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2024 World Series: Yankees at Dodgers

Guadaloopy

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Sbbruin
Sbbruin

We fucking did it.  Fuck yes.  What a comeback.  What grit.  Demons exercised.  Fucking hell mother fucking yes.  Fuck yes.   We fucking did it.

tx 3 putt
tx 3 putt
Derka
Derka

i love you so much.

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TornACL

TornACL 7652

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1 hour ago, Helobious said:

I’m not watching anymore of this series, I have better things to do with my time. I already got more than I thought I would out of this season anyway. We were never winning this with Boone at the helm and a failure like Judge in the lineup, at the end of the day he’s really accomplished fucking nothing in his life. I do feel for Giancarlo though, he deserved better

Lolllllll if as a fan you don't have the stomach for the slightest bit of adversity, what's the point in being a fan at all? 

Your schtick is so ridiculous it has to be a bit.

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Helobious

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7 minutes ago, tx 3 putt said:

 

 

 

Listened to their podcast after the game. They agree the series is over, and that the Yankees mainly don’t have the bullpen to hang with the dodgers. Jomboy said Judge clearly isn’t going to come through and Boone is fucking over the team by not moving him down and batting Stanton 3rd, which I agree. So it’s not just a me thing. 

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Sbbruin

Sbbruin 21551

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12 minutes ago, Helobious said:

Listened to their podcast after the game. They agree the series is over, and that the Yankees mainly don’t have the bullpen to hang with the dodgers. Jomboy said Judge clearly isn’t going to come through and Boone is fucking over the team by not moving him down and batting Stanton 3rd, which I agree. So it’s not just a me thing. 

The Dodgers have won one WS in this 12 year playoff run, and this series is over?  Would sure like to think so, but it would be foolish of me to think that.  As it is foolish of you.

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UTexasFight

UTexasFight 9281

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31 minutes ago, Helobious said:

Listened to their podcast after the game. They agree the series is over, and that the Yankees mainly don’t have the bullpen to hang with the dodgers. Jomboy said Judge clearly isn’t going to come through and Boone is fucking over the team by not moving him down and batting Stanton 3rd, which I agree. So it’s not just a me thing. 

Ask Hinch about moving down a streaky hitter after a shitty playoff stretch and poor WS game 1.

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Napoleon

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2 hours ago, Sbbruin said:

Trojan at the helm of the Yanks.  Bruin at the helm of the Dodgers.  Bruin wins.

I took some UCLA Extension courses, so I consider UCLA my California school. 

And the Dodgers became my National League team when they traded Raul Mondesi’s loafing ass and picked up Shawn Greene. 

As a UCLA Bruin & Dodger fan, it is nice to have seen the Dodgers win the Series in Arlington during COVID, then to finally have the Rangers win a series last year, and then BAM, the Dodgers looking like they want their fans to share their run this year. 

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Beau Vine

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JoePos:

Spoiler

“Incredible moment! Incredible moment for the game, it really was! But not for me!”

— Dennis Eckersley on one pitch that he threw some years ago

Freddie Freeman steps into the batter’s box, and somewhere inside him, he knows that this is the moment he has dreamed about all his life. It’s the moment every young hitter who has ever bashed a baseball, socked a softball, whaled on a wiffle ball, kicked a kickball, or splattered a spaldeen dreams about. World Series. Bottom of the tenth. Two outs. Bases loaded. Your team down. Over the tree is a home run,. Over the chain-link fence is a home run. Over the barn is a home run. Over the street is a home run. Over Mrs. Zepkin’s yard and into her rose bushes is a home run.

Freddie Freeman is not someone who thinks too much at the plate. See the ball, hit the ball. That’s what works for him.

But somewhere inside, he knows. This is the childhood dream. This is a jam-packed Dodgers stadium, and the sound is unreal, and the stars are out, and millions upon millions watch. This is also his father, Fred, on the mound pitching to a 5-year-old Freddie in the backyard some 45 minutes away on The 5, depending on traffic. See the ball, hit the ball.

Nestor Cortes stands on the mound, first time in a month, and this is the moment he has dreamed about all his life. It’s the moment every young pitcher who has ever hurled a baseball, heaved a softball, made a wiffle ball dance, bounced a kickball, or spun a spaldeen dreams about. World Series. World Series. Bottom of the tenth. Two outs. Bases loaded. Your team up. Any out will do here but in the dream. it’s a strikeout, probably, or perhaps a broken-bat bouncer back to the mound or some other display of dominance. And the scene explodes, your teammates jump on you, the people in the crowd detonate into happiness or die a little, depending on where you are.

