July 17, 2011: Mariners 1, Rangers 3 (43-52)

The darkness is starting to creep in.

The Mariners just lost again. That makes nine in a row. Nine straight defeats, nine straight missed opportunities, nine straight chances that the Mariners will never get back. From now until eternity, the Mariners will have lost every single game they played from July 6th 2011 to July 17th 2011. That’s an immutable fact. There’s nothing, literally nothing, that they will ever be able to do to change that. All these games, all these losses… Sure, there will be more chances in the future, but these ones are gone, gone forever. No matter where they go, no matter what success or happiness these players might someday attain, they’ll have to live with these crushing failures for the rest of their lives. It hurts. It hurts bad.

The worst thing about this recent string of defeats is how hopeless, how thoroughly, well, defeating they’ve been. Over the past nine games, the Mariners have been outscored 41 to 11. It’s been brutal. Bambi Meets Godzilla on a baseball field. Not once in the past two weeks have I gone into a game thinking that the Mariners have had any chance to win. And the team has done nothing but validate that hopelessness. At this point, it feels like the Mariners won’t ever win again. How could they? Seriously, how could this collection of assclowns ever hope to outscore another baseball team? What would that even look like? I can’t imagine it.

Except, no, that’s not right. I mean, come on. Of course the Mariners will win again. Quit with the drama, Pessimismo. This is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why are you getting so worked up over nine bad games? Trust me, the Mariners have played a whole lot more than just nine bad games in their time. This is a drop in the bucket, and the only reason anyone cares is that these nine bad games happened to align temporally. The Mariners have won about 45 percent of their games this season. They’ll probably win about 45 percent of their games the rest of the season, too. That leaves room for them to win about thirty more games, and most likely about thirty more games they will win.

At least, that’s what the math says. After living through these last two weeks of baseball, though, it’s hard to trust the math. It’s hard to shake off two weeks worth of constant hopelessness and despair. It’s hard to really believe that the Mariners aren’t a miserable excuse for a baseball team, that they aren’t doomed, doomed, forever doomed. But you have to believe. What other choice is there? How could you possibly force yourself to keep following this team every. single. day. if there wasn’t at least some glimmer of hope? Stop paying attention? Stop being a fan? Let’s be real, those are not options. In my case, even if I wanted to go down that path (And I don’t. Winners never quit.), I don’t think I could. I can’t stop being a fan. I can’t. The Mariners got a grip on my heart sometime when I was so little I can’t even remember, and they aren’t letting go.

And so I soldier on. One day at a time. It’s dark now, pitch dark, but hope springs eternal. Any dreams for this season are dead and buried, but next year? Who knows? Maybe they’ll win it all. If not next year, then maybe the year after that. It’s got to happen sometime, right? And I know, or at least I tell myself, that if and when that ever happens it will all have been worth it. All the pain and the yearning and the endless suppressed suspicion that this is all just totally stupid will make the euphoria of victory that much sweeter. They say that anything worth doing is worth suffering for. I don’t know if I believe that, but, when it comes to baseball, I’m willing to say I do. If and when the Mariners ever win a World Series, I’m not going to do the “normal” fan thing. I’m not going to take the party to the streets and celebrate with my fellow Mariners fans. What I’m going to do is experience it the way that’s meaningful to me, the way I’ve really always experienced baseball. I’m going to sit alone in my room, and I’m going to smile until my eyes bleed.