There is no freeze at the corner of Edgar and Dave.
Strangers are hugging in the stands, dancing together outside the gates, exchanging high fives as they pass along First Ave. Our extended Seattle summer
is winding down, but there is a warmth around the ballpark – around the city, the region, the Mariners fandom as a whole, that belies the changing of seasons.
As every Little League coach has extolled, there is no “I” in “team,” but damn if there haven’t been Mariners teams that may as well have been a one-man show. It certainly wasn’t those individuals’ faults – Felix never wanted to be the lone bright spot for years, Ichiro didn’t need to be the sole star, I’m sure Nelson Cruz would have appreciated more companionable competence – but that didn’t change the dynamic of haves and have nots.
This 2025 team has its stars, certainly, but rather than push others into darkness, their brightness pull their teammates into the light. It’s Julio declining his All-Star nod so that Randy could play; it’s Cal foregoing the crush of bodies swarming Jorge Polanco after his walk-off single to embrace J.P. Crawford at home; it’s every single time the top of the order scuffled, and the 7, 8, 9 hitters said “No worries, we’ve got you.” Not only that, but this is a team that feels like Seattle’s own. So many of their stars are homegrown, signed or drafted by Seattle, and many who aren’t still seem to hold a unique affection for the city. Whether it’s Josh Naylor, three months a Mariner (though hopefully more), repeatedly rocking Kraken gear and, recently, a Kevin Durant Sonics jersey, or Julio, taking a moment to show gratitude to the fans in Seattle. “I want to give them so much props because it was so special, they’re so special the way that they love the team and the way that they stay. They’re staying, they stay for us and that’s special, you know. So I want to say to the fans, thank you for that.” All of that combines to make them easy to root for, easy to believe in, easy to rally for even when it all feels like it’s crumbling.
Two years ago, someone I knew took advantage of my friendliness. It stripped away a lot of who I was; my safety, my enthusiasm for the world, my sense of self and openness towards others. A good therapist, good people and the passage of time has helped me return, but what’s also been surprisingly healing is this Mariners run. Their success is systematically dismantling the stoicism this region is known for. They’re drawing people out, making the city feel small in the best way possible, as though we are all in on some funny, prolonged holiday that’s equal parts nauseating and exhilarating.
Cheers broke out at SeaTac Airport when the M’s won a recent game; the ferries delivered a rousing, multi-horn salute the day after clinching the AL West title; bars are bringing in televisions and projector systems specifically to show the games. It’s a “Go M’s!” from a fellow runner as our paths cross near the lake, nodding at my shirt; it’s striking up conversation on the train with a group en route to the ballpark; it’s the countless texts and calls from friends and family with a passing familiarity with baseball, but who’ve been gifted a peek into the magic. It is a rich, enduring communion, rethreading the loose seams of belief in this team and belief in one another.
On October 5th, what feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago, I stood in the 300 level in the bottom of the eighth inning with one on and one away. The hope in the air was a real, solid thing, winding through the rows, stalking up and down the concourse. For just one moment, I closed my eyes.
JU LI O
JU LI O
JU LI O
It wasn’t just the sound, deafening as it was. It was the echo across the Sound. A perfect blue sky had faded to black, the city and its temperatures cooling on a Sunday evening. Everything softening, quieting, slowing to leave space for Julio Rodríguez. The crack of his bat split the air, and we roared.
In the nearly two weeks since, the crowd has not abated, nor have the Mariners. They’ve gifted us dozens of moments of celebration, to surge together, literally and metaphorically, and bask in glorious togetherness.
How can you not be grateful for baseball?
