The Field Of Dreams Project

[Nick Soulis]

Series #232



2013 Los Angeles Dodgers
Record: 92-70
Finish: Lost In NLCS
Manager: Don Mattingly
Ball Park: Dodger Stadium
WAR Leader: Clayton Kershaw (8.6)
Franchise Record: 7-9
2013 Season Record: 5-2
Hall of Famers: (0)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/LAD/2013.shtml

1936 Cincinnati Reds
Record: 74-80
Finish: 5th in NL
Manager: Chuck Dressen
Ball Park: Crosley Field
WAR Leader: Kiki Cuyler (4.2)
Franchise Record: 15-8
1936 Season Record: 3-1
Hall of Famers: (3)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/CIN/1936.shtml
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Heaven’s Dugout — Pregame Show Series #232



Matchup: 2013 Los Angeles Dodgers vs. 1936 Cincinnati Reds
Location: Studio set in Dyersville, Iowa
Host: Bob Costas
Panelists: Dan Plesac, Brian Kenny, Hawk Harrelson, Dwayne Staats



Segment 1 — Opening Energy

Costas:
“Good evening from Iowa. The cornfields are alive again for Series #232, where we’ll see the 2013 Dodgers — a club with frontline aces and a streak of mid-season dominance — square off with the 1936 Cincinnati Reds, a team forged in the grit of Depression-era baseball. To unpack it all, I’m joined by Dan Plesac, Brian Kenny, Hawk Harrelson, and Dwayne Staats. Gentlemen, welcome.”

Plesac:
“Bob, this is a fascinating one because it’s such a contrast. The Dodgers are built on modern velocity, a deep bullpen, and stars like Clayton Kershaw and Yasiel Puig. The ’36 Reds didn’t have that kind of depth, but they had savvy hitters like Kiki Cuyler and a big bat behind the plate in Ernie Lombardi. The question is — can grit outlast horsepower?”

Harrelson:
“Let me tell you something, partner — don’t you dare count out those Reds. Everybody’s gonna say the Dodgers in a walk, but I’ve been around long enough to know baseball don’t work that way. Cuyler could still flat-out play, and Lombardi? Mercy, he could knock your block off with that bat. Dodgers better be ready, or they’ll be put on the board in the wrong way.”

Staats:
“And it’s important to remember — every generation had its pressures. The Reds were playing ball when fans needed something to believe in during the mid-1930s. For them, even being here is a testament to the game’s staying power. Meanwhile, the Dodgers represent the international era of baseball, with stars from Cuba, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic all in that 2013 clubhouse.”

Kenny:
“And analytically, the mismatch is enormous. The Reds of ’36 didn’t have power arms. Their team ERA+ was below league average even then. Facing Kershaw and Greinke? On paper, this looks like a wipeout. But history in the Field of Dreams tells us — numbers bend in this place. One swing, one bad hop, and the script flips.”

Segment 2 — Matchup Breakdown

Costas:
“Let’s get tactical. Dodgers’ lineup versus Reds’ pitching. What stands out?”

Plesac:
“Puig and Hanley Ramirez were lightning rods for that 2013 team. If they get hot, the Reds are in trouble. Adrian González gives them consistency in the middle of the order, and once the Dodgers have a lead, Kenley Jansen can slam the door. The Reds just don’t have an equivalent weapon.”

Harrelson:
“But I’ll say this — Puig was young, fiery, and sometimes out of control. You get him chasing pitches, you get under his skin, and maybe he presses. The Reds don’t need to out-hit the Dodgers — they just need to frustrate them.”

Staats:
“And remember Ernie Lombardi. He hit .330 in ’36 and was one of the most feared contact hitters of his time. If the Reds can get base traffic in front of him, that changes everything. The question is whether they’ll see many pitches to hit against the Dodger rotation.”

Kenny:
“Another big factor — defense. The Dodgers were a strong defensive team, while the Reds were middle-of-the-pack in their own era. The tighter the games, the more those gaps matter. One misplay in the cornfield grass, and Los Angeles can turn it into two or three runs quickly.”

Segment 3 — Historical Significance

Costas:
“Let’s step back for the bigger picture. What does this series tell us about the evolution of the game?”

Staats:
“It’s a showcase of baseball’s resilience. The Reds of 1936 weren’t champions, but they represent an era when baseball was a lifeline. And now, they stand against a Dodgers club that reflects the global reach of the sport — players from all over the world united in Dodger blue.”

Harrelson:
“And if the Reds even win a game, that’s history right there. They’ll be remembered forever. If they win the series? Well, partner, you can hang that in Cooperstown.”

Kenny:
“It’s also an experiment in eras. Modern bullpen arms, modern velocity — versus lineups that learned to scratch and claw without it. If the Reds can crack a guy like Kershaw before the seventh inning, it proves again that styles make fights.”

Plesac:
“And don’t underestimate momentum. The Dodgers were red-hot in the summer of 2013 — they had a stretch where they went 42–8. But if they stumble early here, the weight of expectation could get heavy.”

Segment 4 — Closing Thoughts

Costas:
“So, gentlemen, the stage is set. The Reds — hungry to shock history. The Dodgers — built to dominate. Any final words?”

Plesac:
“If the Dodgers play their game, they win in five. But if Lombardi or Cuyler get going? This thing could stretch.”

Harrelson:
“Baseball’s got a way of humbling the favorite. Watch the Reds steal one early. That’ll change everything. Mercy!”

Staats:
“I see this series as history in action — modern might versus Depression-era grit. Either way, the fans in Iowa are the real winners.”

Kenny:
“Analytics scream Dodgers. But in this place, you can’t quantify heart. That’s the X-factor.”

Costas:
“And with that, we’re ready for Game 1 of Series #232. From Heaven’s Dugout, stay with us — the magic of the Field of Dreams continues.”

Official Broadcast Team for Series #232:
Mel Allen and Phil Rizzuto



Mel Allen:
“Well, hello there, everybody, and a very pleasant good evening to you wherever you may be. We’re at beautiful Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, and what a matchup we have for you — the 2013 Dodgers, with their young ace Clayton Kershaw and the electric Yasiel Puig, against the 1936 Cincinnati Reds, a club full of grit, determination, and one of the finest hitting catchers the game has ever known, Ernie Lombardi. Phil, this one feels like a story across time.”

Phil Rizzuto:
“Holy cow, Mel, it sure does! You’ve got the Dodgers, all flash and firepower, going up against those Reds from the Depression years — fellas who didn’t travel in style, didn’t have the big salaries, but they sure played with heart. It’s gonna be fascinating to see if that old-time grind-it-out style can stand up to modern pitching and power bats.”

Mel Allen:
“On the mound tonight, Clayton Kershaw — already one of the most dominant left-handers in the modern game. He’ll face Lee Grissom of the Reds, a southpaw from that 1936 team who’ll have his hands full against this Dodger lineup. Yasiel Puig, Carl Crawford, Hanley Ramirez, Adrian González — that’s a murderers’ row for any era.”

Phil Rizzuto:
“Yeah, but don’t forget the Reds’ bats. Kiki Cuyler, Ival Goodman, and Lombardi could all swing it. Lombardi especially — big fella, tough to get out. If he gets his bat going, holy cow, he could put a dent in Kershaw’s night.”

Mel Allen:
“You know, Phil, what’s remarkable about this Field of Dreams project is the way it allows us to see these different eras collide. The Reds of 1936 weren’t a pennant-winner, but they played a vital role in carrying baseball through tough times. Now, they get a chance to test themselves against one of the most expensive and talented rosters of the 21st century.”

Phil Rizzuto:
“And that’s what makes it so much fun, Mel. You don’t just get talent against talent — you get styles against styles. The Reds put the ball in play, run the bases, try to create chaos. The Dodgers? They throw heat and slug you into submission. Which way wins out? That’s why we play the games.”

Mel Allen:
“So here we go, folks. The stage is set: Dodgers and Reds, 2013 against 1936. The crowd is ready, the field is immaculate, and the cornfield magic is alive. Stay tuned — first pitch is just around the corner.”

Phil Rizzuto:
“Don’t go anywhere! This one could get wild. Holy cow, Mel, I can’t wait to see what happens.”

[Nick Soulis]

Series #232



Dodgers Dominate in Statement Series
Kershaw’s opener to Puig’s fireworks, Los Angeles overwhelms Cincinnati 4–0 to advance in Field of Dreams.



Series #232, Game 1
Cincinnati 1936 Reds at Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers
Dodger Stadium
Clear skies, 59°, wind blowing left to right at 8 mph
Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers 6, Cincinnati 1936 Reds 0
Winning Pitcher: Clayton Kershaw (1-0) — 9.0 IP, 8 H, 0 R, 0 BB, 11 K
Losing Pitcher: Paul Derringer (0-1) — 4.2 IP, 12 H, 6 ER, 0 BB, 5 K, 2 HR
Home Runs: Hanley Ramirez (LAD, solo, 1st inning); Andre Ethier (LAD, 2-run, 5th inning)
Player of the Game: Clayton Kershaw — Complete-game shutout, 11 strikeouts, also drove in 2 runs at the plate
Los Angeles leads the best-of-seven series, 1-0.

