Longtime readers of this publication may have learned by now that I love to say “the pennant.”
There’s a simple reason for that: saying “the pennant” is awesome.
Great phrase.
Also, our family—like most families formed in the 1990s—had Angels in the Outfield on VHS.
There’s also the part where it’s an accomplishment that feels, to Mariners fans, so singularly and collectively ours. We’re the only MLB fan base to never see one.
The only one.
And it is one win away.
One dominant George Kirby start. One offensive avalanche from a lineup that’s more than capable of delivering. One more magical moment we’ll remember until our last breath on this plane of existence—and if there’s more, well beyond.
One more game between the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
Of course we get a Game Seven. Of course. There’s something so grim and final about it.
There’s no way around it—come 9pm tonight, we’ll either be as happy as we’ve ever been in our entire lives or experiencing heartbreak on a level only a few other events in life can match.
It’s so singular, so decisive.
The Mariners play the Dodgers for everything or the next time we see the boys—surely a dramatically different group of guys—will be in the Cactus League opener.
I’d rather not even think about that.
The other day, in attempting to write a post after Game Two, I had a whole multi-paragraph lede written about Charlie Furbush and how, in doing the postgame, he was struggling to find the words for the moment and for the team that brought us to it.
I felt much the same, and do so now—but boy is the vibe and reason dramatically different.
I’d rather not spend too much time thinking about how the Mariners only needed to win two of three at home—two of five total—to advance to the World Series.
It’s one of one now and there’s nothing we can do to change that.
I’ve had a couple folks reach out today to check in, to ask how I’m feeling, probably hoping to hear something positive coming back their way.
Happy to oblige.
The Mariners can win this game. They should win this game.
They should’ve won last night, too.
I saw this post on Twitter and if you saw my QT, apologies but I’ll repeat the point again here:
They did all that nonsense—and that is what it took to lose.
They had traffic all night and too often found balls hit exactly to the wrong spot.
Hell, if J.P. Crawford is standing just short of second on Leo Rivas’s deep fly off the wall instead barely halfway, it changes the complexion of the game entirely.
Obviously, you wish Logan would’ve been better than he was. You wish the entire rotation, save Bryce Miller, had been better than it has been in this ALCS. They’re supposed to be the strength.
Well, tonight it’s George Kirby.
Maybe this is some super-weird sports-radio-level psychoanalysis but I’ve always got the sense George Kirby, a lifelong Yankees fan, would much prefer to pitch under the bright lights of the East Coast than out with us in South Alaska.
Well bud (or strawman, probably strawman), here you go. Game Seven to go to the World Series against an AL East foe.
We’re not asking you to, but a great starting pitcher can damn near win a game on his own.
Are you one?
Folks have been wondering.
If not great, we’ll settle for good.
And after good should come more of it.
La Piedra, Bryan Woo and maybe even Bryce Miller should all be ready to rock.
To throw another millennial reference at you, this game combined with the M’s’ starting pitching depth had me thinking about this headed into tonight.
Guns. Lots of guns.
I’m all over the place and for that I apologize.
Part of it’s a bit of cross-country travel for work, part of it’s a little random sickness and then oh, hey, it’s the Seattle Mariners playing in Game Seven of the mfin ALCS in 40 minutes.
But something else I’ve been thinking about, something that I hadn’t realized until just a few hours before Game Six—
If the Mariners win this series, they will, after not hanging a banner in the rafters of T-Mobile Park for 24 years, will hang multiple on Opening Day of 2026.
If they win tonight, those banners will constitute a sizable percentage of all the material symbols of accomplishment this organization has ever earned.
That’s how special this year is. Or, that’s how special it should be.
Ultimately, sports are very much not a singular thing.
They’re honestly probably the best community-centric thing we have going right now in this country, perhaps even this world.
What fun would winning a game like this be if you had no one else to celebrate it with?
Even if those people are not physically present or even specific at all, sports give us the opportunity to feel part of something bigger, something more special than our own solo existence.
Nights like tonight, wins like this one would be, they stitch you into the fabric of reality, they can be the signposts where so many trails intersect.
Last night, I watched the game with three of my four siblings and my Dad, too. All four of my siblings’ significant others—and my own, too. We even had a whole new generation of M’s fans present in my niece and nephew, the former with his go-to lucky pajamas.
Tonight we’re watching alone—well, my wife and I, but everyone else on their own.
We are and we’re not.
We’ve all been on this ride together. And we’ll do tonight together, too.
Everyone who’s here and everyone who’s not.
So let’s put out the good vibes and go get this dub.
Let’s win the pennant.
Go M’s.
Go Mariners!