The Mariners, first of all, are set for split-squad action — with most starters hosting Milwaukee and the leftovers designated for the Diamondbacks. The batting order Seattle brought to Salt River Fields features no Julio Rodriguez, no J.P. Crawford, no Jorge Polanco, no Mitch Garver, no Cal Raleigh, no Mitch Haniger. And their starting pitcher, Emerson Hancock, has conceded 10 earned runs across 3 2/3 innings in his past two appearances.

On the other side, Arizona — the reigning National League champion — is trotting out its expected opening day order.

To quote fictional boxer/philosopher Clubber Lang: “Prediction? Pain.”

Oh, and that prediction also encompasses the cratering Kraken. Entering Friday, Dave Hakstol’s team has lost six straight, reeling from an untimely injury to defenseman Vince Dunn. With 14 games to go, their playoff odds sit at an unsavory 0.2%. And to make matters worse, they’ll arrive in Arizona for the second leg of a rare road back-to-back, with wobbly legs and corroding confidence.

If we were hoping for wins — or, for a columnist, a compelling story — this might not be our day.

But as Gandalf told Pippin in “The Return of the King,” while forecasting Frodo’s fate: “There never was much hope. Just a fool’s hope.”

We wander anyway.

— 12:52 p.m.: I’m wandering the concourse inside Salt River Fields, a carnival of calories. I’m backstroking through an ocean of beers and burgers and brats, a paradise … for a price.

— $15 for a “domestic tall boy” beer. $9.50 for cinnamon roasted almonds. $15 for the “signature foot long super dog,” a marathon of mystery meat smothered in melted cheese and peppers.

Super dog it is.

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