On a crisp night at Dodger Stadium, Clayton Kershaw proved why his name is etched among the game’s greats. With the Field of Dreams spotlight squarely upon him, the Dodgers’ ace authored a masterpiece: a complete-game shutout, 11 strikeouts, and not a single walk, powering the 2013 Los Angeles Dodgers to a commanding 6–0 victory over the 1936 Cincinnati Reds in the opener of Series #232. Kershaw was sharp from the start, scattering eight hits across nine innings but never allowing the Reds to string anything together. Time and again, when Cincinnati’s leadoff men reached, the big lefty slammed the door with his trademark curveball and a fastball that seemed to rise as it neared the plate. By the final out, Dodger Stadium roared with the satisfaction of a club that had just sent an unmistakable message.
“I felt good, I felt in rhythm,” Kershaw said afterward. “It’s always special to pitch here, but on a stage like this, you want to give your best. Tonight everything clicked.” Hanley Ramirez opened the scoring with a booming solo home run in the first inning, jolting the Dodgers’ dugout and setting the tone. Kershaw himself later contributed at the plate, lacing a two-run single in the fourth inning that widened the gap to 3–0. By the fifth, the rout was on: A.J. Ellis doubled home a run, and Andre Ethier launched a two-run shot deep into the Chavez Ravine night to cap the scoring.
The Dodgers finished with 14 hits, with Ramirez, Ethier, and Mark Ellis each collecting multiple knocks. For the Reds, leadoff man Kiki Cuyler was a bright spot, going 3-for-4 and showing flashes of his Hall of Fame talent. Les Scarsella added a double, and pitcher Paul Derringer even singled, but Cincinnati couldn’t deliver the timely hit. The Reds left seven men stranded and struck out 11 times.Derringer shouldered the loss, surrendering 12 hits and six runs in 4.2 innings before turning things over to Whitey Moore and Benny Frey, who combined for 3.1 scoreless frames. The story, however, belonged to Kershaw. His 112-pitch gem reminded the Field of Dreams faithful that certain arms transcend eras. With pinpoint command and a presence that stifled Cincinnati’s lineup from start to finish, he not only gave the Dodgers the opening salvo in the series but etched his performance into the growing lore of this grand experiment.As the teams prepare for Game 2 tomorrow night at Dodger Stadium, the Reds find themselves searching for answers — while the Dodgers, led by their ace, stride forward with confidence.

Series #232, Game 2
Cincinnati 1936 Reds at Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers
Dodger Stadium
Partly cloudy, 61°, wind blowing out to right at 7 mph
Final Score: Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers 7, Cincinnati 1936 Reds 5
Winning Pitcher: Hyun-jin Ryu (1-0) — 7.0 IP, 10 H, 4 ER, 0 BB, 9 K, 2 HR
Losing Pitcher: Al Hollingsworth (0-1) — 4.1 IP, 8 H, 6 ER, 1 BB, 4 K, 1 HR
Save: Kenley Jansen (1) — 1.0 IP, 0 H, 0 R, 1 K
Home Runs: Kiki Cuyler (CIN, solo, 4th); Ernie Lombardi (CIN, solo, 6th); Billy Myers (CIN, solo, 8th); Yasiel Puig (LAD, 3-run, 5th)
Player of the Game: Yasiel Puig — 2-for-4, HR, 2B, 4 RBI, 1 R
Los Angeles leads the best-of-seven series, 2-0.
Special Note: Dodgers shortstop Hanley Ramírez injured his back while stealing a base and will miss the remainder of the series.

The Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers held serve at home in Game 2 of Series #232, riding the energy and power of Yasiel Puig to a 7–5 victory over the 1936 Cincinnati Reds. The win pushes Los Angeles to a commanding 2–0 lead in the best-of-seven matchup, but the night also delivered a bitter blow: shortstop Hanley Ramírez left the game with a back injury and will miss the remainder of the series.For five innings, the game swayed like a pendulum. Hyun-jin Ryu looked sharp early, striking out four in the first two innings, while Adrian González and Carl Crawford helped push the Dodgers to a 3–0 lead. But in the top of the fourth, the Reds’ bats roared to life. Kiki Cuyler launched a towering solo home run to left, Ernie Lombardi doubled, and Babe Herman and Les Scarsella followed with line-drive singles. When Alex Kampouris punched a run-scoring hit through the left side, the Reds had tied the game, 3–3, and Dodger Stadium’s easy confidence evaporated.
That set the stage for Puig. With the score knotted in the fifth and two men on, the 22-year-old phenom jumped on a pitch from left-hander Al Hollingsworth and sent it screaming into the left-field seats for a three-run home run. Dodger Stadium shook. “We took advantage of our opportunities,” Puig said afterward. “It’s as simple as that.”González added a double and Matt Kemp chipped in a sacrifice fly before the inning closed, giving the Dodgers a 7–3 lead. It proved just enough cushion to withstand Cincinnati’s fight. Lombardi’s solo blast in the sixth and Billy Myers’ homer in the eighth drew the Reds within two, but Kenley Jansen entered in the ninth and coolly recorded the save.Ryu earned the win despite surrendering 10 hits and two home runs, his ability to miss bats (nine strikeouts) offsetting Cincinnati’s relentless contact. Hollingsworth absorbed the loss after yielding six runs in 4.1 innings.But the real story may have come in the shadows of Puig’s heroics. Ramírez, who had singled and stolen second in the fifth inning, pulled up gingerly and was later diagnosed with a back issue that rules him out for the rest of the series. His absence leaves a gaping hole in Los Angeles’ lineup and forces manager Don Mattingly to rely on Nick Punto at shortstop and the supporting cast around Puig and González.For the Reds, there is both frustration and hope. They outhomered the Dodgers 3–2 and showed they could string together rallies against modern pitching. Lombardi finished with three hits, while Cuyler and Myers each provided longballs that showcased Cincinnati’s capacity for sudden damage.
The series now shifts to Crosley Field in Cincinnati for Game 3 on Friday. The Reds return home needing to capitalize on Dodger misfortune. For the Dodgers, the challenge is clear: win without their star shortstop and keep riding the emotion of their Cuban lightning bolt in right field.For now, Puig’s bat has carried the day, but the injury cloud over Ramírez lingers ominously. What was a dominant two-game cushion could quickly turn into a dogfight in the Queen City.

Game 3
Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers at Cincinnati 1936 Reds
Crosley Field
Clear skies, 56°, wind blowing in from right at 10 mph
Final Score: Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers 4, Cincinnati 1936 Reds 2 (10 innings)
Winning Pitcher: Kenley Jansen (1-0) — 2.0 IP, 0 H, 0 R, 1 BB, 1 K
Losing Pitcher: Benny Frey (0-1) — 1.0 IP, 3 H, 2 ER, 0 BB, 1 K
Home Runs: None
Player of the Game: Zack Greinke — 8.0 IP, 8 H, 2 ER, 3 BB, 7 K, kept Dodgers in control until extras
Los Angeles leads the best-of-seven series, 3–0.

In the cool Cincinnati night, where Crosley Field’s brick walls caught the glow of lanterns and the hum of faithful voices, baseball once again wrote its timeless script. The Dodgers of 2013, built on modern might and analytic steel, and the Reds of 1936, crafted from grit, wood bats, and a workingman’s courage, met beneath the canopy of memory.It was Zack Greinke who stood tallest, a solitary figure on the mound, pitching not only with precision but with reverence for the ghosts around him. He bent his body into motion as though he were part of the same long chain that once bore names like Hubbell and Dean. Eight innings he gave, balancing on the razor’s edge of peril, yet holding firm until the game demanded more. His arm, steady as a mason’s hand, guided Los Angeles through the narrow alleys of a 1930s ballgame — where a double meant thunder, and a man’s stride from first to third carried with it the weight of his town’s pride.
But even the strongest flame flickers. The Reds clawed back, tying the score, their bats flashing against the night air, reminding all that Crosley was still their home, their cathedral. Ernie Lombardi, heavy with bat and burden, swung like a man chiseling at stone, sending doubles to the deep reaches and reminding his opponents that the old ways still bore fruit.When the ninth ended in a deadlock, baseball called for one more act, one more measure of courage. And it was A.J. Ellis — no giant, no bannered hero — who lifted his team, grounding out with intent enough to bring a run home. In that modest stroke lay the essence of the game: the quiet sacrifice, the humble deed, the run tallied not by power but by persistence. Andre Ethier followed with a knock of his own, sealing the margin, delivering the breath the Dodgers needed to steal away the night.And so the Dodgers, with their 4–2 victory in ten frames, claimed a grip upon the series that history itself rarely loosens: three games to none, a stranglehold against a proud foe. Yet the Reds walked off not beaten men, but guardians of an era — their uniforms streaked, their pride intact, their fight still flickering.As the stars stretched over Crosley Field, one could almost hear the voices of ages past mingling with the cheers. For in games like these, time bends, eras clasp hands, and baseball’s eternal spirit rises above the diamond dust — whispering that while the score may crown the Dodgers tonight, the game belongs forever to all who play it, and all who dream of it.

Series #232, Game 4
Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers at Cincinnati 1936 Reds
Crosley Field
Partly Cloudy, 52°, wind blowing out to right at 8 mph
Final Score: Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers 9, Cincinnati 1936 Reds 2
Winning Pitcher: Chris Capuano (1-0) — 6.0 IP, 6 H, 2 ER, 1 BB, 6 K
Losing Pitcher: Si Johnson (0-1) — 6.2 IP, 6 H, 4 ER, 3 BB, 5 K, 1 HR
Home Runs: Yasiel Puig (LAD, solo, 4th inning), Juan Uribe (LAD, 2-run, 7th inning)
Player of the Game: Yasiel Puig — 2-for-4, HR, 2B, 3 R, BB, RBI

Upon the dusky greens of Crosley Field, the curtain fell on a tale both noble and cruel. The Cincinnati Reds of 1936, fashioned in the sinew and grit of Depression-era ball, stood with stubborn hearts against an invading army of modern steel. Yet the Dodgers of 2013 swept through like a storm over the Ohio, scattering hope with every crack of bat and measured stride upon the basepaths. In the fourth contest, it was not a titan’s arm but a journeyman’s craft that carried the day. Chris Capuano, with steady rhythm and calm resolve, silenced the roars, then yielded the stage to the relentless fire of his teammates. Yasiel Puig, bright comet across the night, swung with the reckless joy of youth and sent the ball high over Crosley’s fence. Juan Uribe, ever underestimated, struck his blow in the seventh, and the die was cast.
The Reds fought on — Cuyler with his sure stroke, Scarsella with a well-timed double — but their weapons were dulled, their voices drowned. The Dodgers’ onslaught in the late innings turned the field into a canvas painted in blue triumph, each run another brushstroke upon Cincinnati’s fading dream.
Yet let us not forget: the Reds depart with honor. They carried the banner of an era when games were lean, gloves were thin, and every nickel counted. Their spirit remains eternal, even as their bats fell silent against the engines of the present age.
So the book of Crosley closes on this October night. The Dodgers stride forward, their names etched among victors. The Reds retreat to history’s embrace. And baseball itself whispers the eternal refrain: time passes, champions rise, but the game endures, forever young beneath the autumn sky.

