Bring on the Major Leagues
On the Seattle Mariners, the Regular Season Grind, and Pushing Through
The other day I watched my team lose. Again. They lost the one before that too. Yup, and that one too.
This particular loss was worse than usual. The camera zooms in on the players’ faces. None of the Mariners are leaving the field. They just sit there, staring out into the field. Despondent. Crushed. Lost. All the while, Katrina and the Waves’ smash hit “Walking on Sunshine” blares from the speakers of Tropicana Field. It’s pure, tragic art.
It’s a frustrating time to be a Mariners fan. When is it not? Yet I keep watching. Sometimes it’s downright painful, and I wonder why I’m even wasting time watching it. But I’m too far in. I’ve devoted myself to the only team in Major League Baseball to never even go to the World Series, let alone win a title. There’s no turning back.
After last year’s playoff run that got the team one win away from the World Series, I renewed my oath to my childhood team. It’s been a lifetime of seeing the team either reach the brink of glory or wallow in limbo. But last year gave me hope. The expectations for this year’s team coming into the season were very high. Great talent coming off a landmark year, the World Series feeling entirely within reach.
So far, things haven’t been playing out that way. It’s been a grind. There have been some highs, like Julio Rodriguez smashing 10 home runs in May during a beautiful winning streak. But there’s also been a lot of pain. Literally, so many of our key players keep getting injured. Cal Raleigh, our once-mighty Dumper, has not been himself. Last year he smashed 60 home runs. Right now, he’s the worst hitter in our lineup.
And despite how things are going and how questionable it might be, I still have some hope. I know, I’m hopeless.
It was one thing to jump back aboard when the Mariners were on top and going through the drama of the playoffs. But to actually live through a full regular season of baseball is another thing. Even though I watched a lot of baseball as a kid, I didn’t grasp it the way I do now. I knew the basic fundamentals of the game—three strikes, you’re out at the old ball game, and so on. But the intricacies of the game were all lost on me.
Now, I’m fully immersed. I scrutinize lineups, monitor pitch counts closely, and yell at the screen over questionable decisions. There’s still a lot I don’t know, like a good chunk of the dizzying number of different types of stats. At the end of the day, though, it comes down to one main point: did we win or did we lose?
I’ve never been a “sports guy.” As a teenager, I gave all my attention to music and figured that was enough. Ironically, when I entered music journalism, I discovered most writers and editors were baseball or basketball obsessives. After resisting for so long, I’m finally starting to understand why.
After resisting for so long, I’m starting to see the appeal of riding for your team. Mariners baseball has become a “simple thought to occupy my time.” It feels like a world I can step into outside of everything else I do. Music and the arts consume so much of my life. I love that, of course. Yet baseball feels like a beautiful escape. It gives me somewhere else to go.
I haven’t watched every game, but I’ve come close. During the times I’m just not able to, I’m listening on the car radio or obsessively checking the score on my phone. It’s not always a joy. Sometimes I’m sitting there in anguish for three hours wondering why I committed myself to this. It’s almost embarrassing how a bad game can totally ruin my mood. I could just turn it off or look away. Yet the compulsion is too strong. We’re in this together—even if the team is doing all the work.
There’s a unique pain to being a Mariners fan. We’re halfway through our landmark 50th season, and we’re ranked second in a division that every analyst can’t believe we’re not running away with. I’ve had my fair share of yelling at the TV, as if I have any qualifications to coach the team. But, shit, I believe in these guys. You can see the potential waiting to come out of each of them. Like Gohan on Namek. Or Gohan with the Elder Kai. Or... most Gohan moments, actually.
The thing I’m realizing that sets baseball apart from other sports is the grueling length of the season. Bo Jackson, who excelled in both the MLB and NFL, once said that he found baseball much harder than getting tackled every Sunday. He attributed a lot of that simply to the length of the season. They have to play 162 regular-season games, and even more if you’re lucky enough to make a playoff run. The NBA plays 82, and the NFL plays 17.
There’s something about that sheer endurance that compels me. The grind of pushing through, playing almost every day. It might seem slow and arduous, but it’s also epic in scale. It can be hard to make out how much one game means over another until you reach the end. You just have to keep pushing forward. It feels like the closest sports equivalent to working a 9-to-5.
The aspect I didn’t expect to become so fascinated with was the minor leagues. You’ll be watching a game, and suddenly you’re asking yourself, “Who’s this guy... uh... Mastrobuoni? And Buddy Kennedy? Are they making these names up?”
Players getting called up from Triple-A is fairly common, and it threw me off a bit at first. Then, as I learned more about the minor leagues, I became fascinated by these stories. If the MLB is a slog, the minor leagues feel like true purgatory. Pushing yourself every day, sleeping in dorms, getting meager pay, all to vie for the very small chance that you’ll actually get called up.
I remember back in June when the Mariners called up an outfielder named Curtis Washington Jr. just because they needed another body to fill their roster. His stats aren’t anything too spectacular. Everyone knew it was unlikely that he’d get to play. And yet the whole team felt celebratory around him. Patting him on the back, giving him high-fives, welcoming him to the show. The whole time he was grinning ear to ear, happy to get the chance to wear a Mariners uniform and sit in the dugout. Moments like that go beyond division rankings or statistics. They represent the love of the game, the love of the team.
It’s hard not to identify with the slog. The constant push to get ahead, getting your team’s wins higher than your losses. I get so mad watching the Mariners sometimes. Cursing the players and coaches. Then I’m also elated. Watching Josh “I’m Going to Stab You” Naylor steal a base is like hearing the nastiest guitar riff. Randy Arozarena playing rock, paper, scissors with the first base coach while rounding the bases after hitting a grand slam is unparalleled coolness. For better or worse, I feel so connected with the team’s highs and lows.
The Mariners are making me love the minutiae. So much in life these days feels like pushing through, hoping that the goal is within reach. It’s easy to get discouraged. When I see the Mariners looking glum against “Walking on Sunshine,” it’s hard not to feel it. But there was part of me watching it that thought, “They need this moment. A reminder to get it together and get back on track.” They won the next day. Now I’m wondering if I should extend that same thought and advice to myself.
The season’s not over. We are right smack in the middle. I’m not writing the Ms off. I have to believe. And I’ve got to take some of that energy with me too. Bring on the major leagues.
Further Reading:
Actually Romantic: The Life of a Mariners Fan
The three of us stood at attention for every pitch, watching from our living room. The bottom of the 15th inning — 15 grueling innings against the Detroit Tigers — in a winner-takes-all Game 5 of the American League Division Series (ALDS) to determine who would go on to face the Toronto Blue Jays for a chance at the World Series. It was way past our dau…
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This really captures the experience perfectly.
As you already know, I often compare working as a staff writer to playing on an NBA team—sometimes you score 50, sometimes you score 15, sometimes you're out for two weeks on the IR list; sometimes you make it to the Finals three years in a row and still get traded or released. But MLB, with its much longer seasons and the day-to-day grind you have described so articulately here, is a much more accurate parallel.
Loved this piece, go M's, please at least make the playoffs so I can buy a 2026 Postseason field cap.