Forty years later, fleeting Pilots remain as zany and lovable as ever

BELLEVUE — Mike Fuller always wanted his father to take him to a Seattle Pilots baseball game. Only problem was, Dad traveled a lot for work, and in 1969, the year the Pilots debuted, he couldn't fit ballpark bonding into his schedule.

"We'll go next year," the father promised.

Forty years later, Fuller shakes his head and recalls, "There was no next year."

The Pilots, Seattle's fleeting first Major League Baseball team, fell victim to bankruptcy and then a carpetbagging owner named Bud Selig who moved the team to Milwaukee long before he became the league's baseball lord. (By the way, if Clay Bennett ever makes the same climb in the NBA, I'll abandon major American pro sports in favor of more sophisticated games, like cricket.)

Fuller felt robbed, like so many fans. Three years ago, when the Mariners wore throwback Pilots uniforms for a "Turn Back the Clock Day," Fuller received some closure.

"I dragged Dad to that game," said Fuller, who started the amazingly detailed Web site seattlepilots.com in 1997. "I exorcised a demon, I guess. That was as close as we came to seeing the Pilots playing."

On Saturday, Fuller and a couple hundred longtime baseball fans experienced the Pilots anew. They sat before 13 members of the old franchise in a Hilton hotel conference room and chuckled for several hours during the team's 40-year reunion.

It was an incredible day that ended with recognition at the Mariners game. After all this time, after all the bitterness over having the team for just one season, the appreciation of those trailblazing players remains.

Of course, former pitcher Jim Bouton's seminal baseball book, "Ball Four," has much to do with it. But those strong lasting memories, the kind that caused a fan to attend this event donning a full retro Pilots uniform, go even deeper than the book. They say something about Seattle's respect for history and baseball. They say something about the impermanence of living, too, and how we must cherish the gifts we're given in this transient world.

If the Pilots had played four or seven or 13 seasons before leaving, here's guessing the affinity wouldn't be quite the same. One year, though? No franchise gets just one year in pro sports.

For those who remember this team, the pain of losing it comes with a badge of honor from following such a historical anomaly. For those, like me, who don't remember this team, there's great intrigue in learning about a blip in our sporting history that almost seems mythical.

The Pilots, a motley crew of players who either just wanted a shot to play in the big leagues or needed to prove they still could play at this level, went 64-98 their lone year here. They played at a Sick's Stadium that was literally being renovated as the fans filed into the game. They spent the year playing pranks on each other and trying to figure out what to do whenever the water stopped working at the ballpark.

Bouton recalls having to bathe in the whirlpool after one game. The players looked at him funny at first, but by the time he had dressed, he noticed a line forming in front of the whirlpool. It's the kind of story that a novelist couldn't imagine, but for the Pilots, it's just one of many funny tales.

The former teammates laughed the entire weekend. It's hard to believe that so much camaraderie could come from such a short period.

"I was happy to be with the Seattle Pilots," first baseman Greg Goossen said. "I was happy to play in the major leagues. I would've played here my whole career."

Interrupted Tommy Davis: "You did!"

Davis, who won two batting titles before he came to Seattle, was kidding, but he was almost right. Goossen played in only 193 major-league games, and his career was over a year after that 1969 season.

Outfielder Billy Williams was even more grateful for his Pilots time than Goossen. Williams played in the minor leagues for 18 seasons and didn't get to play a big-league game until he was 36. His big opportunity came in 1969 with the Pilots. Williams appeared in only four games, had only 10 at-bats and didn't record a hit, but he was a major-leaguer.

The accomplishment has greater significant to him because his father, Curtis, played in the Negro leagues and never had a chance to play in the majors.

"I think about the Pilots all the time," Williams said. "It'll be with me for the rest of my life."

The Pilots were a one-season wonder, perhaps even a one-season fiasco. They weren't around long enough to be considered a one-hit wonder. But they made an impression. And they'll stay alive in "Ball Four," in the minds of fans and in a new documentary expected to be finished in October.

"It says a lot about the magic of baseball that the team lives on in us and in all of us," former Pilots radio announcer Bill Schonely said.

It's a magic that time has yet to diminish.

Jerry Brewer: 206-464-2277 or jbrewer@seattletimes.com, Twitter: @Jerry_Brewer