“Hope springs eternal…,” a quote from an essay by the eighteenth century English poet Alexander Pope, has long since been co-opted by baseball fans as a mantra for that wonderful period in early spring when every team in Major League Baseball has a 0-0 record and, seemingly, an equal opportunity to still be playing meaningful baseball in the fall. One hundred and sixty-two games is by far the longest season in professional sports, eclipsing the seemingly eternal duration of the NBA and NHL seasons by eighty games. But unlike basketball or even football, with its short sixteen game season, seventy or so games must be played out before a we gain a true understanding of which teams are the cream of the crop. In basketball, it’s about seventeen games. In football, while it’s a relatively larger proportion of the season, we know in about ten weeks. But in baseball, we won’t really know until mid-June. So, not only does the hope spring eternal, it hangs around for a while.
As a transplant to Seattle, Washington, having never before lived in a city with major league sports, much less three, the 2014 Seattle Mariners season was a thrill ride, while the 2015 Seattle Mariners season felt a little more like getting to the carnival to see that the ride was temporarily out of order. But, I have no way to really relate to long term Mariners fans who have endured the playoff drought since 2001. Hell, the Seattle Seahawks went to the Super Bowl EVERY year I lived here until last season.
I grew up a New York Yankees fan, probably an inevitable by-product of the convergence of my father bringing me Mickey Mantle’s autograph after he had met the man while working at the airport in Memphis, Tennessee, and becoming aware of baseball at age 10, 11, and 12, years that coincided with the Yankees appearing in the World Series in 1976, 1977, and 1978. Thurman Munson was my favorite player and I can still remember the pain of his death in 1979, an event my father called the house from work to tell me about, just like he had a few years before to get me to turn on the television for every at bat Henry Aaron took in the game he hit 715.
My connection with the Mariners went about as far as targeting certain players from the roster in fantasy baseball. A-Rod. Junior. Edgar Martinez. The Big Unit. Ichiro. The natural link to the team upon arriving in Seattle in May of 2013 was Robinson Cano, who had been, arguably, the best hitter on the Yankees, but had always kind of infuriated me for not being more like, well, Derek Jeter. Show some hustle Robbie!
Since then, two years of listening to Dave Sims call Mariners games on ROOT Sports hasn’t completely driven me insane and I feel kind of sorry for the Yankees, who now must endure Dustin Ackley. He looks good without the beard, though.
So, as the new season gets underway on Monday, officially opening day even though ESPN has a Sunday night game, I’m cautiously curious to see what kind of team the Mariners will field.
In my head, the team is probably missing an impact bat and maybe an arm in the rotation. Bullpens are always iffy. (Just ask the Yankees, who figured to have Dellin Betances, Andrew Miller, and Aroldis Chapman shut down the seventh, eighth, and ninth, only to start the season with only Betances available – Miller got hit by a line drive and Chapman served one up to his spouse). And, we may be seeing the inevitable decline of King Felix after so many years of near perfection.
In my heart, I’d really like to see this team excel, and not just because it’s been pieced together with an emphasis on higher on base percentage and commanding the strike zone by both hitters and pitchers. But, just because Seattle deserves a trip to the post-season. It’s been fifteen years. In a year when the Chicago Cubs are the odds on favorite to win the World Series, surely the Mariners can get to October.
The full quote by Pope is as follows:
Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blessed:
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Let’s see what’s in store for the “life to come.” First stop is Texas. Play ball.
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