ON THE RIGHT day, a great pitcher, like a great jazz musician, can conjure up a performance so magnetic it's like he's freezing time. That's what it feels like to watch Hernandez riff his way through the Angels' lineup on Opening Day. As if to punctuate the point, there's even a Seattle jazz band, Tubaluba, performing outside Safeco Field.

And so it seems right to learn that the word "jazz" might actually owe its origins to the game. In 1912, Ben Henderson, a long-forgotten minor league pitcher, dubbed his new pitch a "jazz ball" for the way it wobbled and baffled hitters. The term caught on within the sport, and when baseball-loving musicians eventually took it to Chicago and New Orleans, it flourished in different ways.

Hernandez begins his day -- and his season -- by striking out Angels outfielder Kole Calhoun on three pitches. At two strikes, most of the crowd is on its feet shouting "K! K! K! K!" -- an organic tradition that began years ago and now sounds like a war cry. As Calhoun watches Hernandez's four-seam fastball dive at his knees, the fans erupt and King Felix turns his back to the plate, gazes toward the outfield seats and soaks up the thundering roar.

To this crowd, Hernandez is not just the best pitcher in the AL -- though he is that. He's also the one who, finally, unexpectedly, stayed, signing a five-year, $135.5 million contract extension in 2013. "There was no reason for him to stay," Mariners fan Joe Bergin says while nursing a beer near the entrance to King's Court, a special section where fans pay $30 for a seat and a bright yellow T-shirt (a nod to the team's original colors) emblazoned with a crown with spikes spelling out Hernandez's first name. "He could have just played out his contract and then gotten more money from the Red Sox or Yankees or any team, really. The fact that he loves Seattle as much as we love him, this is the first time we've had that. Griffey left. A-Rod left. Randy Johnson left. We finally got a Hall of Famer who reciprocates the love we have for him."

King's Court, the brainchild of the Mariners' marketing department, began in 2011 as one small section in the left-field corner of the stadium. It has since ballooned to three sections, with fans showing up dressed as royalty and holding up giant cutouts of Hernandez's face. The seats' occupants have become, over time, more jubilant than any others in baseball, with heavily tattooed hipsters exchanging gleeful high-fives with North Face-clad, Subaru-driving dads after every Hernandez strikeout.

"I'm superstitious, so at first when they talked to me about a special section, I was like, 'I'm not sure I like that,'" Hernandez says. "But the first time we did it, I thought, 'Wow. That was awesome. That was loud.'"

SOMETIMES IT'S DIFFICULT, Hernandez concedes, to resist the desire to throw harder when the count reaches two strikes and the fans in King's Court begin to chant in a way that sounds like crashing cymbals. "K! K! K! K!" When he faces reigning MVP Mike Trout for the first time today, this desire becomes impossible to suppress. Since Trout entered the league in 2011, his clashes with Hernandez have been some of the best showdowns in baseball. Coming into the game, no hitter with at least 40 at-bats against Hernandez has a better batting average than Trout's .367. Hernandez has won his share of these confrontations too, striking out Trout 12 times in 54 plate appearances. "It's always a battle, me and him, but it's always fun," Hernandez says.

Hernandez begins their first clash of 2015 with a 91 mph inside sinker. Trout tries to jump on it, but he's a hair slow and gets only a piece. Foul ball. Hernandez is fidgeting on the mound now, trying to focus. His second pitch is a nasty four-seam fastball, 92 mph, on the inside corner of the plate, and it freezes Trout, who suddenly finds himself down 0-and-2. The crowd is on its feet again. "K! K! K! K!"

"It's fun to face guys like that because

it's a challenge." - Felix Hernandez

Hernandez has Trout exactly where he wants him, at the mercy of his changeup, maybe the best out pitch in baseball. (In 2014, according to FanGraphs, swings against Hernandez's changeup became ground balls 68 percent of the time, and players hit just .160 against it.) This, though, is where the riffing between two great soloists truly begins. Trout knows Hernandez wants to throw a changeup. Hernandez knows Trout is expecting it. Each man is calculating two or three moves into the future, strategizing, guessing and reacting in fractions of a second.

Hernandez comes inside once again, another hard sinker, but Trout isn't biting. Ball one. In their pregame strategy session, Zunino and Hernandez decided they would go after Trout with sinkers and fastballs, work both sides of the plate, keep him guessing, wondering when the changeup might be coming. The fourth pitch is another sinker, this time on the outside corner of the plate, and Trout fouls it off again. He fouls off two more fastballs, then watches Hernandez's first changeup of the at-bat dive at his ankles. On the mound, King Felix purses his lips. Damn, he thinks. Didn't bite.

The eighth and final pitch is a sinker that starts chest-high and doesn't sink. Trout pounces, hammering the ball toward the center-field fence. Hernandez spins and cranks his neck to the sky, hoping he's wrong, but deep down, he knows. He always knows, even a split second after the ball comes out of his hand. The ball was crushed. Home run. 1-0 Angels.

Safeco Field is as quiet as an art gallery as Trout trots around the bases. In King's Court, fans look sucker-punched. Hernandez strikes out Albert Pujols and Matt Joyce to end the inning, but as he ambles toward the dugout, he's shaking his head, still thinking about Trout.

He got me, Felix tells himself. Ain't happening again.

HERNANDEZ CUTS THROUGH the Angels' lineup, his curveball and changeup serving as scalpels, his sinker and fastball a pair of blunt-edged swords. Over the course of the next two innings, only one ball leaves the infield: a lineout to right field. David Freese strikes out looking. Chris Iannetta pops up meekly in the infield, as does C.J. Cron. Erick Aybar grounds out, as does Johnny Giavotella. The mojo of King's Court returns. Disco music blares. The Mariners take a 2-1 lead after an RBI triple by Seth Smith, then an RBI single by Robinson Cano. A man dances with a beer in one hand, a baby in the other. Thirteen-year-old Maxwell Gordon, who is dressed in a red fur-lined king costume, is awarded a giant turkey leg by the Mariners' marketing staff for his enthusiasm, and when the 11,425-square-foot video board shows him holding it triumphantly in the air, the crowd roars.

"I wear this every time I come to King's Court," Maxwell says. "Got to show him my support. Long live the King."

In the top of the fourth inning, Trout comes to the plate again, but this time King Felix does not nibble with fastballs. He's in a rhythm now. He's getting more movement on his pitches. "There's the adrenaline he just thrives on," Zunino says. "You know he's going to rise to the occasion." Once again, he jumps ahead 0-and-2. Trout fouls off a changeup at his knees to stay alive, but Hernandez comes back with it three pitches later. It's the nastiest pitch he has thrown all day, and Trout is badly fooled, flailing at a ball that skips in the dirt.

It's moments like this when Hernandez seems the most like an artist. He's feeding off the crowd and nailing every note.