DL as in just off it, Gabbard stayed in the game for a couple of hitters (ball, not body) following the 'in flagrante' moment, then left with another apparent injury. Sexson, obviously, was ejected. So flagrant was his meltdown, it wouldn't be surprising to see him suspended for seven games, or so.

Was there method to his madness? Not so obviously, mojombos. The Mariners were shut down and shut out yet again. The scoreless steak is 22 innings, scoreless if one doesn't count the helmet toss event.

"Remember what the dormouse said;

'FEED YOUR HEAD...FEED your head..."

The ghost of Richard Lee "Dick" Stuart was alive and well the evening of Thursday, May 1 at Angel Stadium of Anaheim on Gene Autrey Way.

Many of you weren't born when Stuart, infamously known as Dr. Strangeglove following the Stanley Kubrick 1964 classic of the same name, held court and, oopsy-daisy, drop-kicked balls from 1958 to 1969.

Stuart didn't just butcher the rawhide. He stewed, filleted, shaked, baked, folded and otherwise mutilated balls with all the aplomb of a blind elephant in a pottery barn.

Shameless on defense, and almost defiantly so, the good-humored -- Thank goodness, for he was a giant -- Stuart's record 29 errors at First Base set while toiling for the Boston Red Sox stands preeminent even today. Frank Litsky's New York Times obituary for Stuart upon his death from cancer at age 66 in 2002 quoted Bobby Bragan calling old Stonehands -- Stuart's pre-strangeglove moniker -- the worst outfielder he ever saw.

Add quote Litsky: When the public-address announcer at Pirates training camp once told the spectators, ''Anyone who interferes with the ball in play will be ejected from the ballpark,'' Danny Murtaugh, the Pirates' manager at the time, said, ''I hope Stuart doesn't think he means him.''

Oh by the way, Stuart also hit 228 home runs -- pre- pre-steroids. In 1963, when he set the record for errors, he also led the American League in RBI's with 118. This in the modern dead ball era before the mounds were lowered and the hitters designated.

Which brings us full circle to a fatefully unexpected Thursday this side of Los Angeles where the county turns orange. That awful thud. The shameful bounce. A Bugs Bunny cartoon of a fly ball clank clank, you never gonna get that baby back. And the reincarnation of Dick Stuart incarnate, in the form of Jack Cust, Left(out)fielder, Oakland's A's, committing the ultimate honors in anti-defense.

This brought back long lost memories of ye olde Dr. Stonehands Strangeglove. The sheer audacity of Cust's latest blunder, coupled with that loud thud of a sound similar to a cement block dropped about 50 stories to the concrete ground was like a tornado, hurricane, flood, an unnaturally natural event, unforgettably permeating the moment.

That bitter play! Sweet nostalgia. Not heard nor such audacious non-play seen for so many lonely moments and now this.

Give Cust credit for he probably never heard of Stuart. But Lawdy, Miss Clawdy, he did the greatest Dr. Strangeglove impression possible. First, he looked up to see the routine fly ball drift ever so graciously to Left Field. Ever confident -- and nobody looked more confident than Stuart right before each next gaffe -- Cust held up his glove awaiting the expected result.

Hosanna and look out below, the ball fell flush on a closed glove, bounced about 20 yards away and resulted in disaster, Angels flying around the basepaths. What Cust had done was cover his eyes with his glove. He never stood a chance.

But Cust is a playa, if not a fieldah, per se. Almost nonchalantly, he retrieved the ball, missed the cut-off man -- perfect, if this were Superman's Bizarro World, but here not so much -- and eventually departed the field at inning's end. 

Cust's no love for Mr. Glove did Stuart even prouder then. As Stuart often did, Cust went the distance and then some. Made up for it all with a ringing home run sparking an eight-run Fifth Inning that won the A's the game. So imperfect in the damn field, Cust was perfect at the plate going four for four, walking twice and scoring three runs.

I am not too proud to say this: When I focused on the enormity of the effort, the Dr. Strangeglove resurrection in reflection, I got a little misty-eyed.

