An Honest Critique and Analysis of a Mariners Fan...Fiction

On a Monday night a friend of mine recently tweeted a link to a fandom account of fictional stories written on Mariners players that does not involved statistics, sabermetrics or even any baseball knowledge. Nope, what she found was a link to romantic descriptions written about Mariners players. (No, I'm not joking. Yes, I may be drunk)

Now being the Mariners fan I am and realizing that I can't contact the author to talk about his/her interests, I will attempt to instead write a honest feedback on his/her expression of Seattle fandom. Of course, this is not meant to be an attack on who he/she is with regards to the organization, but rather how he/she can produce his/her work in a more constructive manner that can achieve the most benefits.

Let's start with the headline:

Fanfiction about the Seattle Mariners: NOT MEANT TO BE CREEPY IN ANY WAY

Bam. The headline is clear and expressive, but who the hell writes "not meant to be creepy in anyway" on the internet and expects people to accept that statement? It's like telling a 8 year old "Don't look in the fridge because you'll ruin the surprise" only to think that said 8 year old won't open the fridge, sees an double chocolate ice cream cake, eats 3/4 of it, gets sick for the next three days and you yelling at them wondering why they didn't listen.

The account has only been recently opened and there are only three stories written. One is about Michael Saunders and the rest are about Kyle Seager. Now this gets me, because there are many more attractive players on the Mariners team, and while they might not be good at hitting, they are good at looks. You have a list of these people to choose from:





And you choose to write not one, but two stories on this?


Oh well. Since both stories on Seager are M-Rated and NSFW, let's look at the Michael Saunders instead.

"Are you sure we're allowed to do this?" I asked uncertainly. The field lights were off, but the freshly mowed grass of Safeco Field was lit by the glow of the moon.

"Don't worry, you're with me." Michael said, smiling as he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. It gave me a sense of reassurance, staring into his deep blue eyes, a calm sea of consolation.

You know what would give me a sense of reassurance or a calm sea of consolation Michael? If you'd break 30 HR's and 30 steals this year. Oh man, if you do that you'd be down right nasty.

Taking a deep breath, I walked onto the field timidly, Michael led the way confidently, until he stopped in the middle of center field. I looked around, marveling at the beauty of the field itself - the green grass, the empty bleachers, the watered infield.

It was perfect.

Just like what I see on TV almost everyday. Also, watered infield? Like the thing they usually do before the game?

"You know, if you take a picture, it'll last longer." Michael joked, breaking me out of my reverie.

"Or, you know, just come back here tomorrow night."

"I just can't believe you get to play here every day." I breathed, still in awe. Michael laughed and shook his head, pulling me down so that we were both lying down, looking at the stars.

Well, except for that three game series at Toronto next week, that four game series at Los Angeles after that, and the off day I'm having next week...

We lay like that, silently, for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything, as nothing needed to be said.

"Thank you." I said, finally breaking the comfortable silence.

"Thank you for what?" he asked, rolling over on his side so that we were face to face.

"For bringing me here. It's so...peaceful. And serene." I cringed internally at my cheesy words.

Somewhere up in the booth Ron Fairly is still hard at work with the play-by-play.

But Michael simply took my face in his hands, looked me in the eyes, and said:

"For you, anything."


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