Los Angeles 2013 Dodgers sweep the Cincinnati 1936 Reds 4–0

Series MVP:

[Nick Soulis]

Official Announcement – Field of Dreams Journalist

Introducing Grantland Rice: The Official Voice of Baseball’s Poetic Soul



In keeping with the tradition of celebrating baseball’s history and majesty, the Field of Dreams is proud to welcome Grantland Rice as its official journalist. Known for his timeless command of words, Rice will provide eloquent, enduring reflections after each game — bringing the romance, grandeur, and gravitas of classic baseball writing to the modern stage.

Opening Remarks from Grantland Rice

*"Baseball is not merely a game; it is the story of America told on sunlit diamonds and under autumn skies. I am honored to join the Field of Dreams, where eras collide and legends walk once more. My task will be simple, yet sacred — to bear witness. To capture not only the score and the statistics, but the pulse, the poetry, the immortal echoes that make each contest eternal.

I have walked alongside the heroes of the past, chronicling the feats of Babe Ruth, Walter Johnson, and Ty Cobb. Now, I shall walk again — but across all time, in this grand stage where the deadball artist duels the modern slugger, where Crosley Field answers Dodger Stadium.

You will find me not in the box score alone, but in the sweep of narrative, in the cadence of myth. After every game, I will give voice to the eternal story. For the Field of Dreams is not just competition — it is baseball’s great cathedral, and I am its humble chronicler."*

[Nick Soulis]

Series #233



1970 Milwaukee Brewers
Record: 65-97
Finish: 4th in AL West
Manager: Dave Bristol
Ball Park: County Stadium
WAR Leader: Tommy Harper (7.4)
Franchise Record: 5-8
1970 Season Record: 2-1
Hall of Famers: (0)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/MIL/1970.shtml

The 1970 Brewers, by contrast, symbolize birth rather than decline. In only their first year in Milwaukee — after the franchise moved from Seattle following the one-season Pilots experiment — the club carried the excitement of a new identity, even if victories were scarce. Managed by Dave Bristol, the Brewers leaned on youngsters like Tommy Harper, who swiped 73 bases, and budding arms still trying to find their footing. Historically, they are remembered as the club that planted roots for baseball in Milwaukee after the Braves’ departure, a foundation for what would eventually blossom into the pennant-winning Brewers of 1982. The ’70 team may not have won many games, but they were pioneers — carrying the city’s hopes and proving the game still had a home in Wisconsin.

1982 Cincinnati Reds
Record: 61-101
Finish: 6th in NL West
Manager: John McNamara
Ball Park: Riverfront Stadium
WAR Leader: Mario Soto (7.6)
Franchise Record: 15-9
1982 Season Record: 2-3
Hall of Famers: (2)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/CIN/1982.shtml

The 1982 Reds represent one of the leaner years in the proud Cincinnati franchise’s history. Just a decade removed from the dominance of the Big Red Machine, this club found itself at the opposite end of the spectrum, finishing with the worst record in the National League. The team still featured names with pedigree — César Cedeño, Ron Oester, Mario Soto anchoring the staff — but it lacked the thunder and depth that had carried Cincinnati in the 1970s. Historically, the ’82 Reds serve as a reminder that even a storied franchise can hit rock bottom, and they stand as an outlier in the otherwise rich tradition of Reds baseball. Their presence here offers a chance at redemption, a chance to rewrite what was once a lost season.
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Sit-Down Show with Bob Costas

The set is modest but elegant, chairs arranged on the edge of the diamond with the cornfield swaying behind them. Costas, in a dark blazer and open collar, introduces the show.

Costas:
“Good evening, everyone. From the Field of Dreams in Iowa, welcome to a conversation that brings together two men who defined their teams in very different ways. On one side, Mario Soto — the fiery right-hander who gave the ’82 Reds their best chance every fifth day. On the other, Tommy Harper — the versatile leader of the 1970 Milwaukee Brewers, a man who carried the bat and the stolen base threat that gave this new franchise its first pulse. Gentlemen, thank you for being here.”

Costas (to Soto):
“Mario, 1982 was a difficult season in Cincinnati, but you personally had a breakout year. How do you look back on that season now, and what does this series mean to you?”

Soto:
“I remember the frustration, Bob. We lost a lot of games, and nobody likes to take the mound knowing runs will be hard to come by. But I also knew that every time I pitched, I had a chance to prove myself against the best hitters in the league. Here, it’s different. We get to play for history, not standings. That’s something special.”

Costas (to Harper):
“Tommy, you were the engine for a brand-new ballclub in ’70. Milwaukee had just gained a team, and suddenly you’re the man stealing 73 bases. What do you remember about those days — and about representing the very first Brewers team?”

Harper:
“Bob, it was electric. The city was hungry for baseball again after the Braves left. We didn’t win much, but every game felt like we were laying a brick for the future. I was proud to give Milwaukee fans something to cheer about. And in this series, it’s about pride all over again — proving the start of a franchise deserves respect.”

Costas:
“Mario, Tommy, both of you represent what baseball always seems to balance — the end of one dynasty and the beginning of another. That’s what makes this Series #233 so intriguing. Thank you both for your time, and good luck.”

The camera pulls back as the three stand, the cornfields stretching into twilight, setting the stage for the pregame panel to take over in Heaven’s Dugout.

Heaven’s Dugout – Pregame Show (Series #233)

Theme music swells, graphics show “1982 Cincinnati Reds vs. 1970 Milwaukee Brewers – Series #233.” Camera fades to Costas at the desk with the panelists.

Segment 1 – Setting the Stage

Costas:
“Good evening, folks. We’ve just come off the unveiling here in Iowa, and now we dive into Series #233. It’s the 1982 Cincinnati Reds, a franchise at a low ebb, against the 1970 Milwaukee Brewers, a franchise just finding its feet. The Brewers hold home field. Peter, how unusual is this matchup in the grand tapestry of baseball history?”

Gammons:
“It’s unique, Bob, because you’ve got two teams remembered more for struggle than triumph. The ’82 Reds are an outlier in one of baseball’s great dynasties — a franchise that dominated the 70s, but hit rock bottom by ’82. And the ’70 Brewers, well, they weren’t contenders, but they’re the genesis of Milwaukee baseball. In a way, this is a collision of endings and beginnings.”

Harrelson:
“Hawk says it like this: you don’t judge these clubs on banners. You judge ’em on pride. The Reds still got Soto, still got big-league players. And them Brewers, they’re playin’ with that chip — the first club in town after the Braves split. Don’t count out emotion in a short series.”

Stone:
“I’ll add this — both teams have to manufacture runs. Neither one’s going to slug their way through like the ’27 Yankees. So it’s going to come down to execution, bunts, hit-and-runs, maybe stealing bases. That favors Tommy Harper and the Brewers’ speed game.”

Segment 2 – Key Players & Matchups

Costas:
“Let’s drill down — who makes the difference in this series?”

Stone:
“Mario Soto. Period. He had one of the best changeups of his era. If he pitches twice, maybe three times if it goes seven, he can swing the entire outcome.”

Gammons:
“Tommy Harper for Milwaukee. His 1970 season was extraordinary — over 30 home runs and 70 steals. That blend of power and speed was rare then, and it’s rare now. If he gets on base, he changes the game immediately.”

Harrelson:
“Don’t forget about the intangibles. Reds got Cesar Cedeño, and if he shows up big, Hawk’s telling ya, that’s trouble for Milwaukee. And hey, you put Soto on the hill, you just might be playin’ for keeps.”

Segment 3 – Legacy Angle

Costas:
“This show always comes back to legacy. What does this matchup mean beyond the box score?”

Gammons:
“It’s a reminder that baseball history isn’t just about champions. Every franchise has seasons of struggle, but those teams carry the story forward. The ’82 Reds are a bookend to the Big Red Machine, while the ’70 Brewers are the seed of Milwaukee’s baseball renaissance. This series validates that even the forgotten teams get their moment in the light.”

Stone:
“And for fans in Milwaukee, this is their first team immortalized. No matter how many games they lost, they laid the foundation. Without 1970, there’s no 1982 pennant, no Robin Yount era.”

Harrelson:
“Hawk says it like this: the Big Red Machine don’t happen without years like ’82, when you find out who you are without the stars. And them Brewers, they were the proof the game could live in Milwaukee again. Legacy? It’s about survival.”

Segment 4 – Predictions & Editorials

Costas:
“All right, time for predictions. Who takes Series #233?”

Gammons:
“I lean Milwaukee, four games to two. Their speed game and Harper’s presence will be too much for a Reds club that struggled all year.”

Stone:
“I’m going Reds in seven. If Soto is dominant, that’s two or three wins by himself, and Cincinnati will find just enough offense.”

