"You want Man sauce on that?" says the guy behind the counter as he's about to hand over an angry red, glistening barbeque sandwich. "No,

"/>

Best Place to Sweat Out a Mariners Loss

Holy Smoke

"You want Man sauce on that?" says the guy behind the counter as he's about to hand over an angry red, glistening barbeque sandwich. "No, he doesn't," I say with a glare. Husband looks intrigued. "You never met The Man?" goads the guy. I've met The Man, I know better. The Man is the devil. It is a hot day and our seats have an unobstructed view of the sun, but my warning goes unheeded. For my husband, the next three innings will be like a scene out of Apocalypse Now. This is just an example of how the fine folks at Holy Smoke at the ass end of the left-field upper deck at Safeco Field get nice people to do a stupid thing. But when the Mariners can barely muster the excitement for a ripple, let alone a wave, you can at least come here, get a view of the Sound that is close to heaven, and feel...something, even if that something is akin to the essence of hell itself. Because The Man is the hottest fucking thing you will ever put in your mouth. But maybe I'm just using reverse psychology. Maybe I work for The Man.—Maggie Dutton

 
comments powered by Disqus