Hot dogs and hope: The diary of a Mariners-Kraken desert doubleheader
Published in Hockey
TEMPE, Ariz. — Here’s the thing about hope.
It’s stubborn, resilient, like a wildflower in the desert that just won’t die. It’s why we keep watching teams that eternally take, that tease and confound and infuriate. It’s why we suffer and spend in the name of sports. In the pursuit of a summit.
It’s 11:57 a.m. Friday, and there’s a doubleheader on deck. I’m driving in a rented Kia Soul — a charcoal box with a battery — along Route 101 North, past Deer Valley and Desert Ridge. Past shopping malls and cactuses and signs for smiling lawyers. The plan is to attend the Mariners’ game against the Arizona Diamondbacks at 1:10 p.m., before traveling 10 more miles for a Kraken-Coyotes nightcap at 7.
I’ll arrive at Salt River Fields in 17 minutes.
But first, I hear a song.
Hold me fast,
Hold me fast,
‘Cause I’m a hoooope-lesssss wanderer
“Hopeless Wanderer” by Mumford and Sons rasps out of the radio, combining keyboards and banjos and acoustic guitars to underscore my mission.
Because, when you look at this lineup … what hope should we have?
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