When They Say ‘Don’t Walk,’ They Mean It

Seattle is not New York. I can feel it in my calves. I have this aching need to bolt across the street in the face of oncoming traffic, but all around me I hear the civic voice of reason whispering, “We don’t jaywalk around here.”

The distance between the two cities seemed much more vast than 3,000 miles as the Mariners tried to hold off the Yankees last evening in the baseball playoffs.

They were perfectly balanced, these two cities, the yin and the yang of the major leagues. The Yankees represent my beloved hometown, where it is perfectly acceptable to commit aggression, verbal and physical, upon fans of the visiting team. The Mariners represent Seattle, where it is not cool to get in anybody’s space.

This even extends to the way people walk. In midtown Manhattan, we all surge across streets at the slightest break in traffic, totally ignoring the red “Don’t Walk” signs. Jaywalking is a fact of life in New York. But then again, so is jaydriving. Cabbies who learned to drive in Soviet tanks in Afghanistan come hurtling through red lights. So do desperadoes in vans with Jersey plates, performing Jack McDowell-type finger exercises. It’s war out there.

But in Seattle, people are controlled. A New Yorker would say “repressed.” You are warned that officers actually issue tickets for jaywalking, but some piffling fine is not what stops me. Concern for my fellow man stops me.

This is a great city for walking - the hills, the bracing climate, the coffee on every corner, the pungent whiffs of good food in the salty air. You want to power-walk across a peaceful street, but then you notice pedestrians restraining themselves, and you think, “Supposing they innocently follow me into traffic?”

I don’t want somebody to get clobbered by a four-wheel drive with ski and kayak racks on the roof. So I stand on the corner, with the “Don’t Walk” sign blazing, my calves aching to keep moving.

Obviously, there is no such restraint in my hometown. You can see where New York gets a bad name. I was on a flight from Toronto to New York last Sunday, along with 50 beered-up, grubby Yankee fans, celebrating the wild-card success. They were so obnoxious that Canadians were cowering in their seats. The flight attendant, carrying a plastic bag for the empty soda cups and peanut packets, kept repeating “Trash? Trash?” She had that right.

Another case in point: When hundreds of louts heaved hard objects at the Mariners in Yankee Stadium, there was a tepid appeal to good manners, whatever that is. And George Steinbrenner - Mr. Olympics, Mr. Blue Blazer, Mr. Patriot - downplayed the missiles being launched. Typical.

But when three - count ‘em, three - objects were thrown in the Kingdome Friday night, there was a stern warning, right away, that the game could be forfeited. Not only that, but guards collared two people suspected of throwing a tomato and a cap. They didn’t catch the sneak who threw a quarter that hit Gerald Williams on the lip, but I’m guessing fans would have pointed him out if they had spotted him.

“You hate to see it, but it’s only one person who threw it,” Williams said. “The fans here are real spirited.”

The quarter did not draw blood, nor did it draw anger from Williams, a rare reserve who warms up properly before going into the game and also races in from the outfield to back up bases. He shrugged off the assault.

“It comes with the territory,” he said. “It was a really good throw. I know it was a quarter because I picked it up and threw it to the bullpen.”

Assault in the name of partisanship is normal in my hometown. Family members of the Cincinnati Reds were threatened during a postseason game in Shea Stadium in 1973. I know two people who were shoved around for wearing Red Sox jackets during the 1986 World Series in Shea. But then again, Shea Stadium fans celebrated the 1986 division title by trying to remove Gary Carter’s catcher’s mask - while it was on his head.

Sad to think that hundreds of creeps are storing up golf balls, batteries, fruit and vegetables for another barrage. Worse to think they’d get away with it.