Somewhere, this side of heaven, maybe a field of dreams at Dyersville, Iowa, Dick "Dr. Strangeglove" Stuart is picking up that image of Jack Cust on the defensive cusp as he kicks and klunks a routine ground ball into a two-base adventure before hitting a game-winning grand slam.

Somewhere, the A's are playing today. And Jack "The New Stonehands" Cust with Dr. Strangeglove as his wingman -- all props to Pharrell and Snoop Dog -- is dropping it like it's hot.

These are the days, my friends. We thought they'd never end...

QUICK HITS:

What does it take? Tough Room Department. Brad Wilkerson goes three for three with a walk and is promptly released by the Mariners for all his efforts. Guess he should have been swinging on that fourth ball.

Ballplayers are people, too, Part Infinity. Doug Mientkiewicz, now a Buc, was unusually candid the other day discussing his disappointment and reaction to being traded from the Red Sox to the Mets. He put his bad attitude and play on his shoulders in a very stand-up way. All the fans who get so excited about trades and player movements don't appreciate the disruption to lives that also take place.

Carlos Zambrano is in the house.  And doing the whirling dervish dance dugoutside before each game. Strange sight indeed, what with all the slamming and bamming, but it's tough to argue with success. The Zambrani can keep on dancing with the Cubs stars all the way to Cy Young town at this pace.

I must leave you now a virtual presence until we meet again. Enjoy!

(Please visit my online community journalism site at http//:92067FREEPRESS.com as well)!

Let's consider some hidden gems last week in baseball annals:

Michael Buffer voice: "Let's get ready to ruminate..."

"I alone have escaped to tell thee"...(Coleridge-to-Tinker-to-No Chance, Wrigley Field 8/14/85).

Pity the poor Pirates --  The defense rests. And rests and rests. It's bad. They just finished a stretch of at least one error in 16 of the last 17 games through April 20. Defense wins ball games. The Pirates lose ball games. Get it? And what ya gonna do next? Punt.

Addendum: The Bucs were one of Branch Rickey's stops. Luck is the residue of design, he said. So, this is the residue of what?

Hidden Ball Trick Pony -- Ronny Paulino discovered an interesting twist to catching the damn baseball already. The old rawhide ripped into ye olde throat guard and Houdini-like disappeared within the chest protector trick. Yeah, it happens every spring. Err, Paulino was no worse for wear although he took a while to produce the ball.

Hidden Ball Trick Pony Part Two -- Maybe that's how they do things in Havana, but Yunei Escobar seemed almost shocked his hidden ball trick didn't fool anybody at Atlanta. That's not how we do it this side of the Sugar Curtain, Charlie.

Final fallout from Padres-Rockies 22 inning affair -- It only took 659 pitches for the Rockies to score that exciting -- if you like to watch cricket, shuffleboard, or bass fishing, paint dry -- 2-1 victory for the ages and it took the ages to do so, longest game in innings played since 1993 and eighth longest game in time played since 1920.  But that's not even the good part. They don't have no stinking curfew in the National League -- The AL won't even think about starting an inning after 1 a.m. -- but they sure as shooting do at Lindbergh Field San Diego. Flights are not supposed to leave after 3 a.m. However, regional airport authorities special sauced the baseball charters. Home team first, the Padres left around 3:15 a.m. for Phoenix, followed by the Rockies to Houston. Unfortunately, with the time change and all, The Rockaroos got to Oil Town at 7 a.m., just in time for morning glory commute. Funskis! Of course, air rage. Rockies scored six runs in the top of the 1st Inning and cruised to victory. Padres, not so much. Another day, another loss to the high flying D-Backs.

Torii Hunter Bentley IV Jr. , Sir --  The new Bentley was a real trip for the guy who came from the ghetto to make it big. But it didn't get very far. Rear-ended just a few blocks from the ballpark. A bit bruised and battered, nevertheless Hunter took the field and took it out on the Mariners (not so ancient, see Coleridge citation above) crashing into the fence as he robbed Richie Sexson of what would have been a game winning  home run in the 9th Inning.

Khalil Greene -- Something is rotten in the state of the normally sure-handed and steady shortstop. Two errors in barely a week. Strikeouts and not much else at the plate. He just plain looks distracted.   Time for some consummate zen, Mojombo.

