Time for the Mariners to ante up

Maybe a column full of poker-movie references can get Seattle's owner(s) to stop sitting on their wallets and give this team a freaking chance to get over the hump.

The Mariners have spent years getting to this point.

Wait. That’s not the right word to use because what they’ve spent seems to be an increasing concern.

Let me start again: It has taken the Seattle Mariners years to assemble this nucleus of young players that could — and I would argue should — be the core of a perpetual playoff team.

To put this in poker terms, they built a bank roll, meaning they’ve amassed sufficient assets that they can actually matter in this league. The fact that they’ve come this far is what makes it so frustrating, so downright infuriating, that the owner(s) are becoming so paralyzed at the possibility of losing money that they’re unwilling to make the bets that would give them a chance at actually winning.

I’m not mad that the Mariners got rid of Eugenio Suarez and Marco Gonzalez and Evan White. I’m mad because the Mariners had to get rid of Suarez and Gonzalez and White in order to give themselves spending room. I’m mad because they’re focusing on the balance sheet instead of the opportunity here.

So far, getting angry at the owner(s) hasn’t worked. Neither has trying to shame the owner(s). So maybe let’s try inspiration.

I’m calling on John Stanton, Chris Larson and anybody else who has a meaningful stake in the team to sit down this month and watch “Rounders,” the poker movie featuring Matt Damon, Ed Norton and John Malkovich as a track-suit wearing Russian with a penchant for listening to Oreo cookies.

I’m not going to tell you that “Rounders” is a great film. I don’t know if a lad who grew up in the wilds of Eastern Oregon is qualified to critique films, but I do know that of all the movies I’ve watched, what “Rounders” does better than anything else is champion risk-taking as not just necessary but invigorating and maybe if the Mariners owner(s) bathed in this idea for a few hours they might feel the friskiness necessary to stop pinching pennies until they scream.

The plot to “Rounders” is fairly simple. It starts with Mike McDermott, played by Matt Damon, taking all the money he has amassed playing cards – his whole bankroll – into a game. Before he sits down, he is spotted by Joey Knish, who is played by John Turturro.

“Joey Knish is a New York legend,” the narrator tells us. “He has been a rounder – earning his living at cards – since he was 19 years old.”

Knish tries to caution Mike McD from putting all that money in play. He urges him to find an easier game. Mike McD looks Knish directly in his eyes, and says nothing. The message is clear: I’m doing this.

Mike McD gets beat in quite heart-breaking fashion. He puts all his money into a hand he feels certain he’ll win only to find out that he has been outplayed by Teddy KGB, who is played by Malkovich.

If you’re looking for a comparison in Mariners history, this is the Robinson Cano contract of 2013. Seattle felt it was making the big-budget addition that would put them over the top. They were on the cover of Sports Illustrated as a World Series pick. The Mariners never did make the playoffs with Cano, and people got fired.

After losing his bankroll, Mike McD goes to work for Knish, driving a delivery truck. He’s also a promising law student with a girlfriend. He stops playing poker.

Then his childhood friend Lester Murphy – who is known as Worm – gets out of prison. Mike goes to pick him up, driving the very respectable Jeep Grand Cherokee he shares with his girlfriend to do so.

Worm isn’t just a degenerate gambler, he’s a cheat who’s actually proud of his ability to do so. A mechanic, in poker parlance, and when he gets out of jail, he not only begins playing aggressively, he uses every angle he can. Essentially, he’s the poker equivalent of the amoral Houston Astros of the Jeffrey Luhnow era.

From the moment Worm gets out, he’s pulling Mike back toward playing cards. Mike resists this owing to the promises he’s made to the girlfriend, who’s also a law student. There’s also the matter of a very menacing debt collector named Gramma to whom Worm owes a significant amount of money.

The most interesting part of this movie, however, is the contrast between Knish and Worm. They represent the opposite ends of the spectrum in everything from risk tolerance to social norms. Knish is considerate, offers good advice and never plays beyond his means. Worm is wildly insulting, takes money from his friend without asking and is so cavalier and reckless.1

Mike McD’s ultimate triumph – beating the sweat-suited Russian mobster – does not come because he emulates Knish, though. It comes because he’s able to find a middle ground between Worm’s recklessness and Knish’s conservatism. His success comes only because he takes a chance that Knish would absolutely never make, and as Mike McD does this, he acknowledges that he is going against the advice he had given to his friend Worm.

“I told Worm you can't lose what you don't put in the middle,” the narrator says.

“Deal ‘em,” Mike McD says.

“But you can’t win much either.”

This is when Mike McD seizes the moment. He knows he is being more aggressive than perhaps his prudent. He also recognizes that the upside — the life he wants — requires him to be willing to take these sort of chances. To bet on himself. He doesn’t cave to what he promised his girlfriend. He doesn’t follow his friend in fleeing town. He stands on his own two feet and decides that I’m going to take my shot, and that moment is why I love this movie.

I’m not asking the Mariners to go all in. I’m not ripping them for failing to land Juan Soto or saying the fact they weren’t among the finalists for Shohei Ohtani reflects the reality that they’re not considered a serious operation by players.

I’m asking the Mariners to stop being Joey Knish, going into each season with the hope that — if everything goes right — they’ll win 92, maybe 93 games and make the playoffs where it’s anybody’s ball game.

I want the Mariners to recognize that scared money don’t make none. Not in 2024, and instead of rearranging the payroll because they’re worried that their cable-television network might not be as profitable going forward that they would ante up and say, “Deal ‘em.”

Because while it’s true you can’t lose what you don’t put into the payroll, that’s no way to win, either, and I was under the impression that’s the whole point of owning a pro sports franchise.

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