Harrelson:
“Hawk says Brewers in six. They’re younger, hungrier, and they’ve got the home crowd in Wisconsin. Ain’t no easy outs here.”

Editorials:

Gammons: “This is why the Field of Dreams project matters — teams that history often forgets get a chance to stand tall again.”

Stone: “Pitching wins series, and watching Soto against Harper will be a throwback duel worth savoring.”

Harrelson: “Baseball ain’t about the record books tonight, it’s about guts. Whoever shows more of it, wins.”

Costas (closing):
“From the cornfields of Iowa, we’re ready for Series #233. Ernie Harwell and Tony Kubek will have the call. It’s the 1982 Cincinnati Reds against the 1970 Milwaukee Brewers. Game One is next.”

Grantland Rice Commentary – Series #233 Preview

Out of the cornfields of Iowa comes a contest not of giants, but of strivers — men who wore their uniforms in seasons when victories were scarce and fortunes fleeting. The 1982 Cincinnati Reds and the 1970 Milwaukee Brewers stand now upon this diamond, their names seldom carved in bronze, their deeds seldom sung. Yet here, upon the stage of eternity, every ballclub may be measured not by triumphs alone, but by the endurance of spirit.

The Reds, mere echoes of the Big Red Machine, march into this series with heads unbowed. They were a club adrift in 1982, their dynasty spent, their glory faded, but their ace, Mario Soto, bore the fire of ten men. He hurled each pitch with a defiance that asked history to remember not the standings, but the courage. Now, his arm may carry them farther than the record books ever foretold.

The Brewers, meanwhile, arrive as pioneers — the very first team to wear Milwaukee across the chest after the Braves’ departure. They knew not the weight of championships; they knew only the roar of a city grateful to have the game restored. At their heart was Tommy Harper, a force of speed and steel, who ran with the daring of a thief and swung with the heart of a slugger. He embodied hope in a city still finding its baseball identity.

So it shall be — the once-mighty against the newly-born, one seeking redemption, the other recognition. Perhaps the tale is not of who wins, but of what it means that they play. In this Field of Dreams, legends are not always crowned in October glories — sometimes, they are written in the dignity of struggle, in the fierce fight to prove that even the forgotten years still echo through the ages.

[Nick Soulis]

Series #233



Brew Crew Breakthrough: 1970 Milwaukee Stuns Reds in Six
Morris and Walton Stars Of Midwest Battle



Series #233, Game 1
Cincinnati 1982 Reds at Milwaukee 1970 Brewers
County Stadium
Weather: Rain, 57°, wind blowing in from left at 5 mph
Cincinnati 1982 Reds 6, Milwaukee 1970 Brewers 3
Winning Pitcher: Mario Soto (1-0) — 7.2 IP, 9 H, 3 ER, 4 BB, 8 K
Losing Pitcher: Marty Pattin (0-1) — 8.0 IP, 12 H, 5 ER, 0 BB, 5 K, 1 HR
Save: Tom Hume (1) — 1.1 IP, 0 H, 0 R, 0 BB, 1 K
Home Runs:Johnny Bench (CIN, solo, 8th), Ron Oester (CIN, solo, 9th)
Player of the Game: Mario Soto — 7.2 IP, 8 K, steady rebound after early trouble
Cincinnati 1982 leads best-of-seven series, 1–0

From the rain-swept grass of County Stadium came a tale of reclamation. The Brewers leapt first, striking with the daring of pioneers, a triple into the corner, a stolen base in the drizzle, and for a moment the new sons of Milwaukee led the way. Yet the game is long, and patience favors the steadfast.Mario Soto, rattled early, gathered himself with a craftsman’s resolve. His changeup, once errant, now dove with the weight of purpose, and one by one the Milwaukee bats were dimmed. In the seventh, the tide rolled red. A pitcher’s double rang like a clarion, Milner and Cedeno lashed drives that brought men flying home, and Cincinnati, so long humbled, stood tall once more.Johnny Bench then rose, the leader of leaders, his bat writing a stanza in fire across the damp October sky. A home run, majestic, sent Cincinnati hearts surging. And as the crowd thinned beneath gray clouds, Ron Oester gave the last word with a drive of his own.Thus the Reds of 1982 — a team history cast as a failure — found dignity reborn. For the Brewers of 1970, their roots remain in the soil, and though this night bore loss, it bore also the promise of growth. Baseball, eternal in its mercy, grants even the forgotten a chance to be remembered.

Series #233, Game 2
Cincinnati 1982 Reds at Milwaukee 1970 Brewers
County Stadium
Weather: Cloudy, 59°, wind blowing out to center at 13 mph
Milwaukee 1970 Brewers 4, Cincinnati 1982 Reds 0
Winning Pitcher: John Morris (1-0) — 8.2 IP, 2 H, 0 R, 1 BB, 5 K
Losing Pitcher: Bruce Berenyi (0-1) — 6.1 IP, 9 H, 4 ER, 5 BB, 2 K
Save: Ken Sanders (1) — 0.1 IP, 1 H, 0 R
Home Runs: None
Player of the Game: John Morris — 8.2 IP of two-hit shutout brilliance
Series Standing: Series tied 1–1

From the gray skies above County Stadium came a tale of persistence and redemption. John Morris, no household name in baseball’s grand litany, took the ball with little fanfare and left the field with immortality. His left arm, steady as a metronome, silenced a Cincinnati club that had thundered only a day before.
The Brewers, cast as footnotes in history, found their chorus tonight. Kennedy’s double, Kubiak’s timely stroke, Walton’s drive — each note rang clear in a song of defiance. Even the pitcher himself swung a bat with purpose, chasing home a run to the roars of a restless crowd eager to believe.
For the Reds, it was a day of futility. Cedeno and Bench swung hard, but wood met little fortune. Errors were few, but miscues of patience — passed balls, squandered counts — told their tale. The machine sputtered, leaving Milwaukee to revel in its triumph. And so, as the rains gave way to the chant of thirty-one thousand faithful, the Brewers stood tall. In this theater of memory, a journeyman’s masterpiece restored balance, and the series now journeys to the banks of the Ohio, tied and tinged with the promise of further drama.

Game 3
At Riverfront Stadium
Weather: Clear skies, 59°, wind out to center at 9 mph
Milwaukee 1970 Brewers 2
Cincinnati 1982 Reds 1 (12 innings)
WP: B. Meyer (1-0)
LP: B. Lesley (0-1)
SV: B. Locker (1)
HR: None
POG: Gene Brabender (7.1 IP, 5 H, 1 ER, 2 BB, 3 K, 100 P)
Milwaukee 1970 leads 2–1

The twilight over Riverfront Stadium saw a tale of two teams straining every nerve in the cords of October tension. Cincinnati, once proud masters of the Big Red Machine, found themselves grinding at the gears, their bats bound in silence by Brabender’s rugged right arm and the unyielding will of Milwaukee’s bullpen.
For twelve innings the game stood locked, as if carved in stone—one run apiece, one dream held in equal grasp. Pastore pitched with a lion’s heart, his every delivery a defiance of fate, while Brabender met him pitch for pitch, the duel rising like cathedral bells over the Ohio dusk.
And then came Kubiak—no headline star, no man expected to write the story. Yet in the twelfth he swung, and destiny swung with him, a simple single through the infield that carried with it the roar of a thousand echoes. A journeyman became a hero, and the Brewers claimed their moment.
Cincinnati fought until the final out, but the gods of fortune had crossed their arms. For tonight, Milwaukee wore the laurel, their spirit as enduring as the crowd’s chant, their resolve etched into the annals of the Field of Dreams.The series, now bent toward the Brewers, stands poised on a knife’s edge. Tomorrow brings another battle, another chance for redemption or triumph, another page in this golden ledger of the game eternal.

Game 4 — Series #233
At Riverfront Stadium
Weather: Clear skies, 64°, wind in from center at 8 mph
1982 Cincinnati Reds 5
1970 Milwaukee Brewers 0
WP: Mario Soto (2-0) — 9.0 IP, 3 H, 0 R, 2 BB, 11 K, 124 P
LP: Lew Krausse (0-1) — 7.0 IP, 6 H, 4 ER, 3 BB, 3 K
HR: Johnny Bench (CIN, solo, 1st inning)
POG: Mario Soto — Complete game shutout, 3 H, 11 K
Series: Tied 2–2

In the golden light of a Cincinnati afternoon, there strode a figure upon the mound who turned doubt into dominion. Mario Soto, called forth in place of a legend, fashioned his own masterpiece—a three-hit symphony of fire and deception that carved the Brewers’ bats into silence. Eleven men were struck down, not by bluster, but by the quiet authority of a craftsman at the height of his power.
The Reds, awakened from their slumber, struck with immediacy. Bench, the iron backbone of their order, drove home the first spark. Krenchicki, oft a name whispered rather than shouted, lashed a double that roared like thunder over the banks of the Ohio. In those early moments, Riverfront Stadium was transformed into a cauldron, its people breathing as one with their heroes.Lew Krausse, gallant though he labored, found himself caught in the unforgiving gears of a game that spares no quarter to the outmatched. His pitches found gloves, his resolve found resistance, and by the time the dust had settled, the tally upon the board spelled doom for his cause.
So it is now—two victories for the Brewers, two for the Reds, and destiny balanced upon the edge of the blade. Should Soto’s brilliance be the turning of the tide, or but a fleeting echo in this battle of eras, only the morrow shall reveal. For in October’s theater, every contest is written not in ink, but in flame.

