Nineteen years.

Alright, I was only an infant, but that really doesn't matter.

Nineteen years.

Red Sox fans, I really don't care about the curse.

Nineteen years.

That's how long we have waited, usually silently, but we have waited.

Finally, our time has come.

For those of you Seattle Mariner fans out there (and judging by the usual Kingdome crowds, we are few), our time has come.

For those of you still lacking in a baseball team to follow, accept my plea for support, as the Mariner faithful will need all the help they can get.

One must have sympathy, at worst pity, for the few fans out there. Consider all that we have gone through:

Nineteen years with only two (perhaps three) of above .500 baseball.

When all there was to root for was Mark Langston, and that glorious year when he won 17 games for a sub .500 team.

When the new Mariner savior was proclaimed every two years or so, from Dick Williams, Jim Lefevre and finally Sweet Lou Pinella.

When Alvin Davis batted third, Mickey Brantley stole a few bases and Darnell Coles was the next Canseco.

When Seattle's first round draft picks included convicted felons, training-room frequents and finally a 17-year old outfielder whose only claim to fame was an ex-major league father named "senior."