Nestor Cortes has been beating the odds all his life. He was born in Cuba and when he was just seven months old, his father won the visa lottery… that’s how the family ended up in Hialeah, Florida. The Yankees took him in the 36th round of the draft. The baseball draft doesn’t even have a 36th round anymore. The Yanks left him unprotected in the Rule 5 draft, and he went to Baltimore. The Orioles tried him out, weren’t impressed, and sent him back to the Yankees. The Yankees tried him out, weren’t impressed, and sold him to the Mariners. The Mariners tried him out, weren’t impressed, and outrighted him to the minors. That’s when the Yankees signed him again, third time, and he became an All-Star.

Now, he is on the mound at Dodger Stadium, America’s two biggest cities rooting for him and against him, the New York tabloid back page designers ready with “Nasty Nestor Delivers!” and also ready with “Freddie’s Nightmare!” The childhood dream is in 8K high definition right in front of his eyes.

Joe Davis sits in the booth, the third time he has called a World Series for the nation, and this is the moment he has dreamed about all his life. It’s the moment every young kid who has ever called a game into a phone or a computer or a tape recorder or a microphone or a pencil standing in as a microphone dreams about. World Series. Bottom of the 10th. Two outs. Bases loaded. The Yankees beating the Dodgers 3-2. Whatever happens, it will be earth-shattering. Davis is here, exactly where he’s always wanted to be, to provide the music.

Joe Davis remembers exactly how he felt the first time he heard Gary Thorne call a hockey game. Thorne’s voice made the game feel so utterly important like it was the biggest thing happening anywhere. What a thing it must be to raise a game like that! That feeling stays with him. Davis loved sports, all of them, football most because of his father Paul, who coached the high school football team in little Pottersville, Michigan. But soon, he found himself wishing to be in the booth instead, making these games he loves feel transcendent.

Before he turned 30, the Los Angeles Dodgers gave Joe Davis the improbable and impossible job of following Vin Scully. A few years after that, Fox Sports gave him the World Series and America. Now, he’s in the booth, watching like everyone else, uncertain of what comes next like everyone else, and while he can’t get distracted, can’t let himself think too much about the pressure of the moment, he surely knows that whatever he says next could be remembered. Forever.

The two managers stand in their dugouts, and they both know that they’ve done all they can do, they’ve played their hands, and now it’s up to the players and fortune. Aaron Boone and Dave Roberts each had their dream moments as players. Boone hit the walk-off home run in the 11th inning of Game 7 of the 2003 American League Championship Series. Roberts stole the base in Game 4 of the 2004 American League Championship Series to begin the most remarkable turnaround in baseball history.

But being a player is different from being a manager. As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

How did we get here to this dream sequence? In the ninth inning, with two outs and the score tied, and New York’s Gleyber Torres on second, Dave Roberts had his pitcher intentionally walk the great Juan Soto. He then brought in his best reliever, Blake Treinen, to face the great Aaron Judge.

Was it the right call? Is there a right call? Soto is a young Ted Williams. Judge, in 2024, had perhaps the greatest offensive season any right-handed batter has ever had. But Judge has looked vulnerable in the postseason. And Roberts liked the matchup better.

It didn’t have to work. Judge could have hit a 700-foot home run.

But it did work. Judge skied an infield pop-up.

As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

In the 10th, Roberts stuck with Treinen, who gave up a one-out single to Jazz Chisholm Jr. The Yankees are not a running team — the Bombers are very rarely a running team— but Jazz Chisholm is fast, and Blake Treinen is slow to the plate, and Chisholm stole second. Roberts called for an intentional walk. Then Chisholm stole third. Roberts brought in his infield.

New York’s Anthony Volpe hit the ground ball that Roberts wanted, but he hit it a yard to the shortstop’s left. By the time that Tommy Edman dived and smothered the ball, it was too late. Chisholm had scored. The Yankees had the lead.

As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

Now it is Aaron Boone’s turn to hope, and he pins that hope on a 30-year-old righty named Jake Cousins. The Yankees bought Cousins from the White Sox just before the season, and he has pitched admirably when given his chances, but he has never been in a situation like this. Before this very instant, Jake was best known for being the NFL’s Kirk Cousins’ cousin, which is a very funny sentence construction.