Game 5
At Riverfront Stadium
Weather: Clear skies, 51° (wind in from LF at 10 mph)
1970 Milwaukee Brewers 5
1982 Cincinnati Reds 4
WP: M. Pattin (1-1)
LP: T. Hume (0-1)
SV: K. Sanders (1)
HR: J. Bench (2)
POG: Marty Pattin – 8.0 IP, 7 H, 3 R (2 ER), 1 BB, 3 K, 139 P
Milwaukee 1970 leads series 3-2

From the quiet banks of the Ohio, where Riverfront rose proud and gleaming, came a contest that turned from routine into legend. The Reds, with their banners waving and their heroes arrayed, seemed ready to retake command. But into this theatre strode an unlikely champion, Marty Pattin, who with stubborn arm and unyielding will, held the hosts at bay.It was not the great Bench, nor the dashing Concepcion, who wrote the headline, but rather Danny Walton, a journeyman’s name destined now to linger. His stroke in the eighth — a line of thunder splitting the autumn sky — carried three Brewers home, and with them, the weight of a city’s hope. One swing, and the Brewers believed themselves giants.The Reds, proud and fierce, fought still. Bench found the seats, Concepcion carved the alleys, yet fate, that most capricious of umpires, called them wanting. They stranded men like ships left marooned upon a hostile shore.Now the series tilts toward Milwaukee, that modest ballclub draped in new-found glory. Tomorrow they return to County Stadium, not as underdogs but as rulers of their own destiny. One victory more, and their tale becomes immortal.

At County Stadium
Weather: Partly cloudy, 50° (wind in from LF at 11 mph)
1970 Milwaukee Brewers 7
1982 Cincinnati Reds 1
WP: J. Morris (2-0)
LP: F. Pastore (0-1)
SV: K. Sanders (1)
HR: D. Walton 2 (6th solo; 8th solo), P. Roof (8th, 2-run)
POG: John Morris — 8.2 IP, 5 H, 1 R (0 ER), 1 BB, 6 K, 120 P

Beneath the autumn sky of Wisconsin, the crowd at County Stadium bore witness to a tale only baseball can write: the modest Brewers of 1970 rising as champions against a foe steeped in richer cloth. Theirs was no dynasty, no dynasty-in-waiting, but a gathering of journeymen and hopefuls who, on this day, found themselves cast as giants.John Morris, the quiet southpaw, worked with the calm resolve of a craftsman. He gave no quarter, his arm steady as the ticking of a clock. Each pitch spun a thread of fate, weaving a tapestry that bound the mighty Reds to a single run. He was not sculpted from marble, but from the common clay of perseverance—and yet, in this hour, he gleamed like a colossus.
The thunder belonged to Danny Walton, whose bat twice cleaved the air and sent orbs hurtling into the night like fiery messengers. Not to be outdone, Phil Roof found his voice with a late blast, as if to sound the final bell of triumph. Each swing was not merely a stroke of wood on leather, but a declaration that the Brewers’ story would be writ in bold ink.The Reds, proud and noble, stood baffled by their own futility. Their hits scattered like pebbles in a stream, never gathering into a torrent. Concepcion and Cedeno strove, and Bench lifted a solitary cry, yet the tide never turned. Their legacy endures, but here, under the lights of Milwaukee, it dimmed.
And so it is that baseball reminds us: glory is not the birthright of the favored. It may be seized by those who believe, those who labor, those who dare. The 1970 Brewers, crowned in triumph, leave us a verse that will echo down the years: that hope, though humble, can climb the highest hill and wear the crown of champions.

1970 Milwaukee Brewers Win Series 4 Games To 2

Series MVP:

(.333, 2 HR, 7 EBI, 3 R, 1 2B, .958 OPS, 2 HR in clincher)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #234



1992 St. Louis Cardinals
Finish: 83-79
Finish: 3rd in NL East
Manager : Joe Torre
Ball Park: Busch Stadium
WAR Leader: Bob Tewksbury (6.2)
Franchise Record: 9-7
1992 Season Record: 3-3
Hall of Famers: (2)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/STL/1992.shtml

1995 Baltimore Orioles
Record: 71-73
Finish: 3rd in AL East
Manager: Phil Regan
Ball Park: Camden Yards
WAR Leader: Mike Mussina (6.1)
Franchise Record: 6-7
1995 Season Record: 2-0
Hall of Famers: (3)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/BAL/1995.shtml
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heaven’s Dugout — Pregame Show



Series #234: 1992 St. Louis Cardinals vs. 1995 Baltimore Orioles
Panel: Bob Costas (host), Lou Piniella, Pedro Martínez, Bob Gibson

Opening

Bob Costas:
“Good evening, everybody. Welcome once again to Heaven’s Dugout, the home for deep baseball conversation on the Field of Dreams stage. Series #234 gives us a fascinating contrast: the 1992 St. Louis Cardinals — a scrappy, fundamentals-driven ballclub managed by Joe Torre — against the 1995 Baltimore Orioles, a team bursting with power and anchored by the Iron Man, Cal Ripken Jr. Tonight we’ll preview the clash with three men who know plenty about high-stakes baseball: Lou Piniella, Pedro Martínez, and Bob Gibson. Gentlemen, welcome.”

Segment 1 — Styles in Contrast

Costas:
“Lou, I’ll start with you. The ’92 Cardinals weren’t built on home run power. They had Ozzie, Gregg Jefferies, Ray Lankford — they played more small-ball. The ’95 Orioles, on the other hand, lived on power from Palmeiro, Bonilla, Ripken. How do you see these two styles colliding?”

Piniella:
“Bob, it’s like putting a chess player up against a boxer. The Cardinals nickel-and-dime you — bunt, steal, put pressure on your defense. The Orioles, they want to land the haymaker. If St. Louis keeps the game close, Torre’s group has the advantage. But if Baltimore gets that three-run homer early, forget it — they’ll blow it open.”

Martínez:
“And Lou, that’s why pitching’s going to decide this. When you face a lineup like Baltimore’s, you can’t make mistakes. But against St. Louis, you can’t get lazy, either. They’ll bunt, hit-and-run, and suddenly you’re in trouble without giving up a ball hit hard.”

Gibson:
“Both of you are right. Here’s the thing — power comes and goes. Fundamentals don’t. If Baltimore isn’t hitting, they don’t win. St. Louis can create runs out of nothing. That’s dangerous in a short series.”

Segment 2 — The Stars to Watch

Costas:
“Pedro, who stands out to you in this matchup?”

Martínez:
“For Baltimore, it’s Cal Ripken. He’s steady, consistent, and when the moment calls for it, he can carry a team. For St. Louis, it’s Ray Lankford. That kid could run, hit for power, play defense — he’s the spark plug.”

Costas:
“Lou, what about you?”

Piniella:
“Palmeiro’s the one for Baltimore. He had that sweet left-handed swing, and if he gets hot, it changes the series. For St. Louis, I look at Ozzie Smith. He’s not just a defensive highlight reel — his leadership, his base running, those little things tilt games.”

Gibson:
“Don’t forget pitching. St. Louis had Bob Tewksbury, Baltimore had Mike Mussina. You get a couple of aces locked in, this series can turn into a grind. And in a grind, I like the guys who play smart baseball.”

Segment 3 — Historical and Legacy Angles

Costas:
“Bob Gibson, let me ask you this: what does this series mean in a bigger historical sense?”

Gibson:
“You’ve got two franchises with rich history. The Cardinals are one of baseball’s great dynasties — not this team, but the name carries weight. And Baltimore, mid-90s, they were searching for an identity after the glory years of the ’60s and ’70s. This series, in a place like this, it’s about pride. Neither team was a champion, but both represent eras where fans believed in something.”

Martínez:
“And I’ll add this — Ripken being here matters. After breaking Gehrig’s record in ’95, he symbolized baseball’s resilience. And Ozzie, he symbolized joy in the game. This is about more than stats — it’s about who they were for the sport.”

Piniella:
“And let’s not forget Joe Torre. Two years later he’s managing the Yankees dynasty. This series shows him at a different point in his career, grinding it out with a scrappy club. Legacy-wise, it’s fascinating.”

Segment 4 — Predictions and Closing Thoughts

Costas:
“All right, time for some predictions. Lou, who do you like in this matchup?”

Piniella:
“I’ll take Baltimore in six. Too much power. If Palmeiro and Bonilla hit, St. Louis won’t keep up.”

Martínez:
“I’m going the other way. Cardinals in seven. They’ll frustrate Baltimore by forcing mistakes, and Tewksbury will steal a game or two.”

Gibson:
“I don’t care how many home runs you can hit — if you can’t execute, you don’t win. I’ve got St. Louis in six. Fundamentals beat flash.”

Costas (smiling):
“As always, gentlemen, no shortage of strong opinions. That’s what makes this show what it is. The 1992 Cardinals and the 1995 Orioles meet in Series #234 here at the Field of Dreams. Joe Buck and Ron Darling will have the call from the booth. For Lou Piniella, Pedro Martínez, Bob Gibson, I’m Bob Costas. Stay with us — first pitch is next.”

The official broadcast team for series #234:
Joe Buck and Ron Darling



Joe Buck and Ron Darling are perched high above the diamond at the Field of Dreams, the golden cornfields glowing beyond the outfield fence.

Joe Buck:
“Welcome to Iowa, everybody. The Field of Dreams is alive once again, and tonight we begin Series #234 — the 1992 St. Louis Cardinals and the 1995 Baltimore Orioles. I’m Joe Buck, alongside Ron Darling. Ron, when you talk about these two clubs, you’re looking at very different blueprints for winning baseball.”

Ron Darling:
“Absolutely, Joe. The Cardinals of ’92 were a classic Joe Torre ballclub — smart, scrappy, and detail-oriented. They didn’t have overwhelming power, but they made you play their game. Contrast that with the Orioles of ’95 — Phil Regan had an offense loaded with weapons. Palmeiro, Bonilla, Ripken, and a young Brady Anderson — that lineup could change a game in a heartbeat.”

