Three nights in Houston.
For months, the old refrain has held true. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. The win on Opening Day courtesy of Randy Arozarena’s late inning blast off Jose Leclerc. Slipping in its wake onto a seesaw of struggles and strengths, bowing to four below .500 as Jesse Hahn finally saw the dam break in the 12th to cede a home loss to Houston, the nadir of the season record-wise that Seattle has since rendered impossible to return to. The following night’s stunning comeback, with Julio
Rodriguez conquering Bryan Abreu for the first of multiple times on the season.
May swelled our hearts, and a division lead as high as 3.5 games on Friday May 23rd in Houston, with Emerson Hancock holding firm. The slide was severe. May and June offered f ew favors. Yet through the Cubs windy confines and a Bronx hiccup, the All-Star Break brought the M’s riding high, riding out with force over Houston once more. All year, 153 games booked, and the Seattle Mariners and Houston Astros find themselves inextricable from one another.
It is arguably the most important regular season series in the 21st century for the Seattle Mariners. Destiny, unlike so many years, is in Seattle’s hands. The Wild Card is a well-affixed fallback, but the American League West is within their grasp. For the first time since 2001, a new banner could be hung from the rafters of T-Mobile Park. A crown to carry for the entirety of 2026. Home playoff games. They all await, tauntingly close to a guarantee with a win of at least two of the next three.
Call your friends, your family, your coworkers, your classmates. Let them know, extoll them to gather with you. These are the games that can make and/or break fans, new and old. These are the games that we dream of all winter, hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of Rogers Hornsby’s, dreaming of a spring of meaningful baseball to fill our days and brighten our nights.
It’s reasonable to be afraid. Nervous. Anxious. Burrowing a hole through the floorboards with your foot, or rubbing raw an armrest’s endpoint. Uncertainty is terrifying. Instability is a water’s surface that you cannot see the bottom of. There are sirens of submission singing sweetly from the shore.
Assume they’ll lose and you won’t get hurt. They’ll choke it. Just hoping for 1 out of 3.
I’d sooner vomit. 9 months of the year, I spend in these pages, across the internet, and in the ears of my poor friends and loved ones, rallying for the Seattle Mariners to try harder and do better. Then the trade deadline passes. There is precious little to be done. August, September, October. These are my vacation, my time of joy, my space for fandom, truly, in the sense of enjoyment. My calendar cannot accommodate this genre of mopery. The unknown is an abyss, but the abyss reminds that uncertainty is where the magic still resides. Where wonders can be created.
We don’t know yet, whether Bryan Woo or Hunter Brown will have the crucial edge to their repertoire needed. If it’s Framber Valdez or George Kirby whose command of the corners will be tighter. If Logan Gilbert will be raising his hammer or shield on Sunday afternoon. Randy or Jeremy. Cal or Carlos. Jose or Julio. Who? Who?
The time for fear is past. Unbridle yourself and unshackle your spirit. You are surrounded in these pages and in the world around you with those who could share the joy of victory and the commiserating bond of defeat. These three nights in Houston are a stage for a performance we’ll be discussing the rest of our lives, with reverence or disgust.
Let it all matter this weekend. Unknown now, eternal in mere hours. A series for the AL West, and quite possibly the bye into the next round. A series to stake the hearts of the stellar vampires who’ve worn the division crown every full season since their scandal-ridden 2017. Do not deny yourself these feelings. You’re going to need them again, it’s important to remind yourself you have them all.
