Boys of Summer

In my world, the end of September means one thing: the end of regular season baseball. Sure, there’s the post-season in October, but it’s hardly exciting when your favorite team hasn’t been to the post season in 9 years and has absolutely no chance of making it this year. So the last days of September are the days when I say a fond farewell to the major leagues—and the  Seattle Mariners—until February, when pitchers and catchers report to spring training camp and the hype begins again.

Growing up, I often played baseball in the back yard with Megan and my dad. Note the batting stance—probably why I never made it to the majors.

I grew up loving the Mariners. I remember going to the Kingdome with my dad and my sister, dressed in my teal Griffey jersey, which I so fashionably wore with a blue turtleneck and a matching teal baseball cap. We would sit in the 300 level seats eating peanuts and watching the games. I loved everything about going to games—parking ridiculously far away from the stadium and walking to the game, trekking up the ramps that encircled the dome, watching batting practice—every memory was a good one.

The 1995 Mariners. Photo: Seattle Sports Commission

When Norm Charlton, nicknamed “The Sheriff,” was warming up in the bullpen one day before a game in the mid-90’s, Megan convinced me to call down to him. At 6 I was the most easily swayed child ever, so I proudly cried, “Sheriff, Sheriff! Help me, I’ve been robbed!” Not just one time—no, that wouldn’t get the point across. I distinctly remember yelling the same line at least a half-dozen times within about ten minutes.

Growing up, my favorite player was Ken Griffey, Jr. I remember asking my dad one day who his favorite player was. He pondered it for a moment, and I suggested that Griffey should be his favorite player. He responded with a nonchalant, “sure.” I was shocked—hurt, even—that my dad didn’t avidly agree that Griffey was the best player of all time. It should come as no surprise that I felt that way, though—after all, I’m the girl that dressed up as Griffey for Halloween in kindergarten, eye black and all.

 

The Kingdome, home to the Seattle Mariners from 1977-1999, was imploded on March 26, 2000. Photo: University of Washington

In 2000, the Mariners began playing in Safeco Field, which was built across the street from the Kingdome. I remember sitting in front of the TV on a Sunday morning with my family, watching the local news coverage of the implosion of the Kingdome. The 23-year-old stadium, which had been home to the Mariners as well as the Seahawks, Sonics, and Sounders [note: Seattle is a big fan of alliterations] since opening in 1976, had been deemed unusable. In order to make way for a new home for the Seahawks—now Qwest field—the Kingdome had to go. We watched as the explosives detonated and the huge cement structure folded in on itself. Of course, Safeco Field was state-of-the-art and remains to this day a beautiful stadium—but the Kingdome’s implosion marked the end of an era in my memory.

 

The Seattle Mariners in 2010. Photo: 67C

To be a Mariners fan is to suffer year after year. Every year we go into the season with high hopes, citing a fantastic pitching rotation or great  clubhouse relationships as our saving grace. Enthusiastic phrases like “This is our year” soon melt into “well, there’s always next season.” Of course, I am blinded by my love for the Mariners, and so I will always believe that their day will come and I will see them at the World Series at some point in my lifetime.

So while the Mariners stumbled out of the gate and never quite caught their footing this season, I will still put my hope in them next year. I may be somewhat more of a cynic as years go by, but I will always have that small string of hope: There’s always next season.