Joe Buck:
“And we can’t forget the arms. St. Louis leans heavily on Bob Tewksbury to set the tone — a control artist who doesn’t beat himself. Baltimore counters with Mike Mussina, one of the sharpest young pitchers of his generation. If this turns into a duel of aces, fans are in for a treat.”

Ron Darling:
“And the backdrop makes it even more special. These aren’t championship versions of the Cardinals or Orioles, but they’re proud teams. This series is about proving style versus substance: can Baltimore’s power overwhelm, or can St. Louis’ discipline frustrate them?”

Joe Buck:
“We’ll find out soon enough. The Cardinals and Orioles are ready, the crowd is buzzing, and the cornfields are standing tall. Game One is just moments away.”

[Nick Soulis]

Series #234



1992 St. Louis Sweeps Baltimore’s Hopes in Five
Clutch Hitting And Steady Arms Difference



Game 1
Venue: Busch Stadium, St. Louis
Weather: Rain, 55°F, wind in from center at 10 mph
Final Score:
Baltimore 1995 Orioles — 9
St. Louis 1992 Cardinals — 4
Winning Pitcher: Mike Mussina (1-0) — 9.0 IP, 6 H, 4 R, 2 BB, 8 K, 144 pitches
Losing Pitcher: Rheal Cormier (0-1) — 8.0 IP, 10 H, 9 R (6 ER), 5 BB, 5 K, 135 pitches
Home Runs: None
Player of the Game: Mike Mussina (complete game, 8 strikeouts)
Series Standing: Baltimore leads 1-0 (best-of-7)

Grantland Rice Commentary — Game 1
Out of the mist and into the rain they came, two clubs of different persuasion, testing their courage under gray skies at Busch Stadium. The 1995 Orioles brought their power and poise, while the 1992 Cardinals clung to their grit and guile. But on this night, the balance tipped quickly, and Baltimore drew first blood.
It was Mike Mussina who set the tone, a stoic figure on the mound, slicing the chill with each deliberate pitch. He gave no quarter, painting edges as if the plate were his canvas. The Cardinals found slivers of hope — a double from Ozzie, a spark from Lankford — yet Mussina doused each flame with the calm certainty of a master at work.
Then came Curtis Goodwin, unlikely hero, who in the fourth inning found glory in a single swing. With bases full and a city braced against the storm, his bat cut through the night, sending the ball arcing into right field’s wide gap. Three runs poured across, and with them the spirit of the game shifted. The Cardinals, once upright, bent under the weight of opportunity lost.
St. Louis, valiant though they were, could not escape their own missteps — an error here, a wasted chance there. Baltimore seized each moment, carving a path to victory as relentless as the rain itself. Nine runs to four, the verdict was clear, the message emphatic: this series will be fought on Baltimore’s terms unless the Cardinals discover a sharper edge.
So the tale begins — Orioles with the hammer, Cardinals with the heart. From the cornfields to the Arch, the echoes will carry into tomorrow, when St. Louis must rise or risk being swept into silence by the thundering bats of Baltimore.

Game 2
Venue: Busch Stadium, St. Louis
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 60°F, wind in from left at 11 mph
Attendance: 41,633
Final Score:
St. Louis 1992 Cardinals — 5
Baltimore 1995 Orioles — 1
Winning Pitcher: Bob Tewksbury (1-0) — 8.0 IP, 6 H, 1 R, 0 BB, 4 K, 119 pitches
Losing Pitcher: Sid Fernandez (0-1) — 5.0 IP, 4 H, 3 R, 4 BB, 5 K, 94 pitches
Save: None (Frank DiPino 1.0 IP scoreless relief)
Home Runs: Brady Anderson (BAL, 6th inning, solo)
Player of the Game: Bob Tewksbury (8.0 IP, 1 run, masterful control)
Series Standing: Tied 1-1 (best-of-7)

Grantland Rice Commentary — Game 2
In the crisp night air of Busch Stadium, the Cardinals found their backbone. Where once they had faltered, now they stood firm, carried by the quiet mastery of Bob Tewksbury. He was not a flame-thrower, not a man of bluster, but rather a craftsman, carving corners with calm precision. Eight innings he worked, granting no walks, yielding no quarter, and offering Baltimore little more than frustration.
The great spark was Ozzie Smith, the Wizard, whose bat flashed like his glove. A triple born of speed and daring sent the crowd into delirium, a reminder that baseball’s beauty lies not only in power but in the craft of creation. Around him, teammates answered the call — Zeile, Gilkey, José — each strike of the hammer forging a lead that would not bend.
Baltimore’s lone fire came from Brady Anderson, who launched a solitary ball into the night sky. But the Orioles’ thundering bats, so fearsome the day before, fell to whispers before Tewksbury’s steady hand. Ripken, Palmeiro, Bonilla — their names rang loud, yet their bats were stilled.
Thus the series, once leaning toward Baltimore’s favor, now stands even, the stage shifting eastward. From the Arch to Camden Yards, the tale continues — two clubs bound in contrast, locked in contest, and driven by the heartbeat of October.

Game 3
Oriole Park at Camden Yards, Baltimore
Weather: Clear skies, 58°F, wind in from right at 9 mph
Attendance: 41,720
St. Louis 1992 Cardinals — 7
Baltimore 1995 Orioles — 0
Winning Pitcher: José De León (1-0) — 9.0 IP, 1 H, 0 R, 0 BB, 4 K, 119 pitches (CG, SHO)
Losing Pitcher: Ben McDonald (0-1) — 6.2 IP, 6 H, 1 R, 2 BB, 4 K, 113 pitches
Home Runs: None
Player of the Game: José De León (1-hit shutout)
Series Standing: St. Louis leads 2–1 (best-of-7)

Grantland Rice Commentary — Game 3
Baseball has always been a game of giants and dreamers, of mighty sluggers and fireballing legends who burn their names into the record. Yet, every so often, the game gives us another story — quieter, humbler, but no less grand. Tonight in Baltimore, that story bore the name of José De León. He was no titan of his age, but on this October evening, beneath the lights of Camden Yards, he authored a masterpiece that will stand among the finest. A single hit surrendered, a solitary crack of Palmeiro’s bat that could not bend him, and thereafter nothing but silence. Nine innings of authority, nine innings of conviction, nine innings that crowned him king for a night.There was beauty in the way he worked, for De León pitched not with bravado but with grace. He did not hurl lightning bolts from the heavens, nor summon the roar of the crowd with blinding speed. Instead, he whispered to the strike zone, stitching it like a careful tailor. His fastball rode the corners, his breaking ball teased and tempted, and with every pitch, he tugged Baltimore’s great bats into knots. Ripken, Palmeiro, Baines — names carved in strength — found themselves rendered as spectators. One by one, they marched to the plate with hopes high, and one by one they departed with shoulders sagging, undone by the art of control.And around him, the Cardinals embraced their identity, crafting runs as the artisans of baseball’s truest form. Geronimo Peña played with the fire of a man determined to define a series, stroking three hits and driving home the spark. Ray Lankford flashed both bat and legs, scoring twice and knocking in two more, his double in the ninth hammering home the final nails in Baltimore’s night. Thompson, José, and Gilkey joined the chorus, each swing adding brushstrokes to a canvas of pressure and persistence. They did not overwhelm in one furious blow, but instead carved steadily, chiseling run after run until the Orioles’ resistance collapsed.Baltimore, so bright in Game One, now finds itself lost in a fog of doubt. They have scored but once in their last eighteen innings, their proud lineup falling into stillness. Palmeiro’s double was a lonely beacon, Anderson was struck down by De León’s command, and Ripken, the iron man, swung as if shackled. The faithful in Camden Yards, who came to see thunder and triumph, departed with little more than unease, their voices hushed by the silence of the bats they had come to trust.
And so, the ledger of October turns. St. Louis now leads this contest two games to one, but more than that, they have planted a seed of doubt in the hearts of the Orioles. The Cardinals play not with glamour, but with grit; not with spectacle, but with substance. On this night, their triumph was written in the calm, unyielding hand of José De León, whose one-hit shutout shall echo in the annals of this field of dreams. For baseball, in its poetry, reserves nights such as these — when the humblest of men rise to heights reserved for legends, and in so doing, remind us that greatness can be found not only in thunder, but also in silence.

Game 4
Venue: Oriole Park at Camden Yards, Baltimore
Weather: Clear skies, 59°F, wind in from right at 9 mph
Attendance: 47,100
Final Score:
St. Louis 1992 Cardinals — 5
Baltimore 1995 Orioles — 4
Winning Pitcher: Juan Agosto (1-0) — 2.1 IP, 1 H, 0 R, 0 BB, 0 K
Losing Pitcher: Arthur Rhodes (0-1, BS) — 1.2 IP, 3 H, 3 R, 1 BB
Save: Lee Smith (1) — 1.0 IP, 1 H, 0 R, 1 BB, 1 K
Home Runs: STL: Galarraga (1, solo, 2nd) | BAL: Buford (1, solo, 6th)
Player of the Game: Ray Lankford (2-for-4, 3 RBI, game-changing triple)
Series Standing: St. Louis leads 3–1 (best-of-7)

Grantland Rice Commentary — Game 4
In the amber glow of Camden Yards, the Cardinals inched ever closer to triumph, seizing a victory carved from grit and nerve. Ray Lankford stood tallest, a man who met the moment with the surety of one destined for October lore. His triple, lashed deep into the Baltimore night, was not just a swing of the bat but a hammer stroke, splitting the game in two and silencing a crowd that had gathered in hope.
The game had begun as a tug-of-war, each side trading early blows — Galarraga’s home run answered by Buford’s defiance, Anderson striking with his bat as the Orioles threatened to seize momentum. Yet the Cardinals would not break. Osborne yielded hits but never the lead, Agosto steadied the ship, and at last Lee Smith strode forth, broad-shouldered and unbending, to bolt the door in the ninth.
Baltimore, for all their base hits, found themselves haunted by emptiness. Ten runners marooned, chances squandered, a lineup that once thundered now searching for its voice. Ripken swung, but the ball fell harmlessly; Palmeiro doubled, but his bat could not summon the decisive blow. Each opportunity slipped away like sand through a clenched fist, leaving only regret.
For St. Louis, this was more than a win; it was confirmation. They have come to embody persistence, the kind of baseball that thrives not on spectacle but on execution. They do not overwhelm with home runs but instead manufacture their destiny through patience, contact, and timely thunder when it is most needed.
So now the series stands upon the edge, the Cardinals a single step from glory. They will rise tomorrow with the dawn, one game away from finishing what they began. And Baltimore, proud and battered, must find a way to kindle fire from embers, lest this tale close without their song.

