Seattle Mariners hurler James Paxton is what you would call a “monster” only in the statistical sense. First, he’s from Canada, which has a centuries-old ban on literal monsters, first proposed by Sir John Goodfellow in the 19th-century pamphlet “Apologies, Niceties, and Other Best Traits of Common Behaviour.” Second, he has an easygoing mound presence. Case in point: A bald eagle landed on his shoulder during a pregame ceremony last month (a bald eagle!), and he didn’t move. He definitely ducked, but once the animal came to rest, Paxton, 6-foot-4, bent upward to normal human posture and just … stood there. He had his pitching hand (left) tucked into his back pants pocket and didn’t reflexively withdraw it to, I don’t know, wave it around or fling it wildly, the sort of thing a normal person would do if a frigging bald eagle were trying to dig its talons into your shirt. Instead, Paxton stealthily peeked at the creature out of his periphery, as if he were more concerned it was about to steal second base than make him bleed. The thing eventually flew off and grabbed a seat on the grass.

“They were kind of sharp on my back,” Paxton said of the talons, “but I don’t have any scratches, I don’t believe.” Paxton’s ace predecessor in Seattle, Randy Johnson, once killed a bird with a pitch (accidentally, obviously). It’s a new era for baseball-lovers and ornithologists alike in the Emerald City.