It was a lazy morning in Seattle when the Mariners infield walked into a dive cafe. They had just flown in from a terrible, rainy day in Cleveland, and all they wanted was to enjoy a quiet breakfast together as a group.
As the five fielders walked into the cafe, each dreaming of their own egg and meat based delight, they saw something that shook them to their very core. In the back corner of the restaurant, seated at one of those fancy round booths that you always want to sit at but never have a group of the right size to justify it, was themselves.