Game 5
Venue: Oriole Park at Camden Yards
Weather: Clear skies, 54°F, wind left to right at 9 mph
Attendance: 48,200
Final Score:
St. Louis 1992 Cardinals — 3
Baltimore 1995 Orioles — 0 (10 innings)
Winning Pitcher: Lee Smith (2.0 IP, 0 H, 0 R, 0 BB, 2 K)
Losing Pitcher: Arthur Rhodes (2.0 IP, 1 H, 3 ER, 3 BB, 2 K)
Save: None (Smith closed it out for the win)
Home Runs: None
Player of the Game: Rheal Cormier (8.0 IP, 3 H, 0 R, 3 BB, 5 K)

Grantland Rice Commentary
Upon the green stage of Camden Yards, where shadows of twilight draped the field in a hushed suspense, the Cardinals and Orioles fought a duel of silence — a contest of nerves where every pitch carried the weight of destiny. Rheal Cormier, unheralded yet unyielding, carved eight scoreless innings with the calm of a craftsman. Each out was a brick laid in the wall of defiance, standing against the proud banners of Baltimore.
On the opposite hill, Mike Mussina delivered a symphony of command. His fastball sang to the corners, his curve bent like a painter’s brushstroke, and for seven innings he kept the Cardinals in check. But fate, that eternal companion of October, does not dwell in box scores alone. She resides in the tension of late innings, where patient swings and weary arms converge.
It was there, in the 10th inning, that St. Louis seized its hour. Ozzie Smith stole away like a fox, Peña pressed with daring, and Ray Lankford set the table. Then came Milt Thompson, bat steady, eyes clear, and with one mighty stroke he split the right-field gap. Three runs crossed, three nails hammered into the coffin of Baltimore’s hope.
The Orioles, proud yet undone, watched their bats fall silent one final time. Cal Ripken, the Iron Man, could not summon a spark. Rafael Palmeiro’s doubles were marooned upon empty bases. And so the cheers of Camden Yards faded into sighs, while the Cardinals leapt as conquerors upon enemy ground.
Thus ended the tale of Series #234: the Cardinals of 1992, dismissed by many, crowned in glory by few. Baseball once more revealed her oldest lesson — that greatness is not always found in the names etched in lights, but in the men who rise when the moment calls. And so, in the annals of the Field of Dreams, the Redbirds take their place, champions born not of fame, but of fire.

1992 St. Louis Cardinals Win Series 4 Games To 1

Series MVP:

(.353, 7 RBI, 2 2B,1 3B, 6 H, 5 R, 1 SB, 1.088 OPS, 3 RBI clincher)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #235



2023 Los Angeles Dodgers
Record: 102-62
Finish: Lost in NLDS
Manager: Dave Roberts
Ball Park; Dodger Stadium
WAR Leader: Mookie Betts (8.6)
Franchise Record: 8-9
2023 Season Record: 1-2
Hall of Famers: 0
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/LAD/2023.shtml

The 2023 Dodgers entered the season carrying the weight of modern baseball dominance — a perennial playoff team with resources, depth, and star quality. Though hit by injuries and uncertainty in their rotation, the lineup was stacked: Mookie Betts and Freddie Freeman delivered MVP-caliber seasons, Will Smith and Max Muncy offered steady power, and a young core of arms tried to back up veterans like Clayton Kershaw. Dave Roberts managed the team to a 100-win campaign, underscoring the Dodgers’ unmatched consistency in the 21st century. The year also marked Shohei Ohtani’s looming arrival, but even without him, the 2023 squad stood as a testament to the organization’s ability to reload and remain at the forefront of the National League picture.

1950 Boston Braves
Record: 83-71
Finish: 4th in NL
Manager: Billy Southworth
Ball Park: Braves Field
WAR Leder: Sid Gordon (6.4)
Franchise Record: 2-7
1950 Season Record: 2-3
Hall of Famers: (2)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/BSN/1950.shtml

The 1950 Braves were just three years removed from their dramatic pennant run in 1948, but by this season the club was beginning to show the strains of transition. Managed by Billy Southworth, they finished fifth in the National League at 83–71. Still, the roster carried genuine star power: Warren Spahn, already establishing himself as one of the greatest left-handed pitchers of all time, anchored the rotation. Veteran Johnny Sain was still in the fold, though fading from his late-1940s dominance. At the plate, Bob Elliott remained the club’s cornerstone, while players like Earl Torgeson and Sid Gordon provided solid production. This team represented the Braves’ final years in Boston before their eventual move to Milwaukee in 1953, standing as a bridge between the glory of their ’48 flag and the club’s postwar decline.
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Heaven’s Dugout — Pregame Show



Panel: Al Michaels, Bill James, Reggie Jackson
Host: [rotating moderator role handled by Michaels in this case]

Segment 1 – Setting the Stage

Al Michaels (Host):
“Good evening, folks. From the cornfields of Iowa, we welcome you to another edition of Heaven’s Dugout. Tonight, we preview Series 235 — the 2023 Los Angeles Dodgers meeting the 1950 Boston Braves. It’s a collision of eras: the modern juggernaut Dodgers and a Braves team built on grit and the left arm of Warren Spahn. Bill, when you first saw this matchup, what struck you most?”

Bill James:
“What strikes me is contrast. The Dodgers are built for power, depth, and versatility — they shift lineups like chess pieces. The Braves of 1950? More limited offensively, but with Spahn, they’ve got one of the greatest tactical weapons in baseball history. It’s an unfair fight in some ways, but baseball has always been about the one pitcher who can turn the table. That’s the fulcrum of this series.”

Reggie Jackson:
“Bill’s right, but let me tell you something: don’t sell short the attitude of a team like the ’50 Braves. They played hard, they played tough, and they believed in each other. Spahn’s gonna keep them in it, but it’s about the bats behind him. Can they string together enough to hang with Mookie and Freddie? That’s the question.”

Segment 2 – Key Matchups

Michaels:
“Let’s talk head-to-head. Reggie, I’ll start with you — what’s the marquee duel you’ll be watching?”

Reggie Jackson:
“I want Spahn versus Betts. Old school against new school. Mookie’s got discipline, power, speed, the whole package. But Spahn had that screwball command, he had guts, he never gave in. Whoever wins that battle, wins momentum.”

Bill James:
“For me, it’s the Braves lineup against the Dodgers bullpen. The 2023 Dodgers pen was elite at times, with Brusdar Graterol, Evan Phillips, Alex Vesia. In ’50, once you got past Spahn, the Braves were vulnerable. Southworth needed length from his ace. But the Dodgers can shorten games. That contrast is decisive.”

Michaels:
“And Freddie Freeman against Johnny Sain if he gets a start — lefty bat against a righty who, by 1950, wasn’t quite the Sain of ’48. Could be fireworks.”

Segment 3 – Historical Perspective

Michaels:
“Bill, put the Braves in historical context for us. This was the twilight of the franchise in Boston, wasn’t it?”

Bill James:
“Yes. The Braves in 1950 were respectable but clearly declining from that brief postwar high of 1948. Within three years, they’d leave Boston altogether. So this team is like a last gasp of that era. For players like Spahn and Elliott, it was a moment of pride before transition. For the Dodgers, 2023 represents something else entirely — continuity. Year after year, they’re in October. It’s a dynasty without multiple titles, but a dynasty nonetheless.”

Reggie Jackson:
“You know, Bill, you hit on something — pride. That Boston team didn’t have the depth, but they had pride. I love that. On the other hand, these Dodgers — this is a team that expects to win. That’s dangerous, but it can also backfire if you take someone lightly. So the legacy angle? It’s about whether this Braves team gets remembered for one more upset, or whether the Dodgers keep building their modern case for greatness.”

Segment 4 – Predictions & Closing Thoughts

Michaels:
“Time to put the cards on the table. Reggie, who wins this series?”

Reggie Jackson:
“Dodgers in five. Spahn steals one, but that lineup’s too much.”

Bill James:
“I’ll say Dodgers in six. Spahn can give them two chances, and in baseball history, one swing can tilt an entire series. But the depth is overwhelming in Los Angeles’ favor.”

Al Michaels:
“And I’ll frame it this way — the Braves have to play perfect baseball. The Dodgers don’t. That tells you the uphill climb Boston faces. Still, stranger things have happened on this field.”

[Music swells, cameras pull back to show the full panel at the desk.]

Michaels:
“That wraps up our pregame coverage. Series 235 begins soon — 2023 Los Angeles Dodgers versus the 1950 Boston Braves, from the Field of Dreams in Iowa. Stay tuned.”

