I’m never sure what to think about 1995. I’m about the same age as Cal Raleigh, and neither of us had been born. I’ve picked up the key points over the years. Ken Griffey Jr. was cool. Edgar Martinez was wise. Randy Johnson was wild. Jay Buhner was bald. And Lou Piniella was pissed. These are the characters who saved baseball in Seattle. I can imagine the impact of that team through the voice of Dave Nieahus, through his reverence, his honesty. I can quantify their greatness in a spreadsheet. I can only smile politely when those clips are played.
But for all I’ve been told, for all my gentle nods, I’ve never been able to place Dan Wilson. He’s always been there, as a player, an ambassador, a broadcaster or a coach; in all the pictures and at all the parties; forever standing in the background, affably. I’m not sure what he represents or how loud to clap. There are no clues in his FanGraphs’ page or in his persona. There’s nothing to discern in his Funko Pop—vacancy its lone identifying trait. I only know that he was there, and that he is here, sitting on my shelf, forever staring past me.
What does he see?
He’s seen Olivo take his job, Sexson sulk, and Figgins in the outfield. He’s seen the #6 Org, with its stomach bugs, soggy arms, sprinkler heads, and warning tracks; posers, brain spiders and broken promises. He’s Believed in slogans and prospect lists and righteous indignation; Driveline and PEDs and left-on-left splits. He’s seen greatness come and quickly go, or stay too long, or return and spoil. Too many characters to list, too few to remember, most summed up in a word. I’ll let you pick.
These are my Mariners. The naughts. A symbol more than a celebration. Decorated with baseball, rather than embodying it. Forever looking towards a time that doesn’t exist. I display them in my life not quite with pride but a perverse sense of duty, or marketing, or irony, or yes maybe pride. Never, ever the protagonists.
Still, I watch. I write. I give myself, for a glimpse behind those plastic eyes. To see what they see. To know this team. To stay just a few more years.
Suddenly it’s there, in a blink, in a lifetime.
The Mariners honored 50 players before Saturday’s game to celebrate their 50th season. It was a fairly predictable ceremony, as the team seems to find something to celebrate in this fashion once a summer. It was nice.
The University of Washington marching band kicked things off with the Mariners nautical theme song, before diving into their pep band set list for what felt like a bit too long. A hype reel followed, with the standard fare of classic highlights and a voice over delivering the first platitudes of the evening.
They eventually got to the point and announced the 50 most notable Mariners alumni. Players were brought out by era, old guys first. The full list wasn’t too surprising or controversial. It was cool to see guys I wasn’t thinking about ahead of time, like JJ Putz, Kazuhiro Sasaki, and Raul Ibanez. And it was cool to see some personal favorites, like Mitch Haniger, James Paxton, and Hisashi Iwakuma. The cheers outweighed the boos for Alex Rodriguez and Dan Wilson. The only living players who didn’t show up were Robinson Canó, Kyle Seager, Freddy García, and Luis Castillo. There were seven players from the active roster (and eight if you count Castillo). The only snub I could think of was Eugenio Suárez, but I understand why he wasn’t included. After they called 40 or so names chronologically, they brought out the inner circle guys like Alvin Davis, Jay Buhner, and Félix Hernández. They finished by having the quartet of true Hall of Famers (Ken Griffey Jr., Edgar Martinez, Randy Johnson, and Ichiro) walk in from center field. Again, it was nice.
Next came a longer montage on the history of the team. This one was great, I thought, with much more than the standard highlights you’ve seen too often. They showcased lots of great Mariners-y things, like individual performances and minor accolades and commercials. Rick Rizzs did the voice over with another round of platitudes.
The video faded to the podium with a tuxedo’d Rizzs offering a few more platitudes before handing the mic to Alvin Davis. I was excited for this, as we generally don’t get to hear from Davis, despite his status as Mr. Mariner. His speech was OK. He talked about the Mariners identity: “Loyal, steady, kind — that’s a Mariner.” And he noted the org’s tendency to hold on for dear life to its history, pointing to Wilson and Edgar in the dugout. He eventually fell into the corny routine of trying to hype up the current squad and told them to go win a World Series. “Outsiders have doubted this franchise for 40 years (sic). Let that doubt fuel you. Prove them wrong. We believe in you. Prove us right.”
