PEORIA, Ariz. — The music still plays at 4:30 every morning inside the Seattle Mariners clubhouse, even though the man who curated the playlist is 1,200 miles away. The opening chords of “The Devil in My Ear” drift through the room, followed by Whiskey Myers, Shane Smith and the Saints, Chris Stapleton — the familiar soundtrack of Cal Raleigh’s routine. Coffee cups clink. Backpacks drop. Players shuffle toward Baseball Chapel. And yet the locker at the center of it all is empty.

Cal Raleigh has left camp.

After catching nine innings Saturday, Raleigh packed his gear into oversized travel bags and reported to Team USA’s workouts at the Giants’ new minor-league complex near Papago Park before heading to Houston for World Baseball Classic pool play. The All-Star catcher is gone for up to three weeks. But if you think his presence disappeared with him, think again.

“I’m guessing Cal has figured out some way to control the stereo wherever he’s at now,” Emerson Hancock joked.

It was said in jest. Mostly.

Raleigh’s leadership footprint inside this clubhouse is enormous. He wants to know everything — bullpen sessions, pitch usage, defensive alignments, hitter adjustments, side work, even which sinker Logan Gilbert might be sneaking into a bullpen mix when Raleigh isn’t looking. He doesn’t bark orders. He doesn’t demand the spotlight. But like any elite catcher, he operates with a quiet authority that borders on omnipresence.

And now he’s watching from afar.

“I told everybody that I’m gonna be FaceTiming and making sure I’m part of all these meetings and keeping tabs on them,” Raleigh said before leaving. “We can start a group chat. I want to know what they are doing.”

Was he joking? Not entirely.

“I’m going to need text updates,” he added.

When relayed those comments, Hancock smirked. “He probably has cameras everywhere to watch anyway.”

That might be hyperbole. But it underscores the reality: Raleigh’s influence doesn’t clock out when he boards a flight.

For a Mariners club chasing back-to-back division titles and harboring legitimate World Series ambitions, Raleigh is more than a middle-of-the-order power bat. He is the nerve center of the pitching staff. He calls games. He absorbs blame. He protects young arms. He sets tone.

Even in absence, that tone lingers.

Logan Gilbert, Raleigh’s former roommate and favorite target for critique, admitted to experimenting Sunday — throwing two sinkers, a pitch Raleigh notoriously discourages. One reportedly drew a reaction from Raleigh during a previous outing, allegedly causing him to storm out of the hot tub in mock fury.

“We get to play around when he leaves,” Gilbert said with a grin. “He’s not going to be happy.”

And that’s precisely the point.

Raleigh’s presence is felt because accountability travels with him. His teammates know the texts are coming. The FaceTime calls aren’t empty threats. If Gilbert spikes a pitch or abandons the game plan, there’s a decent chance his phone will buzz before the clubhouse doors close.

It might sound playful. It isn’t.

Raleigh carries a profound sense of responsibility for the Mariners’ success and failure. He rarely accepts praise without deflecting it toward teammates. But during struggles, he steps forward first. That weight doesn’t vanish because he’s wearing USA across his chest instead of Seattle.

Still, he couldn’t say no to the World Baseball Classic.

“It’s a great opportunity, and you don’t get this chance very often,” he said.

Team USA enters the tournament loaded, considered one of the favorites alongside the Dominican Republic and defending champion Japan. For Raleigh, the goal is blunt.

“The No. 1 goal is just winning the whole thing.”

Yet beneath the competitive fire lies something equally valuable: exposure.

“For me, I’ve only ever been around the Seattle Mariners and this group,” Raleigh admitted. “Sometimes it’s good to get your eyes on a different locker room, a different vibe. Maybe somebody does something differently. Maybe somebody does something better than what you do.”

That line should send a ripple of excitement through Seattle.

Because Raleigh is not attending the Classic merely to participate. He’s attending to learn. To observe other elite pitchers. To absorb philosophies from accomplished coaching staffs. To compare preparation routines. To bring something back.

If he returns with even one strategic adjustment that helps the Mariners sharpen their bullpen sequencing or refine their scouting process, the ripple effect could extend well beyond March.

He’s also thrilled to share the stage with teammate Gabe Speier, whom Raleigh calls one of the best left-handed relievers in the game. That endorsement carries weight — especially from the catcher who studies every bullpen arm as if it’s a doctoral thesis.

The Mariners will survive three weeks without Raleigh physically present. But emotionally? Strategically? Culturally?

That’s another story.

The music will keep playing at dawn. The pitchers will still warm up. The sinkers may sneak in. But somewhere in Houston — or perhaps mid-flight with Wi-Fi flickering — Raleigh will be checking his phone, scanning updates, dissecting outings.

And if the volume of his presence ever fades inside that clubhouse, don’t worry.

He’ll turn it back up.