I drove past T-Mobile Park the other day. It’s still there. The Mariners were not, though. I checked.
With such a gigantic building going mostly unused, one has to wonder what’s been going on in there since the coronavirus made sports illegal. I understand that several people have offices there, but the playing field remains a blank canvas buried deep in someone’s attic, waiting to be used but with no idea of when their artists will return.
Aside from my schools and workplaces, there is probably no public place I’ve visited more than T-Mobile Park. That familiarity breeds not only a connection, but also a sort of parental protection over it. I shudder to think about the stadium feeling cold, confused, and abandoned. Someone needs to go down there and let it know that it did nothing wrong. A bunch of concrete’s mental health is at stake here. Over 47,000 seats are – like many of us – yearning for human touch, probably trying to remember how it even works, and worrying if its return will be too powerful to withstand.
If the team’s baseball operations staff is working from home, that leaves security and maintenance-type workers as the only ones who have been…