We cheered for King Felix. Photo by Jeremy Dwyer-Lindgren
“When the game was over, I was very disappointed, but right before I got back to the tunnel, walking off the field, I got so excited for the next opportunity, next year. Looking forward to what we have in the future.” —Russell Wilson, January 13, 2013
“When I took this job, I thought this was going to be a golden era for the Seattle Mariners. And the players haven’t let me down. I think it’s only going to get better.” —Lloyd McClendon, Sunday
Russell Wilson’s optimism following the Seahawks’ heartbreaking playoff loss to Atlanta in the 2012 playoffs was due primarily to the fact that Russell Wilson would probably call falling out of an airplane “an incredible opportunity to challenge myself to follow my dream of human-powered flight.” But also he was right: The Seahawks were young and likely to improve; they had underperformed relative to their actual talent; a key injury had happened at the worst time; and they’d suffered from playing in an incredibly talented division.
All four of those factors also pertain to the 2014 Mariners, who wrapped up their season on Sunday by sweeping the Angels but just missing the playoffs. We all know what happened to the Seahawks. What will happen to the Mariners is anyone’s guess—and yet, as Manager Lloyd McClendon said, there is now in Seattle baseball the sense of possibility.
So it was that the most life-affirming moment of my week was giving a standing ovation to a bunch of failures. The Mariners did not reach the goal they share with 31 major league teams, that of winning a World Series; nor did they make baseball’s 10-team postseason. So why did I and 40,000 others risk not being able to get a post-game table at Sluggers to cheer them well after the last pitch?
We cheered the Mariners because it feels good. Photo by Jeremy Dwyer-Lindgren
We cheered the Mariners for making baseball enjoyable again. “Baseball can actually be fun!” So said my girlfriend Saturday night when she and I and a friend took over a corner of the Summit Pub to watch the M’s participate in their first pennant race in 11 years. It’s hard to communicate the appeal of baseball to someone who hasn’t been through the daily drama of a late-season run, with a year of baseball in the balance on every pitch, every swing, every manager’s decision. A single game of baseball on a Tuesday night in July can seem dull when it’s one of seven games that week. But a single game of fall baseball, followed very closely, can be as gripping from start to finish as any game in any sport.
We cheered the Mariners for making us care again. It was nice that the Seahawks’ bye week happened to fall on the final day of baseball season. It gave city sports fans a day to make a baseball pilgrimage. I showed up two hours before the game; traffic was already bad and deep lines were forming at the ticket counters. I’ve never seen so many Mariners jerseys at a game.
For fans of a team that’s been so bad for so long, it was collective therapy to gather for a meaningful game, even if we all knew the team’s chances of advancing weren’t great. This was a cynicism-free zone, rare for a sporting event. Felix Hernandez got a raucous ovation when he left the game (never mind his dreadful start in a must-win game the previous Tuesday). Robinson Cano got a standing O too (never mind that he didn’t hit a homer after September 13). People, including me, reversed course as they were headed out of the stadium at game’s end to behold the glory of Tom Wilhelmsen’s spontaneous, unadulterated dancing as “Turn Down for What” played over the PA.
Now: Think about what would happen at CenturyLink in December if the Seahawks get eliminated from the playoffs halfway through their final game. I don’t think you’d see a post-game standing ovation.
The majesty of Wilhelmsen dancing to “Turn Down for What”. Photo by Jeremy Dwyer-Lindgren
We cheered the Mariners not so much for who they are but who we think they could be. Every key position player on the team, except for Robinson Cano, is 28 or younger, and there is every reason to believe that these guys will improve or at least maintain next year. By run differential, the Mariners were the sixth best team in the majors. They’re the only team in the top 10 in that category to miss the playoffs, and the culprit may be simple bad luck—the M’s were 18-27 in one-run games, the games where chance plays the biggest part in the outcome. Hisashi Iwakuma, the Mariners’ second-best starter and one of the best in baseball, started suffering from back and groin tightness late in the season. In September, he lost three consecutive starts for the first time in his MLB career.
And, to complete the Seahawks comparison, the Mariners play in the American League West division, baseball’s closest thing to the NFC West. By run differential, division rivals the Angels and A’s were the two best teams in baseball. The Mariners played 38 of 162 games against them.
We cheered the Mariners because it feels good. Usually when we cheer, it’s for success—a win, a championship. Cheering for failure isn’t something we do very often but probably should, not just in sports but in our everyday lives. Our everyday failures are always so easy to criticize. What Sunday taught me is that—even though it doesn’t change anything—it feels a lot better to celebrate.
Just for fun.
sportsball@seattleweekly.com