John Stanton was next to the stage, the boos covered with yet another highlight package, this time honoring Rizzs. But instead of more platitudes, Stanton got right to the point. He thanked Rizzs for 41 years with the team and announced he would be inducted into the Mariners Hall of Fame. “For many Mariners fans, the voice of the summer is Rick Rizzs,” Stanton said. This was a very touching moment, with the players and crowd giving a tremendous ovation while Rizzs failed to fight back tears.
Rizzs took the podium again, clearly flustered by the news — again, very touching. He thanked a bunch of people and quipped he was honored to be the “shortest member of the Mariners Hall of Fame.” Rizzs then announced Lou Piniella, who was yet to be seen, would throw out the first pitch to Wilson. Piniella appeared and all the players got off the stage and huddled around him while he made the toss. This was the best part of the night, as all the alums stood in the middle of the field and commiserated. A-Rod gave Wilson a huge hug. Haniger and J.P. did some catching up. Mike Moore talked Logan Gilbert’s ear off. Buhner and Félix exchanged a chummy embrace. Dave Valle was mic’d up. For as much as these things can be a bit of an eye roll, given the frequency with which the organization insists on remembering itself, seeing all these people again was a good time. It was nice.
Then the game began. Turns out it was still the 2026 Mariners. They lost 3-2.
George Kirby got the start, shortly after being named one of the 50. He was just OK. He couldn’t find the zone at times and struggled to coax much chase or whiff at others, with the Rays fouling off tons of pitches. He nearly made it through four innings with a 1-0 lead, but with two outs, Victor Mesa Jr. got hold of an up-and-in fastball and crushed a game-tying homer to right. A pair of singles followed and things looked like they might get away for Kirby. But he got a pop up in foul territory that Cal Raleigh made a fantastic sliding catch on, despite a competing effort from Kirby.
Michael Rucker took the ball for the sixth. It wasn’t pretty. He loaded the bases on an error from Brendan Donovan, a single, and a walk. Richie Palacios battled and battled and picked up a two-out, two-strike single to plate a pair of runs and give the Rays a 3-1 lead. They wouldn’t score again, and they wouldn’t need to.
The Mariners offense wasn’t terrible, but it certainly wasn’t enough. Casey Legumina got the start for the Rays, the first leg in a bullpen day (starter Griffin Jax was scratched with an injury shortly before the game). Legumina got the ball to Cam Booser with one out in the second inning, the game still tied at zero. Naylor quickly changed that, taking Booser deep on the first pitch he threw.
Donovan immediately singled and Raleigh walked, and it looked like the Mariners might have a chance for a big inning with just one out. But they were turned away from there. Then they went in order in the third. Naylor picked up a double in the fourth, but nothing came of it. Then they went in order in the fifth and sixth. They wouldn’t get another base runner until Naylor went deep again in the seventh. It was a three extra base hit day for Naylor, the lone bright spot in this one.
Things got heated in the sixth. Julio Rodríguez struck out looking on a pitch out of the zone to end the inning. Julio immediately — and I mean immediately — tapped his head to challenge. The ump said he didn’t challenge in time, which wasn’t true. It seemed the ump wasn’t paying attention. Julio started to give him the business, before Dan Wilson came crashing in, kicking and screaming, about as livid as I’ve ever seen him. Wilson eventually got run, and Manny Acta jumped in to drag him away. But Acta midway through heard something from the umpire he didn’t like either and started yelling himself. Eventually the crew chief came over and escorted them back to the dugout.
The episode turned the game over to the boo birds, who’d booed the team broadly of late and decided to also boo every pitch called by the umpire. It didn’t help the Rays asked for (and were granted) a challenge in the next inning. This gave the evening a sour taste, which was probably deserved for celebration in the middle of one of the most disappointing seasons in franchise history.
Still, in keeping with the theme of legacy, the Mariners offered just enough hope to keep you watching. Down 3-2, Cole Young led off the eighth with a single. But Randy Arozarena nearly hit into a double play, and Dominic Canzone did hit into a double play to end the threat. Julio led off the ninth with a single. But Naylor just missed another homer and Donovan hit into a double play to wrap things up. It was another near miss, for a franchise with so many. The Mariners fell to 56-62 and four games out of the AL West.
And so that was it. A nice ceremony for some nice people, followed by a Mariners loss. See you at 100.
