Congratulations, sailor. You’ve staggered your way through the filthy lower decks of Online, dragged yourself down the vacuous hallways of the ‘net, and stumbled up the rotting staircases of human intellect to where you are now. You’ve made it to the top. The sun is warm. The breeze is cool. You are on the Trident Deck. Stand with the captain as he navigates the vast waters of online baseball fandom. Where will you go? How will you get there? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re in this together. What is “this,” you ask, your head still foggy from your arduous journey out of the ship’s underbelly. “This,” of course, is the Seattle Mariners. That inescapable environment; at once an eternal sea and endless drought. The Mariners will not take care of us, sailor. No, we will have to take care of ourselves. So we will stand on the deck, laughing at the sea. It will punish us with wave after wave of pain and suffering, which will only make us laugh all the more. It may kill us all one day. But it will never break us. Onward.