In January of 2024, I made a deliberate choice to be a Baseball Fan. There were two reasons behind this:

• My spouse is a lifelong baseball fan and I wanted to be a better spouse. We had gone to a few games when his team was in town to play the Seattle Mariners, but my appreciation was limited to “vibes” only.

• Someone I loved very much was disintegrating. Cheering a baseball team was a socially acceptable way to shout and channel my heartache in public.

I had choices to make, though: Do I invest my enthusiasm in my spouse’s team? In their pinstripes they have won the most number of World Series (and reminds everyone of it). Or do I dedicate my ardor to the team that has never been to the World Series, the Seattle Mariners?

Dear reader, you already know who got my vote. The West Coast is the Best Coast.

A sponge for learning, I asked many questions during my 2024 baseball education. Once I understood what “starting rotation” meant, what made the Mariner pitchers so effective? Why does “Wins Above Replacement” matter? What does “On-base Plus Slugging” represent? Why did Ty France get hit by pitch so much? Teams can designate players for assignment just like that???

My spouse’s eyes never rolled out of his head, though that would have been a reasonable response to some of my questions. Every morning I read the SB Nation site for the Mariners, Lookout Landing. I announced my burgeoning interest in baseball to other Mariners fans. They all looked at me with some amount of pity.

In our 2024 Christmas card I commented that my choice to become a fan of the Seattle Mariners was a mistake. I now understood the shirt I had seen around town: A trident, to represent the Mariners, and the text, “Maybe next year!“

Before the baseball season started in 2025, the person I loved very much died. As the year unfolded, wars continued, injustice ascended, ethics eroded. Cheering a baseball team is a socially acceptable way to redirect the energies of grief and anger in public.

My investment in the Seattle Mariners grew. This culminated in the sheer amount of kilojoules I spent this week on this team, which is now the American League West champion! This hasn’t happened in 24 years.

Furthermore, our humble catcher, Cal Raleigh, made home run history, both as a catcher and as a switch hitter. (His nickname is “The Big Dumper”. Have you seen the size of his butt?)

This has prompted questions about identity:

• I didn’t grow up in a baseball household. (Basketball came first, then football.)

• I historically have found baseball boring.

• Could fans of America’s pastime look like me?

• Am I now one of those people who can spout random facts about baseball?

Dear reader, the answer to all those questions is yes. That’s super weird.

As the Seattle Mariners crested towards the end of the season, baseball became a laboratory of communication.

I previously envied the way men who did not know each other could immediately engage in energetic conversations about sports. Sometimes it seemed like they had known each other for years.

What I noticed now, though, was the increasing amount of communication — particularly in the form of text messages — solely about baseball. Practically all these people are good friends I have known for years. There are real tragedies happening in their lives: parents who are deteriorating; pets dying; friends with conditions that elude treatment; people losing their jobs.

Meanwhile, they send messages acknowledging Cal Raleigh’s 60th home run.

How are they themselves doing? No comment.

I don’t know if it’s true that, because of my professional training, it is easier for me to have in-depth conversations with people. Do I have skills to create conditions so people will be more likely to share sensitive personal information with me? I hope so, but I don’t actually know.

It’s true: Talking about baseball is easier than talking about hopes, fears, dreams, and loss. It’s natural to avoid delving into more meaningful topics. We fear how others will react to our vulnerabilities, to the soft spots we keep covered to prevent bruises from the outside world.

The thing is, we’re often our own harshest critics. Our good friends aren’t umpires. They’re not calling balls and strikes on us. They are instead in the dugout or on deck, admiring our approaches to the plate.

But let me be honest: Have I already forgotten the reasons why I chose to become a Baseball Fan? Weren’t there thoughts and emotions I sought to shun? I couldn’t escape anticipatory grief. The crying was exhausting. Wasn’t I looking for a healthy yet avoidant way to cope?

So, here’s to the 2025 Seattle Mariners. May their success continue. May they go to (and win!) the World Series. May they continue to be a bright spot amid the challenges we all have in our small lives and big communities.