Cousins gets the Dodgers’ Will Smith to fly out, but then he loses the plate against Gavin Lux and issues a walk. Cousins is granted a couple of questionable strikes against Tommy Edman, but then he catches too much of the plate with a slider, and Edman lashes a ground ball to the right side. Had Edman hit it two yards to the right, it would have been a double play and ended the game. But he hits it where he hits it, and it bounces off the glove of a diving Oswaldo Cabrera, and there are runners on first and second.

And up steps the biggest force in all of baseball, Shohei Ohtani.

Now Aaron Boone is that guy in the Texaco station in No Country for Old Men. He has to choose. Heads or tails.

“You need to call it,” Anton says to the gas station owner. “I can’t call it for you, or it wouldn’t be fair.”

“I didn’t put nothin’ up,” the owner says.

“Yes,” Anton says. “You did. You’ve been putting it up your whole life you just didn’t know it.”

“Look, I need to know what I stand to win,” the owner finally says.

“Everything,” Anton says.

Aaron Boone ponders two left-handed pitchers. Both could work. Both could fail. On the one hand, he has Tim Hill, a 34-year-old sinkerballer who has made a baseball life for himself by altering arm angles, and inducing ground balls, and generally making life miserable for left-handed batters.

His other choice is Nestor Cortes, an all-star and a bulldog of a competitor who has beaten the odds all his life. But he is also a starting pitcher coming off an elbow injury. Cortes has not pitched in a game since an excellent start on September 18. He has pitched in relief once in three years. He has never pitched in the World Series.

Boone goes with Cortes. He likes the matchup better. That’s the manager’s phrase. “Liked the matchup batter.” That’s not to say Boones likes the matchup … you don’t like any matchup with Shohei. But he likes it better. And, as Anton says, you have to call it, or it wouldn’t be fair.

As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

Cortes throws one pitch to Shohei Ohtani. It is a 92-mph middle-middle fastball. It is the sort of pitch Shohei Ohatni sees in his happiest daydreams. Shohei Ohtani put fourteen 92-mph middle-middle fastballs in play in 2024. He went 8 for 14 with four home runs. As one former big leaguer says after the pitch: “That should have ended up in the parking lot.”

But Ohtani is late on this one. Hitting a baseball is hard. Even going 8 for 14 with four home runs means that you make outs 43% of the time. He pops it foul down to left field. The Yankees Alex Verdugo races over and makes a fantastic catch, one people will remember for the rest of their lives if the game ends the right way. Verdugo then tumbles into the stands. Both runners advance.

With first base open, Boone makes his last move. He has Cortes intentionally walk Mookie Betts to load the bases. You can see the strategy at play. First base is open. Mookie’s run doesn’t matter. Pitching to Mookie would have meant giving up the platoon advantage. Etc.

But it brings up Freddie Freeman with no place to put him.

Now, the situation is set. Both managers, once heroes on the field, watch helplessly to see which dream would come true.

As Freeman steps in, there’s a simple bit of baseball trivia lingering in the air: Only twice in baseball history had anyone hit a comeback walk-off home run. All the other World Series walk-off home runs except those two — so that means, deep breath, Tommy Henrich’s homer, Dusty Rhodes’ homer, Eddie Mathews homer, Bill Mazeroski’s homer, Mickey Mantle’s homer, Carlton Fisk’s homer, Mark McGwire’s homer, Kirby Puckett’s homer, Chad Curtis’ homer, Derek Jeter’s homer, Alex Gonzalez’s homer, Scott Podenik’s homer, David Freese’s homer, Max Muncy’s homer and Adolis Garcia’s homer — came with the score tied.

The details of those two comeback walk-offs are as familiar as your wedding song. The first was Joe Carter, Game 6 of the 1993 World Series, his Blue Jays trailing Philadelphia 6-5. The pitcher was Mitch Williams. The pitch was supposed to be a fastball up and away. It ended up being a cutter down and in. Joe Carter blasted it over the left field wall.

“Touch ‘em all Joe,” Blue Jays announcer Tom Cheek shouted. “You’ll never hit a bigger home run in your life.”

The second happened right here, Dodger Stadium, Game 1 of the 1988 World Series, and Oakland led 4-3, and there were two outs. The hitter was Kirk Gibson. He could barely walk. The pitcher was Dennis Eckersley, one of the best who ever lived. Eck told himself to throw the fastball. “He was half a guy up there,” he would say.

