On Oct. 20 in Game Seven of the American League Championship Series – the 174th game of the season – the Seattle Mariners fell to the Toronto Blue Jays, just short of making their first ever World Series.
As a fan, it was easy to feel the crushing weight of that loss. A game where your team is leading with five outs to go, until George Springer enters the batters box in the bottom of the 8th inning. As the game concluded and I stared blankly at the TV, I felt myself overcome with emotion.
It wasn’t anger, I won’t even say I was all that upset. Instead, I was flooded with memories from this season. How lucky I was, to have been able to watch this team all year and care, truly care about something. From watching Cal Raleigh break record after record to sharing a barbecue platter at the ballpark with my best friend (at a home playoff game nonetheless), the 2025 season is one I’ll never forget.
After the game, I called my friend Sam and we talked about baseball for about two hours. We spent that time reminiscing about the season; games we went to, foods we had at the ballpark and some of the incredible things we witnessed this team do. Like we did all year, we predicted what the offseason moves would be and what prospects might take a step forward. I didn’t want the season to end. Sam said he was “baseballed out” but I just wanted more. To see this team play once more, to attend one more game. That was the moment it hit me — the season was over for us. The Seattle Mariners won’t play another game until spring.
For the longest time, baseball was a game I admired from afar.
My family didn’t really have money so I didn’t get any chances to play until high school. I barely even got to watch the games live. Whenever I would catch a peak or watch the highlights, something in me felt complete in a way. The game called out to me like few things had before and for 11 year-old me, that was special. It’s weird to think about since baseball is a massive part of my life nowadays.
Who would I be without it?
I’ve met incredible people through this game who have shaped me; lifelong friends, devoted coaches and other fans I may have only had brief interactions with have all meant something.
If you’re at all familiar with the Mariners, you’d know that they are a team that has oozed mediocrity. First established in 1977 as part of league expansion alongside the Toronto Blue Jays, the M’s didn’t make their first playoff appearance until 1995. On the other hand, the Jays made their first playoff appearance in 1985 and won back to back titles in ‘92 and ‘93. After the M’s 2001 playoff run, they went on a legendary, 21-year playoff drought, broken in 2022 by the aforementioned Cal Raleigh.
The 2025 season can be looked at as the season of Cal Raleigh. He hit 60 home runs, the most by a catcher, by a switch hitter and by a Mariner. He finished second in MVP voting, right behind Aaron Judge of the New York Yankees. He maintained this offensive prowess while once again leading an incredible pitching staff.
When Cal hit number 60 against the Colorado Rockies on Sept. 24 in the bottom of the 8th inning, my friend Hunter and I were sitting in section 111, right off the right field foul pole. That ball flew right in front of us and T-Mobile park erupted. It only got louder when an inning later, Luke Jackson struck out Rockies DH Blaine Crim to win a 9-2 ballgame, clinching the M’s first American League West title since 2001.
Electric is the only word that comes to mind when I try to describe that feeling. It’s a moment that can probably only be recreated by winning the World Series. More important than winning the division and going to the playoffs was being able to experience it with my oldest friend.
Hunter and I have been friends for just about a decade now and he’s one of those friends I consider family. He was a big reason I fell in love with the game as hard as I did. He’s like a brother to me and being able to share that incredible moment watching the game we love is what I believe the essence of baseball is.
“America’s favorite pastime” is another name for this game. What that means to me is experiencing and sharing the game, the highest highs and lowest lows, with the people we love. Baseball isn’t a game to experience alone. It’s meant to be shared, meant to be experienced with fellow fans. It’s America’s favorite pastime because it represents our ideals — to come together and enjoy something, as one.
You can say what you want about how separated the world is, especially the United States. It’s a mess, but baseball in its truest form, is that ideal. There are so many different kinds of people that play the game and even more kinds that watch it. It truly is a melting pot that brings all of us together for one thing: the absolute love of the game.
There are many issues that plague our society and baseball isn’t immune to them. Hatred and rage seep their way into every facet of our lives. There have been multiple current and ex-Mariners players that have received death threats. But if there is one thing I know to be true,it’s that to me and millions of others, ball is life. Baseball feels like home and regardless of the minority that perpetuate hate, it’s the game I love and the game I’ll continue loving.
While I might not be able to change the world, I can make damn certain that I spread as much love as I can within my community. In baseball, in journalism and in gaming. That’s what this is. A love letter of sorts, to the Seattle Mariners and to baseball.
The season may not have ended how Mariner’s fans wanted but I sure had fun on the ride. Through dark days and pain, I got to spend my time with the people I love while watching the game I love. At the end of the day, I can’t ask for much more than that.
To the Seattle Mariners, to baseball and to my loved ones — thanks for the memories. I can’t wait to do it all again next year.
