Next time you’re in Seattle, make sure to catch The Mitt! At nine-foot-tall and 14-foot-wide, he’s very hand-some and stands outside the northern end zone of T-Mobile Park, home of the be-glove-d Mariners baseball squad. If you’re a sports lover, you should be dribbling in anticipation for this one!
Needing an icon for their new baseballing facility when it opened in 1999, the Mariners scrimmaged together the money for The Mitt. Local artist Gerry Tsutakawa wanted to create something playful and whimsical, perhaps to take fans’ minds off their team’s lack of success on the pitch.
“I’d seen so much art that was ‘do not touch’ — very beautiful but just to look at,” Gerry said of his slam dunk effort. “I wanted something people could embrace and enjoy and be part of.”
The Mitt has a hole in the middle so that Mariners fans – known as Seamen – can pop their happy little faces through for a photo. Oh yes, they’re pucky to have such a wonderful Big Thing right outside their coliseum, to go along with the Big Spider, Hat n’ Boots, Dreamer and Sonic Bloom in the vicinity.
It’s fair to say Gerry scored a touchdown with this one!
Mitts ‘n’ Giggles
Forever wanting to live like a local, I too lined up to poke my head through The Mitt’s gaping chasm for a snapshot. I even had my private photographer Tommy Emmanuel take some cheeky pics of me pretending to throw a few googlys out front of the stadium.
As I was winding up for another wild inswinger, I noticed a well-dressed gentleman of the African American persuasion watching me in awe. As one of the world’s leading historians on Big Things and roadside attractions, adoration is nothing new to me, so I waved the man over.
“Who should I make the autograph out to?” I asked, leaning in to scribble all over the man’s freshly pressed suit. To my surprise he didn’t seem welcoming of it, pushing me away gently yet firmly.
“The name’s Ken – Ken Griffey Jr,” he grinned. “And Bigs, unfortunately I’m not here to revel in your vast knowledge of oversized artworks. A few members of the team went out to the Paul McCartney concert last night and they’ve turned up a little the worse for wear.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that happen to Too Many People.”
“You could say the Band Gave them the Runs,” Ken Griffey Jr added, and I did my best to grin at his lamentable attempt at humour. “Anyway, hell of an arm on you, kid. Can you fill in for us today? The good people of Seattle will thank you for it.”
You’ve Gotta Be Mittin’ Me!
“Ken,” I sighed, drawing the sports legend closer. “Today I’m playing wicket keeper for the Seattle Mariners, tomorrow I’m the five-eigth for Manchester United. Honestly, Ken, where does it end?”
“Bigs, you might be a little confused,” Ken winced. It wasn’t the first time I’d been told such a thing. “I meant we’ve lost a few of our hot dog vendors, and you look like you can handle a foot long.”
“I don’t appreciate the potty humour, Ken, but I’ll take the job. And not just because of my growing gambling debts, but because millions of Seattleites need me.”
“Thanks, muscles,” Ken cheered, flashing me those pearly whites as he handed me my dirty apron and soiled cap. “With an attitude like that, maybe one day they’ll put up a statue of you outside the stadium.”
“Do you really think so, Ken?”
“I mean, they made a statue of me because I’m the greatest ball player of all time and an inspiration to tens of millions of people. People chant my name and have my face tattooed on their bodies. And I also own the team. But sure, squirting some ketchup on an undercooked sausage is an achievement, too. Now get in there and start tossing wieners.”
And that’s how the inimitable Bigs Bardot became a hot dog vendor for a mildly successful Major League Baseball team before dramatically quitting during the second innings of the Mariners versus Wildcats tie after facing a torrent of abuse regarding his frugal dispensing of mustard and theatrical, at times borderline-feminine demeanour.