But after seven pitches and with Gibson stubbornly refusing to go away, Eckersley tried the backdoor slider. He’d spend the rest of his, even after he was inducted into the Hall of Fame, regretting that pitch.

“I don’t believe what I just saw!” announcer Jack Buck shouted as Gibson limped around the bases. That was the way Jack called a game, all heart, all soul, all passion.

Vin Scully, baseball’s poet laureate, called it his own way:

“High fly ball into right field. SHE … IS … GONE.”

These are the echoes in the air as Nestor Cortes stares in for the sign, and Freddie Freeman clears his mind and waits, and both managers stand in their dugouts naked, entirely out of moves, and await their fate.

Joe Davis sets the scene.

“The kind of at-bat that every kid who plays baseball dreams of one day having. You tell yourself, ‘Bottom of the 10th! Bases loaded! World Series! One run game! Dodgers-Yankees! Reality for Freddie Freeman. Taylor the tying run. Edman the winning run.”

Nestor Cortes sets himself. Yankees catcher Austin Wells sets his glove high and inside. The plan is to jam Freeman. The pitch is 92.5 mph. It is inside as called. But it isn’t as high as Wells or Cortes or millions of Yankees fans wanted.

It is exactly as high as Freddie Freeman wants.


Freddie Freeman swings … (Alex Slitz/Getty Images)
In the instant after bat meets ball and begins its journey, Nestor Cortes angrily turns to watch, though he knows exactly what he will see. Freddie Freeman watches closely, perhaps trying to memorize every tiny detail of the scene, and then raises his bat to the heavens. Juan Soto runs back to the wall though he knows there is no point.


(Maddie Meyer/Getty Images)
The ball stays in the air for 5.0 seconds. It would have traveled 409 feet had it not fallen into a mass of swinging arms and dancing fans. It traveled far enough. It’s a home run in Los Angeles, but it would have been a home run in Miami or Boston or Kansas City or Seattle or Houston too. It would have been a home run in every big-league ballpark in America.

Joe Davis’s call comes from deep within his soul and his memory.

“Freeman hits the ball, right field. SHE … IS … GONE.”

In the immediate madness afterward, teporters asked Freddie Freeman where this moment ranked in his life; he couldn’t really say, not just then. Reporters asked Nestor Cortes how he felt, and he said he felt lousy for letting the team down but he wasn’t going to stay down. Reporters asked Aaron Boone why he made his choice, and he said he just liked the matchup. Reporters asked Dave Roberts to describe his emotions, and he said that he’s having time of his life. Sarah Langs, among many, tweeted out that this was the first walk-off grand slam in World Series history. And then she tweeted out what everyone was feeling: Baseball is the best.

And then? Well, then everybody got ready for Game 2 of the World Series because all dreams, the best ones, and the nightmares, inevitably end, and morning comes.

 

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Napoleon

Napoleon 8577

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27 minutes ago, Beau Vine said:

JoePos:

  Reveal hidden contents

“Incredible moment! Incredible moment for the game, it really was! But not for me!”

— Dennis Eckersley on one pitch that he threw some years ago

Freddie Freeman steps into the batter’s box, and somewhere inside him, he knows that this is the moment he has dreamed about all his life. It’s the moment every young hitter who has ever bashed a baseball, socked a softball, whaled on a wiffle ball, kicked a kickball, or splattered a spaldeen dreams about. World Series. Bottom of the tenth. Two outs. Bases loaded. Your team down. Over the tree is a home run,. Over the chain-link fence is a home run. Over the barn is a home run. Over the street is a home run. Over Mrs. Zepkin’s yard and into her rose bushes is a home run.

Freddie Freeman is not someone who thinks too much at the plate. See the ball, hit the ball. That’s what works for him.

But somewhere inside, he knows. This is the childhood dream. This is a jam-packed Dodgers stadium, and the sound is unreal, and the stars are out, and millions upon millions watch. This is also his father, Fred, on the mound pitching to a 5-year-old Freddie in the backyard some 45 minutes away on The 5, depending on traffic. See the ball, hit the ball.