And so it goes...

As I write this, around 12:30 a.m. Pacific Yadda Time, the Padres and Rockies attempt their 20th inning of play.

If this were Osaka, this game would be done.

But Its pretty little don't even try to score Petco and after 14 innings of no runs then a tease of the 15th, the longest game in major league baseball since 2003 is kind of sexy.

It's a classic case of you can't get there from ere. Kouzmanoff dives to his left and Brooks Robinson the ball hawks.

Styrike one and two. Diving catches. Bizarre calls. That's what it took to drag this classic contest into the late and early moondust.

One two three and three two one. They're gone. More innings. We can't get enough. No one dares blow this one.

The yin in the yang has tired. Troy Tulowitzki breaks his oh-for-seven with an eighth.

We go to the bottom of the 20th tied 1-1. Oh doctor. This is baseball real time. Next game is later today. In another state.

Defensive gems abound. The best two defensive shortstops in the National League unknown to the casual fans, Khalil Greene and Tulowitzki strut their stuff. Dead air and Petco's spacious park. The perfect storm for a return to 1968 style baseball.

Ah, if only they counted foul balls as points and scored a win that way. Or as in the most recent spring training call the game after, shall we say, 10?

Nah, they're going to play all night. Grab another bag of popcorn.

OK the taped-up rams head in the 17th was a nice touch. But it didn't work, obviously. Neither did the gris-gris and the voodoo hex in the 19th. Worlds have risen and crashed. People have been born and died.

And we are headed to the bottom of the 21st. Good. 

You may want to use this trivia question to win an iced tea bet at the local library.

Who are the four pitchers in Major League Baseball history to toss no-hitters in each league?

The first three are pretty good. Cy Young. Jim Bunning. Nolan Ryan. Start a rotation with that bunch, why don't you.

And then there's that elusive fourth man. Hideo Nomo who threw a no-no in that least likely of venues, the only one in fact in the history of Coors Field. Nomo repeated his feat for the Red Sox at Camden Yards. The first one there.

And now the Tornado is back.

Nomo's baseball history easily is as convoluted and downright different as his tortuously twisting delivery. A delivery so unusual that even in Japan, the land of weird fits of pitching fancy and mojo delivery gyrations, he was famously named the Tornado.

Nomo also broke the Japanese financial mold. He got an agent -- unheard of at the time -- who got him out of a contract on a technicality and did a dastardly deed considered dishonorable at the time. He defected, er, let's say, signed with the Dodgers. Since Nomomania -- not quite Fernandomania, but as with L.A.'s Japantown, a nice touch for a while -- he moved around quite a bit and had a solid U.S. career.

Which brings us to the present day as Nomo got back into the Major Leagues after a long hiatus. His usual Number 19 already was taken by Brian Bannister on the Royals, so the contrarian in Nomo went with Number 91. Get it?

Lo-and-behold, Nomo pitching and the matchup of the day in a way. Hideki Matsui came to the plate. Matsui's career with the Giants, Yomiuri division, began in 1994 just as Nomo nearly dearly departed Nippon. And Matsui is legend in Japan, sort of a Hank Greenburg type, dominant power hitter. He's been very, very good in the States, too, but his power numbers aren't quite the super-colassal-happy-fun numbers of his play in Japan. Yet an all-star here.

Matsui is considered a solid citizen, but has some considerable quirks. He likes women. Really, really likes women. He boasted about dating five women at one time. Perhaps that phase is over since he recently married. But he couldn't afford to divorce. After all, who would get his porno film collection? He is said to have more than 50,000 items and has spoken openly about the collection. Sorry, a bit too creepy for me, not the concept, but the size. And don't go there...

There it was Japanese Central League fans: Kintetsu Buffaloes v. Yomiuri Giants. Nomo versus Matsui. The Tornado versus Godzilla. All on a wet Kansas City field with about a dozen people in the stands somewhat outmaneuvered by the few dozen Japanese media people hanging around the dugouts.

Great moment. Not. The at-bat was short and sweet. Matsui hit a weak pop-up and so it went. Maybe next time Nomo will face Matsui's arch-rival, the inimitable Ichiro, and we'll see some fireworks.

