Follow me for a minute please, and let’s dream together.

*****

It’s October 16th, 2026, a Friday. The ever-lengthening summer clings to Seattle’s evening. The sunset over the Olympics is the kind you make stock footage out of and run on a national broadcast, right before you cut to the fish tossers down at the market. It’s game six of the American League Championship Series between the Mariners and the Yankees. It’s really happening, you’re really there, and if they win they’re really going to go to the World Series.

So much happened to get to this point. Ownership finally untethered the coffers, allowing not just a single offseason of aggressive free agency pursuit, but an annual tradition of seeking out and wooing the greatest baseball players in the world to Seattle. For years now no elite talent has gone through free agency without the Mariners being known to at least make exploratory calls. No team in the league has felt safe getting into a bidding war with Seattle, as the Mariners sudden rise to prominence propelled not just their national identity, but put a firm stranglehold on the entire northwest quadrant of the country. The team occupying the sport’s biggest geographical footprint and one of its richest metropolitan areas was finally being leveraged into something it was always waiting to be, and never seemed it would: an economic powerhouse.

No matter how deep, the farm development was always going to have its rocky points, and plenty of fan-favorite prospects flamed out due to injury and underperformance. But for once, the tide of talent didn’t ebb and fall. For every talented arm that disappeared another appeared in the wings. Through talent, hard work, and luck the Mariners achieved the kind of top-tier talent factory only the very best organizations in the sport do. By doing away with onerous and unseemly service time manipulation, and allowing advancement whenever a prospect could best help the major league team, the Mariners cultivated a reputation as the team you want to play for, helping them to routinely sign highly coveted international talent, further bolstering the farm.

Above it all, though, they had Kelenic and Julio. Like Félix Hernandez before them, they were the ones that did not break, or leave, or bust. They were promises kept, bonds formed, connections between field and fan, present and past. They were ours. We loved them, and they loved us. With twin homegrown megastars who had outgoing and brash personalities patrolling the outfield corners, the Mariners became one of the sport’s most exciting and nationally recognizable teams. Bat flips? You bet. Walk off dingers and bitter rivalries? Oh baby, you know it. 

The 2024 team finally, FINALLY, made the postseason. The 2025 team won the division after a month-long pennant chase with Houston so dramatic and compelling that every burnt out baseball fan in this city gave in, returning to the sport of their childhood and bringing their children with them. They clinched the pennant on the last day of the season. Kyle Seager cried into his brother’s arms. A half hour later he was drunk and shirtless in the clubhouse, draped in his old K-SWAG gear and screaming so many obscenities at anyone within earshot that the coverage of the celebration just sounded like a car alarm going off.

Now, today, they’re finally gonna do it. It doesn’t really matter where you’re sitting, or how much it cost, or how you feel about the business side of things, what happened yesterday or what happens tomorrow. All that matters is that you’re here, and 45,000 people are your best friends and family. The team is ahead 5-3 going into the ninth, and Justin Dunn comes in to close it out. You haven’t had a voice since the third, and your ears won’t stop ringing so you can’t have a conversation. The pain is actually fairly acute. You really, really don’t mind. 

Dunn strikes out the first batter, walks the second, and gets the third to popup to the catcher. The game — the world — exists solely on a sheet of pure noise and energy created by the crowd. Why did we worry about the owners? Why did we fight over prospects on the internet? Why did we care about anything but the pursuit of this space; this shared nirvana where we are one in our anticipation of joy a half century overdue?

The 1-1 pitch is a lazy fly to right. Julio settles under, waits, and squeezes. All the noise prior was merely a dress rehearsal for the torrent now unleashed. The stadium bellows and quakes and you fully surrender your soul to the crowd. When you regain sanity you’re hugging the guy in the row in front of you. His name is Dave. He’s from Federal Way. He laughs and says it’s ok as you pry your arms off him. Tears, sweat, and beer are everywhere. You call your dad. You can’t really hear what he’s saying, but you can tell he’s crying too. The Seattle Mariners are going to the World Series.

*****

May we live to see it. Each and every one of us. Together.

Enjoy tonight, friends. Enjoy the dream.

Goms.