Nestor Cortes stands on the mound, first time in a month, and this is the moment he has dreamed about all his life. It’s the moment every young pitcher who has ever hurled a baseball, heaved a softball, made a wiffle ball dance, bounced a kickball, or spun a spaldeen dreams about. World Series. World Series. Bottom of the tenth. Two outs. Bases loaded. Your team up. Any out will do here but in the dream. it’s a strikeout, probably, or perhaps a broken-bat bouncer back to the mound or some other display of dominance. And the scene explodes, your teammates jump on you, the people in the crowd detonate into happiness or die a little, depending on where you are.

Nestor Cortes has been beating the odds all his life. He was born in Cuba and when he was just seven months old, his father won the visa lottery… that’s how the family ended up in Hialeah, Florida. The Yankees took him in the 36th round of the draft. The baseball draft doesn’t even have a 36th round anymore. The Yanks left him unprotected in the Rule 5 draft, and he went to Baltimore. The Orioles tried him out, weren’t impressed, and sent him back to the Yankees. The Yankees tried him out, weren’t impressed, and sold him to the Mariners. The Mariners tried him out, weren’t impressed, and outrighted him to the minors. That’s when the Yankees signed him again, third time, and he became an All-Star.

Now, he is on the mound at Dodger Stadium, America’s two biggest cities rooting for him and against him, the New York tabloid back page designers ready with “Nasty Nestor Delivers!” and also ready with “Freddie’s Nightmare!” The childhood dream is in 8K high definition right in front of his eyes.

Joe Davis sits in the booth, the third time he has called a World Series for the nation, and this is the moment he has dreamed about all his life. It’s the moment every young kid who has ever called a game into a phone or a computer or a tape recorder or a microphone or a pencil standing in as a microphone dreams about. World Series. Bottom of the 10th. Two outs. Bases loaded. The Yankees beating the Dodgers 3-2. Whatever happens, it will be earth-shattering. Davis is here, exactly where he’s always wanted to be, to provide the music.

Joe Davis remembers exactly how he felt the first time he heard Gary Thorne call a hockey game. Thorne’s voice made the game feel so utterly important like it was the biggest thing happening anywhere. What a thing it must be to raise a game like that! That feeling stays with him. Davis loved sports, all of them, football most because of his father Paul, who coached the high school football team in little Pottersville, Michigan. But soon, he found himself wishing to be in the booth instead, making these games he loves feel transcendent.

Before he turned 30, the Los Angeles Dodgers gave Joe Davis the improbable and impossible job of following Vin Scully. A few years after that, Fox Sports gave him the World Series and America. Now, he’s in the booth, watching like everyone else, uncertain of what comes next like everyone else, and while he can’t get distracted, can’t let himself think too much about the pressure of the moment, he surely knows that whatever he says next could be remembered. Forever.

The two managers stand in their dugouts, and they both know that they’ve done all they can do, they’ve played their hands, and now it’s up to the players and fortune. Aaron Boone and Dave Roberts each had their dream moments as players. Boone hit the walk-off home run in the 11th inning of Game 7 of the 2003 American League Championship Series. Roberts stole the base in Game 4 of the 2004 American League Championship Series to begin the most remarkable turnaround in baseball history.

But being a player is different from being a manager. As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

How did we get here to this dream sequence? In the ninth inning, with two outs and the score tied, and New York’s Gleyber Torres on second, Dave Roberts had his pitcher intentionally walk the great Juan Soto. He then brought in his best reliever, Blake Treinen, to face the great Aaron Judge.

Was it the right call? Is there a right call? Soto is a young Ted Williams. Judge, in 2024, had perhaps the greatest offensive season any right-handed batter has ever had. But Judge has looked vulnerable in the postseason. And Roberts liked the matchup better.

It didn’t have to work. Judge could have hit a 700-foot home run.

But it did work. Judge skied an infield pop-up.

As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

In the 10th, Roberts stuck with Treinen, who gave up a one-out single to Jazz Chisholm Jr. The Yankees are not a running team — the Bombers are very rarely a running team— but Jazz Chisholm is fast, and Blake Treinen is slow to the plate, and Chisholm stole second. Roberts called for an intentional walk. Then Chisholm stole third. Roberts brought in his infield.

New York’s Anthony Volpe hit the ground ball that Roberts wanted, but he hit it a yard to the shortstop’s left. By the time that Tommy Edman dived and smothered the ball, it was too late. Chisholm had scored. The Yankees had the lead.

As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

Now it is Aaron Boone’s turn to hope, and he pins that hope on a 30-year-old righty named Jake Cousins. The Yankees bought Cousins from the White Sox just before the season, and he has pitched admirably when given his chances, but he has never been in a situation like this. Before this very instant, Jake was best known for being the NFL’s Kirk Cousins’ cousin, which is a very funny sentence construction.