Other Notes From the Field:

C.C. No. No. Sabathia looks way over the weight limit and someone is going to have to throw him back back back. His fastball looks very straight and he is getting bombed, and not at the local hoo-hooery hole in a good way...

Talk to the hand says Jake Peavy. Does anyone who saw his hands as he left the mound after shutting out the Dodgers doubt he was as covered with pine tar as George Brett's legendary bat? Put it this way. That wasn't magic mud fairy dfust. With the whole world watching the reprise against the Dodgers, he clearly was not doing the dirty hand dance. Looked clean and pitched well, but not quite as well as the previous effort.

The Arizona Diamondbacks. They are hot. And as such, they look like Colorado looked at the end of last year and then some. With all the Rock-stuff last year, people tend to forget the D-Backs won the most games in the National League. They look better than last year. Fittingly, the Rockies have been their latest victims.

But it's only April. So, all enjoy the Birds (Orioles, Jays, Cardinals, et a;) and the Bees (Salt Lake, best I could do) and all that jazz... 

TIME. Our final frontier. Time changes everything. Two illustrations from games played April 8 and April 9 are good reference points to this phenomenon.

Let us consider the examples of Bill Buckner and Jim Edmonds, then.

There's maybe just a little crying in baseball after all. So it went at Fenway Park on Tuesday, April 8 as Bill Buckner threw out the first pitch.

Yes, that Bill Buckner. The 1986 World Series gaffe and pariah aftermath has been well-dcumented. Buckner faced a lot of challenges. 'Nuff said.

Time and perhaps two world championships have sweetened the sour on the Buckner saga. He was a gritty high quality performer who could hit a ton and wasn't that bad a fielder when his bad legs let him.

The Fenway moment was just south of a Lou Gehrig luckiest man to be sure, but the standing ovation and tearful pitch were just right.. 

Then, there's the case of where have you gone Jim Edmonds? A timeless fan base bemoans your downfall.

The will is there, but injuries and time have done in the skills. It was painfully obvious at wind-swept  AT&T Field, San Francisco. No disrespect to Edmonds who, too, is a gritty all-out guy, but turn him over, he's done.

It's been a great career. But injuries and age have caught up to Edmonds. He has been slow in getting to balls he routinely caught in the past. He's been diving and coming up short. Going back back back to the fence and coming up short short way short. His power hitting numbers are now nil.

On Wednesday, April 9, Edmonds dropped a line drive. He struck out three times. And then, with the game on the line in the bottom of the 9th Inning, playing his traditional short center field, he failed to judge a fly ball that went over his head and scored the winning run.

Great career, but time has done in Lord Jim. And the Padres, who have a solid starting pitching corps, true, but not enough firepower or depth to compete with Arizona, the obvious frontrunner, Colorado or Los Angeles. And after losing two of three in San Francisco, maybe not even the Giants.

Time. OUCH. It changes everything. Lets go Browns!

It was bogus, but still a close call. Brad Lidge was ipso-facto coming off an injury lay-off. The bottom of the ninth inning, Cincinnati. Cole Hamels shut down the Reds. Tom Gordon actually had a 1-2-3 inning. Amazing considering his ridiculous path this year. So, Lidge dodged the first bullet. Brandon Phillips smashed a ball that died at the back of the back of the warning track. Two outs, one on and a somewhat routine fly ball down the left field line. The wind blew it a bit stand-ward and Toguchi ran up to catch the ball. Oops. He slightly overran it, held his glove out Willie Mays basket catch style and Dr. Strangeglove dropped it. Second and third. A semi-intentional walk to Ken Griffey later and a wild pitch later, the bases are loaded and so is the Philly Fanatic.

Baseball is back.

Lidge got the save after all.

Speaking of MVPs, how about Matt Holiday for the MVP -- again -- of April 6-7. After staring off slowly bang the drums, he hit his first home run of the year on Sunday and tied the game. Unfortunately, the rocks piled and Manny Corpas blew the game on a Coors-swept home run. On Monday, Holiday went on Spring Break and hit another home rune. This one won the game.