1) Competence is a malleable material. For a productive, thriving enterprise it can be marked as a bedrock quality; the water, straw, and mud supporting the weight of all the shiny, beautiful things everyone loves so much. The opposite case study makes competence an easy scapegoat. Being good at your job is not being great, and the failures of others (often leadership) may require greatness to save a thing. It’s easy to ask why your best assets weren’t better. It’s even easier to get others to do the same thing. 

Kyle Seager is a player defined by competence and its disparate narrative spins. From 2011-2013, he was Dustin Ackley’s College Teammate, an afterthought with little pop and utility player upside. From 2014-2016, he was a quiet star on a contending team, thriving behind the supernova talents and personalities of Félix Hernández, Robinson Canó, and Nelson Cruz. From 2017-2020, he has been an “overpaid,” aging anchor; a contract and clubhouse personality the team would happily rid itself of, if only there were a market for him.

Through the rise and fall of those three narratives, with few exceptions, Kyle Seager has been mostly the same player. And that player is the best third baseman in franchise history.

2) By 2016, despite coming through a farm system that wrecked nearly everything it touched, Kyle had turned himself into one of the very best third basemen in baseball; a top-five player at a position filled with All-Stars, MVPs, and all-time greats. But in 2018 a toe injury fueled a swing breakdown, plummeting his wRC+ to 83 as the Mariners watched yet another promising playoff bid end choking on the magical pixiedust the A’s farted out as they sped by them.

The slump, its timing, and the ensuing teardown of one of the most talented cores in Mariners history left Seager as the lone “big-contract” player remaining. The team would almost have certainly cast him aside as well, but that slump combined with a concerted effort by baseball owners to crush the free agency market (and a trade guaranteeing an extra year on his contract), caused Seager’s value to plummet. 

Mariners GM Jerry Dipoto has said a lot of things about a lot of players. In the past 12 months alone he has called Jake Fraley and Dylan Moore “five-tool talents.” He has gone on a television broadcast and raved about Patrick Wisdom. He has gushed about Yohan Ramírez, Art Warren, Evan White, Andrew Moore, Daniel Vogelbach, Domingo Santana, Ryon Healy, Jean Segura, Norichika Aoki, Marc Rzepczynski, Juan Nicasio, and so many, many other Mariners. He is a master of weaponized enthusiasm and optimism and, for many Mariners fans, it works. After the 2018 season, Dipoto, in his typical style, delivered an intensely rose-colored view:

“Everybody has their best year at some point and everybody has their worst year, and my guess is Kyle Seager just had his worst year, and Kyle will find a way to bounce back.”

Kyle Seager, by contrast, accepts no bullshit from anyone, and most specifically and intensely he does not accept bullshit from himself. After suffering a wrist injury in spring training and a slow first half in 2019, Seager re-shaped his offense, posting a second-half wRC+ of 129. That success at the plate has continued into this season, where Seager has been arguably Seattle’s best offensive player. In fact, over his past 162 games (stretching back to the doom-filled 2018) Kyle Seager has posted a line of .250/.329/.470, eerily similar to his career numbers of .257/.325/.445. He’s Kyle Seager again, same as he ever was. A 3-5-win player to set your clock to.

Since that 2018 quote, Kyle Seager has done something few players ever have: He’s made a truth-teller of Jerry Dipoto.

3) I always think of Kyle Seager as a loner. It’s not really accurate. There are plenty of examples of him being extremely social/goofy/weird. It could be the “lone survivor” factor of the Mariners farm. That whether by chance or skill, as top 10 prospects ground ashore and caught fire all around him, Seager alone made himself into a star player. It could just be his personality, which is that special, delightful kind of asshole that can get away with literally saying “fuck you” from the batter’s box and get away with it. 

It could also be because Kyle Seager has nearly lapped the productivity of every full-time third baseman in team history, succeeding for a team at a position that largely muted the talents of Adrián Beltré, arguably the greatest third baseman of all time. It could be because the tufts of gray in his beard stand in such contrast to the rest of the 2020 Mariners, one of baseball’s youngest teams. It could be because he is the last remaining symbol of the 2014-2018 Mariners: would-be cursebreakers, baseball-ian Greek tragedy, and one of the most enjoyable, memorable groups in franchise history. 

But mostly I think it’s because — rather than leave or fade — he has endured, through talent, work, and stubbornness. It’s because blocky, slow, bald Kyle Seager already belongs in any list of the greatest Mariners of all time, right alongside some of the most gifted, iconic players to ever play the sport. It’s because, both on this roster and in Mariners history, Kyle Seager’s competence has purchased him a rare thing: A place all his own.