Cousins gets the Dodgers’ Will Smith to fly out, but then he loses the plate against Gavin Lux and issues a walk. Cousins is granted a couple of questionable strikes against Tommy Edman, but then he catches too much of the plate with a slider, and Edman lashes a ground ball to the right side. Had Edman hit it two yards to the right, it would have been a double play and ended the game. But he hits it where he hits it, and it bounces off the glove of a diving Oswaldo Cabrera, and there are runners on first and second.

And up steps the biggest force in all of baseball, Shohei Ohtani.

Now Aaron Boone is that guy in the Texaco station in No Country for Old Men. He has to choose. Heads or tails.

“You need to call it,” Anton says to the gas station owner. “I can’t call it for you, or it wouldn’t be fair.”

“I didn’t put nothin’ up,” the owner says.

“Yes,” Anton says. “You did. You’ve been putting it up your whole life you just didn’t know it.”

“Look, I need to know what I stand to win,” the owner finally says.

“Everything,” Anton says.

Aaron Boone ponders two left-handed pitchers. Both could work. Both could fail. On the one hand, he has Tim Hill, a 34-year-old sinkerballer who has made a baseball life for himself by altering arm angles, and inducing ground balls, and generally making life miserable for left-handed batters.

His other choice is Nestor Cortes, an all-star and a bulldog of a competitor who has beaten the odds all his life. But he is also a starting pitcher coming off an elbow injury. Cortes has not pitched in a game since an excellent start on September 18. He has pitched in relief once in three years. He has never pitched in the World Series.

Boone goes with Cortes. He likes the matchup better. That’s the manager’s phrase. “Liked the matchup batter.” That’s not to say Boones likes the matchup … you don’t like any matchup with Shohei. But he likes it better. And, as Anton says, you have to call it, or it wouldn’t be fair.

As a player, you DO. As a manager, you HOPE.

Cortes throws one pitch to Shohei Ohtani. It is a 92-mph middle-middle fastball. It is the sort of pitch Shohei Ohatni sees in his happiest daydreams. Shohei Ohtani put fourteen 92-mph middle-middle fastballs in play in 2024. He went 8 for 14 with four home runs. As one former big leaguer says after the pitch: “That should have ended up in the parking lot.”

But Ohtani is late on this one. Hitting a baseball is hard. Even going 8 for 14 with four home runs means that you make outs 43% of the time. He pops it foul down to left field. The Yankees Alex Verdugo races over and makes a fantastic catch, one people will remember for the rest of their lives if the game ends the right way. Verdugo then tumbles into the stands. Both runners advance.

With first base open, Boone makes his last move. He has Cortes intentionally walk Mookie Betts to load the bases. You can see the strategy at play. First base is open. Mookie’s run doesn’t matter. Pitching to Mookie would have meant giving up the platoon advantage. Etc.

But it brings up Freddie Freeman with no place to put him.

Now, the situation is set. Both managers, once heroes on the field, watch helplessly to see which dream would come true.

As Freeman steps in, there’s a simple bit of baseball trivia lingering in the air: Only twice in baseball history had anyone hit a comeback walk-off home run. All the other World Series walk-off home runs except those two — so that means, deep breath, Tommy Henrich’s homer, Dusty Rhodes’ homer, Eddie Mathews homer, Bill Mazeroski’s homer, Mickey Mantle’s homer, Carlton Fisk’s homer, Mark McGwire’s homer, Kirby Puckett’s homer, Chad Curtis’ homer, Derek Jeter’s homer, Alex Gonzalez’s homer, Scott Podenik’s homer, David Freese’s homer, Max Muncy’s homer and Adolis Garcia’s homer — came with the score tied.

The details of those two comeback walk-offs are as familiar as your wedding song. The first was Joe Carter, Game 6 of the 1993 World Series, his Blue Jays trailing Philadelphia 6-5. The pitcher was Mitch Williams. The pitch was supposed to be a fastball up and away. It ended up being a cutter down and in. Joe Carter blasted it over the left field wall.

“Touch ‘em all Joe,” Blue Jays announcer Tom Cheek shouted. “You’ll never hit a bigger home run in your life.”

