We were all ready for a win of historic proportions, but we got something else, didn’t we?
On Monday night, I ventured out with a companion — a fired-up 8-year-old in a Mariners hat who adorably calls me Grandma, even though the title is only honorary because I’m not really his grandma — on a reconnaissance mission to find the best possible place to photograph a big crowd of islanders erupting in joy at the end of game seven of the American League Championship Series.
You know, the one that the Mariners were going to win to get to play in their first-ever World Series. They were going to win that too, we hoped.
After a drive-by of the Eagles club and peering into the windows of Sporty’s, we settled on the perfect spot, Camp Colvos, which had the best lighting and photo angles and where my buddy also pointed out he’d like to eat a hot pretzel with cheese, if I’d buy it for him. Which, of course, I did.
The all-ages crowd was warm and filled with familiar faces, and by the seventh-inning stretch, we were all feeling pretty good. My friend had tucked into his pretzel, and I was perfectly positioned to capture the big moment in what would definitely be a very cool page 1 photo for The Beachcomber.
But the eighth inning brought a series of unfortunate events that wound up erasing the Mariners’ lead with one swing of the bat.
That’s when a bunch of people started putting rally shoes on their head, which as Grandma I would have pointed out was an icky, unhygienic thing if my companion had wanted to do that, too. But he didn’t, like the very sensible grandson he is.
But shortly after that, it was sadly over, and everyone was soon repeating the sad yet hopeful catchphrase: “Maybe next year.”
That’s what you say when things don’t go your way at the old ballgame, and it’s a useful phrase for other moments in life, too. You learn to let go and be grateful for the chance to try again later. You learn to be happy anyway, for all the things you’ve got — like good friends and maybe, a kid who calls you grandma in a sweet, small town. It’s all okay if we’re in it together.
— Elizabeth Shepherd, reporter
