6 Mariners icons we wish could have gotten this close to the World Series

For years, the Seattle Mariners were a story about what didn’t happen. Today, the verbs changed. They pitch, they hit, they hold their nerve — and the World Series isn’t a myth anymore; it’s an exit sign glowing at the end of the concourse.

It’s the payoff after years of heartbreak dressed up as hope. And it’s not just for the guys on the field right now. It’s for the ones who carried the franchise through droughts and dark seasons, when the lights stayed on anyway. This run isn’t only a shot at history; it’s a nod to every star who laid brick after brick without ever touching the reward, every fan who stuck out those July extra-inning losses, every jersey worn thin but never retired to the bin. 

The Mariners are standing on sacred ground, and the ghosts are standing with them, the icons who deserved to feel exactly what Seattle feels right now.

6 Mariners icons who deserved an October this big

Félix Hernández

No player better symbolizes the heartbreak and loyalty of Mariners baseball than Félix Hernández. For over a decade, he was the lone constant through years of retools, rebuilds, and false dawns. A generational ace on a team that could rarely match his brilliance. Every time he took the mound, the city believed, even when the stakes weren’t October-sized. The King gave everything: a Cy Young, a perfect game, and his loyalty when he could’ve chased contenders. He deserved the roar of a postseason crowd, the chance to stare down a lineup with the pennant on the line, not empty seats and a depleted King’s Court in late September.

Ichiro Suzuki

Ichiro wasn’t just great, he was art. Every swing, every throw, every sprint to first was a performance that made baseball feel like poetry. From the moment he arrived in 2001, he redefined precision and professionalism, turning singles into symphonies and right field into his personal gallery. But even with all the accolades — Rookie of the Year, MVP, 3,000 hits, and now the Hall of Fame — the one stage he never reached was the one he seemed made for. The 116-win 2001 Mariners have been the eternal “what if.” This October can finally put that ghost to bed with one more win. What we’ll never put away is the truth that a World Series spotlight on Ichiro would’ve been baseball perfection.

Ken Griffey Jr.

There are superstars, and then there’s Junior — the player who made Seattle believe baseball belonged here. His smile lit up an entire generation, his swing made physics jealous, and his home runs turned the Kingdome into a cathedral. That 1995 run felt like destiny: Griffey carrying the city, sliding home, saving baseball in Seattle. And yet, somehow, the dream stopped there. Injuries, trades, timing — they all conspired to keep him from ever getting the World Series moment his career seemed built for. Every fan who grew up watching The Kid can still picture him under the October lights, cap backward, ready to make magic one more time.

Kyle Seager

If Felix was the King, Seager was the governor. Eleven seasons of quiet excellence, grit, and leadership on teams that didn’t always deserve him. He played hard when the crowds were small, smiled through rebuilds, and kept the infield steady while everything else shifted. Seager never chased headlines; he just showed up, played 162, and led by example. He was the bridge between eras, from the dark years to the doorstep of contention, and he chose to hang it up rather than chase a ring somewhere else. It’s fitting that the team he helped keep relevant is finally this close to something bigger. No one earned a champagne-soaked celebration in Seattle more than him.

Alvin Davis

Before the superstars, before the sellouts, before the city even knew what playoff baseball might feel like — there was Alvin Davis. “Mr. Mariner” gave fans a reason to care when the scoreboard rarely cooperated. His 1984 Rookie of the Year season didn’t just put Seattle on the map; it gave the franchise its first identity built on class, consistency, and heart. Davis played the game the right way in an era when the Mariners had little else going for them. He was the beginning of Seattle baseball as we know it, the foundation every contender since has stood on.

Dave Niehaus

Before there were stars on the field, there was a voice that made Seattle believe. Dave Niehaus didn’t just call games, he painted them. From “My, oh my!” to “Get out the rye bread and mustard, Grandma, it’s grand salami time!” his words built a cathedral around a team still finding its faith. Through the highs, the heartbreaks, and the in-betweens, Niehaus gave Mariners baseball its soul. He made losing years sound worth listening to, made winning years feel eternal, and turned every moment into a story that mattered. A World Series call in his voice would’ve stopped this city in its tracks. In today’s world, you’d probably have to find it on the radio — but the team finally has a chance to write that chapter, and somewhere, you can almost hear him narrating it.

If Seattle gets one more win, it won’t just be a breakthrough, it’ll be a thank-you note. To the King, to the Kid, to Ichiro, to Seager, to Mr. Mariner, and to the voice that taught us how it all should sound. This run belongs to the 2025 Mariners, but the celebration belongs to all of them.