The second happened right here, Dodger Stadium, Game 1 of the 1988 World Series, and Oakland led 4-3, and there were two outs. The hitter was Kirk Gibson. He could barely walk. The pitcher was Dennis Eckersley, one of the best who ever lived. Eck told himself to throw the fastball. “He was half a guy up there,” he would say.

But after seven pitches and with Gibson stubbornly refusing to go away, Eckersley tried the backdoor slider. He’d spend the rest of his, even after he was inducted into the Hall of Fame, regretting that pitch.

“I don’t believe what I just saw!” announcer Jack Buck shouted as Gibson limped around the bases. That was the way Jack called a game, all heart, all soul, all passion.

Vin Scully, baseball’s poet laureate, called it his own way:

“High fly ball into right field. SHE … IS … GONE.”

These are the echoes in the air as Nestor Cortes stares in for the sign, and Freddie Freeman clears his mind and waits, and both managers stand in their dugouts naked, entirely out of moves, and await their fate.

Joe Davis sets the scene.

“The kind of at-bat that every kid who plays baseball dreams of one day having. You tell yourself, ‘Bottom of the 10th! Bases loaded! World Series! One run game! Dodgers-Yankees! Reality for Freddie Freeman. Taylor the tying run. Edman the winning run.”

Nestor Cortes sets himself. Yankees catcher Austin Wells sets his glove high and inside. The plan is to jam Freeman. The pitch is 92.5 mph. It is inside as called. But it isn’t as high as Wells or Cortes or millions of Yankees fans wanted.

It is exactly as high as Freddie Freeman wants.


Freddie Freeman swings … (Alex Slitz/Getty Images)
In the instant after bat meets ball and begins its journey, Nestor Cortes angrily turns to watch, though he knows exactly what he will see. Freddie Freeman watches closely, perhaps trying to memorize every tiny detail of the scene, and then raises his bat to the heavens. Juan Soto runs back to the wall though he knows there is no point.


(Maddie Meyer/Getty Images)
The ball stays in the air for 5.0 seconds. It would have traveled 409 feet had it not fallen into a mass of swinging arms and dancing fans. It traveled far enough. It’s a home run in Los Angeles, but it would have been a home run in Miami or Boston or Kansas City or Seattle or Houston too. It would have been a home run in every big-league ballpark in America.

Joe Davis’s call comes from deep within his soul and his memory.

“Freeman hits the ball, right field. SHE … IS … GONE.”

In the immediate madness afterward, teporters asked Freddie Freeman where this moment ranked in his life; he couldn’t really say, not just then. Reporters asked Nestor Cortes how he felt, and he said he felt lousy for letting the team down but he wasn’t going to stay down. Reporters asked Aaron Boone why he made his choice, and he said he just liked the matchup. Reporters asked Dave Roberts to describe his emotions, and he said that he’s having time of his life. Sarah Langs, among many, tweeted out that this was the first walk-off grand slam in World Series history. And then she tweeted out what everyone was feeling: Baseball is the best.

And then? Well, then everybody got ready for Game 2 of the World Series because all dreams, the best ones, and the nightmares, inevitably end, and morning comes.

 

Having lived in LA for about 10 of the last 26 years, I loved this line:

”a 5-year-old Freddie in the backyard some 45 minutes away on The 5, depending on traffic.”

😂

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Vic Mackey

Vic Mackey 46568

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It’s kind of impressive how terrible both those pitches from Cortes were. Batting practice fastballs right in the wheelhouse. Hopefully his Yankee career is done after the series, he’s been terrible this year and it’s clear his good season was a fluke
Ron Washington would be proud of that shitty end game managing by Boone3882b23d42831678769a9b74b9fd6351.jpg
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BrickTop

BrickTop 471

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People acted like I was joking or sandbagging about the David vs Goliath analogy. On paper the teams aren’t even close, biggest thing being the depth of the lineups and bullpens. The Yankees had a small edge on starters but that’s it and isn’t as relevant in this day and age. Series was over before the first pitch.

The Yankees are lucky to have you as a fan
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Sbbruin

Sbbruin 21551

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All of our starters are schizophrenic.  They are either lights out or a mess.  Flaherty got rocked in NY game 5 (which I went to), and then was nails last night.  Yamamoto has been hit hard, and then throws 5 scoreless in Game 5 of the DS.  Buehler too.  So who shows up tonight?  Yamamoto’s best regular season start was in the Bronx.  So let’s see.  Let’s gooooooo!!!

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