Mariners remember their moms

They drove their boys to the ballparks and cheered them from the stands like almost every mom who’s ever had a Little Leaguer.

They sat in the hot sun and miserably cold rain to show their support. They fed their boys, clothed them and coddled them well beyond the coddling age, and now that they’re grown men, nothing really has changed.

Except, however, that these boys became major leaguers.

At the time, they didn’t fully realize the sacrifice their parents made to provide the equipment, transportation, meals and, of course, emotional support necessary to make it so much fun.

To some, it has taken fatherhood to fully understand. To others who haven’t reached that stage of their lives, memories remain dear.

Here’s how six Seattle Mariners remember their moms:

Shortstop Yuniesky Betancourt: Mother Maura, grandmother Maria.

This is the best time of Betancourt’s life, but it’s also one of the saddest.

He escaped Cuba in a small boat 21/2 years ago in order to gain the freedom to pursue a big-league career. Today, he will start at shortstop for the Mariners against the L.A. Angels.

But his loved ones remain behind and, as much as the distance pains Betancourt, so do the political barriers that separate his family from him. They speak by phone every other day, but that doesn’t connect the gap that Betancourt feels in his heart.

“It’s especially hard this year,” he said. “I’m so far away from them and I can’t give them a hug and a kiss. But it’s great to know that they love me so much and I love them so much.”

His mother and grandmother would bring Betancourt to his games and cheer for him, sometimes with so much enthusiasm that he wished they would be quiet.

“In Cuba, there’s never a time when the crowd is quiet, and the fans are always saying stuff to the umpires and saying stuff to me, to everybody on the field.

“A lot of times I would be out there and I would hear, ‘Hey, if you don’t play better I’m not going to feed you tonight!’”

Thanks Mom.

But, oh, would he love to hear those words someday soon at Safeco Field.

Betancourt dreams of having his family leave Cuba, too, but knows the process is extremely difficult and, possibly, dangerous.

“We’re working on it,” he said.

“My whole family was really important to me,” Betancourt said. “But my mom and my grandmother have always been the biggest things in my life. In my schoolwork and in my baseball, they’ve always been there to support me.

“I don’t have words to describe what they mean to me.”

Pitcher J.J. Putz: Mother Llonda

Besides the twin daughters who were born last fall, Putz couldn’t have given his family a greater gift than what they experienced together on Aug. 7, 2003.

That’s the day he became a big leaguer.

Putz and his family were enjoying an evening at his uncle’s home on Fox Island near Tacoma. It was a day off for the Tacoma Rainiers and his parents had flown from their home near Detroit to watch him pitch for the Mariners’ Class AAA team.

“We were all sitting around watching TV at my uncle’s house when my phone rang,” Putz said.

It was Dan Rohn, then manager of the Rainiers, telling Putz he was being called up. “It was an awesome moment,” Putz said.

The family remained here while Putz flew to Cleveland to join the team on its road trip, but they were at Safeco Field a few days later to see his major league debut.

Growing up in the Putz household meant not getting sideways with Mom.

“You didn’t want to mess with her,” J.J. Putz said.

As a boy, he couldn’t help being his mischievous self and, no surprise, paid a price.

“I remember one time I’d been complaining about being taken out of a game. I was nine and I’d thrown the biggest tantrum,” he said. “She put me in the back of the car, and all the way home she was screaming at me, ‘That’s not how you behave on the baseball field!’ “

Then there was the day, when Putz was little, that he wishes he’d never opened his mouth.

Mom had chewed him out over something he’d done – probably deserved, he says now – and had walked away. J.J. mumbled a few uncomplimentary words about her, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

“Then I looked up and my dad was standing there,” he said.

Oooh.

“He didn’t say anything,” Putz said. “He grabbed me by the collar, opened a door and hung me on a hook on the other side of the door. Then he walked away and left me hanging there.”

Catcher Kenji Johjima: Mother Tomoko

Mom can’t enjoy this day because her son has moved across the Pacific Ocean.

“To my mother, it’s probably the worst (Mother’s Day) present ever,” said Johjima, who played 11 years in his native Japan before he signed with the Mariners last November. “She is a person who always wants me to be around her. This is something that’s not positive for her.”

Kenji and his two sisters always promised a gift for Mom on Mother’s Day.

“Usually it was clothes, something very simple that she would want,” he said. “But what my mom always said to me was that the best present would be a home run. That is the toughest present to give, but I always tried my best.”

He’s still trying.

“Not even once,” he said. “I have never been able to give her that gift, and because of that, this year for sure I would like to give it to her. From the United States to Japan.

“I have my best chance this year.”

Explanation, please.

“I have twice as many chances this year because of the time difference between here and Japan,” Johjima said. “It gives me two days to hit a home run for her.”

Pitcher Felix Hernandez: Mother Mirian

Mom and Dad attended all of Felix’s games in Venezuela, but Mom had a difficult time watching him pitch.

“I made her too nervous,” he said. “She couldn’t watch me or my brother, and it still makes her too nervous to watch.”

Manager Mike Hargrove: Mother Rita Ann

Hargrove remembers the five years his family lived in Houston and the fastpitch softball games his dad, Dudley, played.

“He was a really good player, and it seemed like we went to his games every night,” Hargrove said. “Mom would make it fun for us.”

Especially on Mother’s Day, the memory of his late mother is strong.

“She was never a big sports nut, but she enjoyed watching the games and she supported everything me and by brother and sisters did.” Hargrove said. “Until we moved to Perryton, she would run us to the ballparks for practices and games. Perryton was small enough we’d just ride our bikes.”

Pitcher Gil Meche: Mother Linda

The car rides to the ballparks, the meals, the tenderness after a tough game or the toughness when he needed it – it all made sense in one powerful moment Jan. 12, 2004, when Gil and Robin Meche’s first child, Landon, was born.

“I cried my eyes out the day we had our little boy,” Meche said. “Once you have a child, you realize what it was your parents did for you. You realize that you took for granted all that stuff growing up. You always knew they loved you, but until you have a child yourself you don’t realize how much they really do love and care about you.”

Mom didn’t work in order to spend time with Gil and his two older sisters, who also were involved in sports.

“My sisters are eight and six years older than me, and when I came along, my parents had to do it all over again,” he said. “Dad had his business that he still runs. He always showed up on time for my games, but Mom was the one who had to make sure I was there.”

She was the driver, the No. 1 cheerleader and chief worrier when Meche was a young athlete in Lafayette, La.

“She never pushed me toward doing anything I didn’t want to do,” he said. “She was always there for me, supporting me, cheering me on. She drove me to all my practices, all my basketball games, everything.”

He admits he didn’t always appreciate those efforts.

“If I was late for a game, I was the maddest kid on earth,” he said. “I was late for one basketball game and I still don’t think I ever forgave her. We showed up after the game started and the coach didn’t let me play the first quarter.”

When she isn’t attending Mariners games live at Safeco Field, Mom stays up late in Louisiana watching them on TV.

Nervously.

“Any time a ball touches the bat, even if it’s a foul ball, she goes into panic mode,” Meche said. “She’s not the calm, relaxed type during a game. In truth, she’d rather listen to the game than watch it.”