Dear Tim: Mariners Fans Respond After Another Disappointing Loss

This blog post looks back at the Seattle Mariners’ most gutting near-miss: their Game 7 loss to the Toronto Blue Jays in the ALCS. It’s written as a personal letter to my late friend Tim and weaves together the heartbreak of sports with the bigger, messier feelings of grief and impermanence.

I leaned on Bart Giamatti’s essay Green Fields of the Mind to dig into how baseball teaches us about hope, loss, and the fleeting thrill of almost making it. At the heart of it, this piece is a tribute to friendship and a season that, even with its painful ending, will stick with Mariners fans for a long time.

The Season That Came Closest to Glory

The Seattle Mariners’ 2023 campaign wasn’t just brilliant—it was painfully close to ending in their first-ever World Series. After a wild run through the regular season and playoffs, the Mariners landed in a winner-take-all Game 7 against the Blue Jays.

What happened next was brutal. The loss left fans stunned, proud, and just gutted all at once.

For a lot of us, this was the biggest “so close” moment in Mariners history. The team showed a ton of resilience and unity, and that earned them even more love from their fans.

Still, the ache lingers.

Heartbreak in the ALCS

Game 7 felt like destiny and disaster tangled up together. Every time hope sparked, the Jays snuffed it out, and when that last out landed in a glove, the Mariners’ dream vanished into the cold October night.

This one stings because it was their best shot yet at the World Series, and that milestone still feels miles away.

Fans are left asking themselves how to balance the joy of the ride with the grief of coming up just short.

Baseball as “Training Wheels for Grief”

Bart Giamatti’s Green Fields of the Mind says it well—baseball is built to break your heart. Every season ends, sometimes gently, sometimes in a gut punch, and that’s a reminder that nothing really lasts.

To me, baseball is “training wheels for grief.” It’s a safe, weirdly powerful way to practice letting go. Fans watch the final out, and then, sooner or later, we all face other endings in life.

This isn’t about being numb. It’s about learning to carry the weight of things that don’t last.

Lessons Beyond the Diamond

Sports heartbreak gets us ready for other goodbyes, the ones we see coming and the ones that blindside us. We try to enjoy the ride, knowing that the magic—winning streaks, championships, all of it—never sticks around forever.

But when it ends, the emptiness hits hard and forces us to reckon with it.

I felt that reckoning with Tim gone. His absence made the season’s emotions heavier. The lessons baseball teaches about loss lined up all too well with my own grief.

A Tribute to Friendship and Hope

Writing to Tim, I realized it’s as much about him as it is about baseball. Tim’s humor and warmth, his way of handling loss with perspective, would’ve changed how I felt this heartbreak.

Without him, the weight is sharper. I know some people manage to live without illusions, but honestly, I’m not one of them.

Baseball’s stubborn hope is what keeps me coming back. Even after the worst defeat, fans show up in spring, believing something lasting might come out of all the fleeting joy.

Why We Keep Believing

Believing in baseball—and in life—means signing up for the improbable. Next season could be a disaster or a dream, but there’ll always be moments worth holding onto.

The Mariners’ loss is a reminder: fragility is tied to meaning, whether we like it or not.

• Baseball teaches perseverance: Every season gives us another shot.
• Shared grief strengthens connections: Loss pulls fans—and friends—closer together.
• Hope is renewable: Even after a loss, the promise of next year still glows.

Closing Thoughts

This is really a story about how a game turns into a vessel for memory, emotion, and connection. The Mariners’ 2023 season ended in heartbreak.

Still, it affirmed the wild, fleeting beauty of believing in something that might vanish. For Tim—and honestly, for every fan who sticks around—this belief is the whole point.

We keep coming back, year after year, because baseball, like life, is worth loving, even when it breaks your heart.

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