Maybe it was erstwhile Mariners first-round pick Josh Fields, embattled former general manager Bill Bavasi’s last and most egregious high-profile draft selection, securing the nail in the M’s coffin by striking out the side in the ninth inning.
Maybe it was Dustin Ackley crashing into the left field wall while unsuccessfully pursuing a fly ball.
Maybe it was Stefen Romero crashing into the right field wall while unsuccessfully pursuing a fly ball, then later paying witness to an overzealous fan robbing him of an out – though in fairness, the fan displayed better hands than Romero.
Maybe it was Astros first baseman Marc Krauss, a complete and utter nobody, going 2-for-4 with a home run.
Maybe it was Mike Zunino’s ridiculously gargantuan foul ball that nearly left the stadium, a veritable metaphor for the entire Mariners franchise, so epic and proud, and yet completely meaningless.
Maybe it was Abraham Almonte allowing a routine ground ball to roll underneath his glove in center field as if he were the Dominican Bill Buckner.
Maybe it was Tom Wilhelmsen entering an all but decided, pressure-free contest and still pitching like garbage.
Maybe it was Felix Hernandez inexplicably getting shelled by a team seemingly incapable of shelling anyone, let alone a Cy Young winner.
Maybe it was the f@%ing Mariner Moose waltzing into the $300-per-seat Diamond Club late in the game, sitting down in the very first row, and propping his feet up on the railing for the bulk of the eighth inning.
Maybe it was Ackley, one of the club’s only bright spots this season, moving up in the order to the two-hole and failing miserably. Or maybe it was Brad Miller failing just as miserably upon moving down to the nine-hole.
Maybe it was extending an unforgivable, ever-growing losing streak to seven games at the hands of a lowly Houston squad in the throes of a seven-game losing streak of their own.
Maybe it was damn near every hitter strolling up to the plate looking like a sorority girl walking barefoot down the Las Vegas Strip at 4:00 a.m., makeup smeared, broken heels in hand, with a hangover already beginning to set in.
Maybe it was a culmination of all these things and so many more that made us want to burn all our Mariners gear while sobbing uncontrollably as Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel” blared over an ASPCA ad in the background. No matter what it may have been, though, this much became clear: the M’s suck once again. And that blows.
Here’s to the 2014 effort. The memories we shared together will carry us to football season. RIP, Mariners.