IPAs and Crab Nachos, I appreciated the 2026 Mariners

Now that the dust has settled, there's no better time to write an epitaph for the Mariners' 2026 season. Dan Wilson, the Skipper, is gone. Rick Rizzs, a fixture in the booth for longer than some of the players have been alive, has called his final game without ever getting to broadcast a World Series. After last year's run came within a game of the Fall Classic, this season felt like a hangover. People still went to the games, myself included, but everyone seemed to need an excuse for it, like they'd been caught drinking alone at a bar. 

Full disclosure: I'm not a baseball fan in the traditional sense. I appreciate the concepts. You position your players strategically, try to trick your opponent, decide who to sacrifice, then take decisive action. It's basically chess. But my interest ends there. Blame it on an ADHD diagnosis that came later in life; I never developed the coping mechanisms to sit through an entire game without hunting for distractions. 

It was infinitely worse at the Kingdome, which had all the sensory deprivation of a medieval dungeon designed to break the human spirit. I only have two memories of the place: the Marlboro Man staring down at me ominously, and a bunch of drunks heckling a Special Olympics softball game before the first pitch. In 2000, I contentedly watched from a freeway overpass as they blew it up. 

That's exactly why I'll keep coming back to T-Mobile Park, or whatever corporation is paying for the name now or ten years from now. No matter how hapless this team gets, I'll always have the sun, a gimmick like Jimothy Night, and crab nachos served in a collectible ferry, all of which the Mariners delivered this year. 

These days I take the light rail to SoDo knowing I'll pay attention to maybe ten percent of the game. If the fireworks don't hold me, I'll grab another Bodhizafa IPA. The grab-and-go market makes it easy to forget what you're spending, at least until the next morning.