Introducing the Broadcast Crew for the series:
Boog Schiambi and Harold Reynolds

[Camera cuts to the broadcast booth overlooking the Field of Dreams ballpark. The cornfield glows golden in the late afternoon sun as fans settle in.]

Boog Sciambi (Play-by-Play):
“Welcome, everybody, to the Field of Dreams. You can feel it in the air — history about to be made again here in Dyersville, Iowa. Tonight we open Series 235, a best-of-seven between the 2023 Los Angeles Dodgers and the 1950 Boston Braves. Boog Sciambi with you, alongside Harold Reynolds. And Harold, it’s not often you get to call a matchup where seventy-three years of baseball evolution collide on one field.”

Harold Reynolds (Color):
“Boog, it gives me chills. You look at these Dodgers — Mookie Betts, Freddie Freeman, Clayton Kershaw — a team built for power and consistency. Then across the way you’ve got Warren Spahn and the Braves, a scrappy club that represents the last great stand of Boston baseball before the franchise moved on. What we’re seeing is eras clashing, and that’s what this whole series is about.”

Boog Sciambi:
“And it’s not just about statistics. It’s about legacy, pride, and a little bit of magic in this place. These players walk out of the corn, and suddenly the decades melt away. Harold, what do you think the key is for Boston if they’re going to push the Dodgers?”

Harold Reynolds:
“They’ve got to lean on Spahn, no question. He can steal a game or two with that left arm. And they need to play clean, sharp baseball — manufacture runs, take extra bases, do the little things. Because if you try to slug it out with the Dodgers, you’re in trouble.”

Boog Sciambi:
“And for Los Angeles, it’s about sticking to their identity: deep lineup, relentless pitching, and not letting up. These guys expect to win. But Harold, on this field, we’ve learned to expect the unexpected.”

Harold Reynolds (grinning):
“That’s why we’re here, Boog. History’s ready to unfold. Let’s play ball.”

[Camera pans over the players warming up, the crowd buzzing, and the familiar shot of the cornfield swaying under the sky as the broadcast rolls toward first pitch.]



Bob Costas Sit-Down — Series 235

Recorded the day before Game 1 in a rustic farmhouse studio set up just beyond the outfield in Iowa. A round wooden table, two chairs, and the warm glow of lamplight frame the conversation.

Bob Costas:
“Welcome, everyone. Series 235 of the Field of Dreams brings together two fascinating clubs — the 2023 Los Angeles Dodgers and the 1950 Boston Braves. With me are two men who represent the very heart of these teams. For the Braves, the legendary left-hander, Warren Spahn. For the Dodgers, a modern cornerstone and perennial MVP candidate, Mookie Betts. Gentlemen, thank you for being here.”

Costas to Spahn:
“Warren, your Braves of 1950 stood in the shadow of that remarkable 1948 pennant run. Yet you were still in your prime, winning 21 games that season. What does it mean to step back onto the field here in Iowa and face a club from more than seventy years in the future?”

Warren Spahn:
“Well, Bob, baseball’s a funny thing. The uniforms change, the stadiums get bigger, but 60 feet 6 inches is always the same. In 1950 we weren’t the favorites, but we fought. Coming here, it’s about proving that kind of team can hang with anybody — even a powerhouse like the Dodgers. I always believed if you’ve got heart on the mound, you give your team a chance. That’s how I’ll pitch in this series.”

Costas to Betts:
“Mookie, the Dodgers of your era are known for star power, consistency, and an ability to rise in big moments. How do you approach a matchup against a team from another age, led by someone as decorated as Mr. Spahn?”

Mookie Betts:
“Bob, first off, it’s an honor to share the field with legends. I grew up hearing the names, and now I get to see them across the diamond. For us, the focus doesn’t change — we play Dodgers baseball: put pressure on defenses, pitch deep, and never let up. It’s special, though, to test ourselves against history. That’s why this tournament is so much fun — it connects the generations.”

Costas (smiling, leaning back):
“And that’s the essence of this whole endeavor — a test of eras, and a celebration of the timelessness of the game. Warren Spahn, Mookie Betts, thank you. Gentlemen, best of luck in Series 235.”

[The camera fades to a shot of the diamond outside, framed by endless rows of corn. The series awaits.]

Grantland Rice Preview — Field of Dreams Series 235

From the cornfields of Iowa rises once again the eternal pageant of baseball, where time bends and history whispers among the rustling stalks. In Series 235, the curtain lifts on a drama of contrasts: the 2023 Los Angeles Dodgers, a mighty edifice of modern precision and power, face the 1950 Boston Braves, a proud remnant of a bygone era, still led by the indomitable arm of Warren Spahn.

Here is a meeting of ages — a sleek machine forged in the laboratories of analytics against a team hardened in the fires of grit and tradition. The Dodgers arrive with Mookie Betts, a star whose every stride glimmers with speed and assurance, and Freddie Freeman, a craftsman of the bat as steady as the tide. Behind them stands a deep host of sluggers and arms, a roster that speaks to depth unmatched in any era.

Yet the Braves are not without their answer. They bring forth Spahn, a southpaw of courage and cunning, whose left arm could stop the march of empires. Around him gather Bob Elliott, a veteran whose swing carried echoes of thunder, and Earl Torgeson, rugged and determined, the heart of a fighting lineup. These men wear the twilight hues of a franchise soon to leave Boston, but here in Iowa, they find a final chance to etch their pride upon the golden ledger.

So we come to the clash: one club emblematic of baseball’s polished present, the other a memory reborn of its storied past. When the first ball leaves Spahn’s hand and Kershaw answers in kind, the ages shall bow their heads and listen, for this is no mere series. It is a dialogue across generations, spoken in the timeless language of bat and ball, where glory waits to crown those who dare reach for it.

[Nick Soulis]

Series #235



Dodgers Deliver Decisive Blow
Los Angeles storms past the 1950 Braves in Six



Game 1
Venue: Dodger Stadium
Weather: Cloudy, 67°F (wind left to right, 9 mph)
Attendance: 54,219
Final Score:
Boston 1950 Braves – 4
Los Angeles 2023 Dodgers – 6
Winning Pitcher: Bobby Miller (1-0) – 6.1 IP, 6 H, 4 ER, 5 K
Losing Pitcher: Warren Spahn (0-1) – 2.0 IP, 4 H, 5 ER, 3 K
Save: Evan Phillips (1) – 1.0 IP, 1 H, 0 R
Home Runs: Boston: Tommy Holmes 2 (2nd inning solo; 6th inning solo)
Los Angeles: James Outman (1st inning solo), Jason Heyward (3rd inning, 1 on)
Player of the Game: James Outman (2-for-4, HR, 2B, 3 RBI, 2 R)
Series Standing: Dodgers lead 1–0

Grantland Rice Commentary
The first clash of Series 235 unfolded beneath the California night, and it was the youngest Dodger who wrote the first line of the story. James Outman, little known in the shadow of giants like Betts and Freeman, rose to the moment with the swing of destiny — a home run to open, a double to decide, and the spirit of October carried in his bat.
For the Braves, the old warrior Warren Spahn took the ball with pride, yet the fates were cruel. The Dodgers struck swiftly, their bats finding daylight where once his command ruled. And though Tommy Holmes answered with power of his own, twice sending the ball soaring into the night, the burden proved too heavy. The Braves fought gallantly, but the hill was too steep.Bobby Miller, young and untested in such a theater, showed resolve enough to carry the Dodgers into the later frames. Behind him, the modern relievers closed ranks like sentries of a new age, where one man no longer bears the load alone. Thus did Los Angeles claim the first victory, 6–4, and seize the upper hand.Yet baseball is never written in one night. The Braves, though down, are not vanquished. They carry with them the pride of Boston and the stubborn defiance of their age. The Dodgers, for all their might, know well that history does not grant mercy — it demands proof, again and again. And so the story marches on, with the cornfields listening, the mountains watching, and the echoes of the game resounding across generations.

Game 2
Venue: Dodger Stadium
Weather: Rain, 65°F (wind out to right, 7 mph)
Attendance: 53,877
Final Score:
Boston 1950 Braves – 7
Los Angeles 2023 Dodgers – 8
Winning Pitcher: Evan Phillips (1-0, despite a blown save)
Losing Pitcher: Bob Hogue (0-1)
Home Runs: Boston: Connie Ryan (4th, solo), Sam Jethroe (7th, solo), Bob Elliott (9th, 2-run)
Los Angeles: J.D. Martinez (3rd, solo), Freddie Freeman (3rd, 3-run), Will Smith (6th, 2-run), Mookie Betts (9th, walk-off solo)
Player of the Game: Freddie Freeman (2-for-2, HR, 3 RBI, 2 BB)
Series Standing: Dodgers lead 2–0



Grantland Rice Commentary
In the rain at Dodger Stadium, the game was played as though touched by the hand of fate. The Braves struck with courage, sending ball after ball into the night sky — Ryan with his blast, Jethroe with his speed, Elliott with the thunder of a late home run. Their bats told a story of defiance, of men unwilling to bow.Yet across from them stood the Dodgers, heirs to modern might. Freeman, with the calm of a master craftsman, chiseled runs from each opportunity, his bat as steady as a sculptor’s hand. Around him the lineup thundered, and the game tilted like a storm-tossed ship. Still the Braves fought, still they answered, until the final act arrived.
It was then that Mookie Betts stepped forth, a player born for the moment, carrying in his swing the weight of a city, the pride of an era. With one stroke he ended the night, and the crowd erupted as if the heavens themselves had joined in chorus. The rain did not dampen the joy; it baptized the triumph. And so the Dodgers march ahead, 2–0, while the Braves return to Boston with hearts heavy yet unbroken. Baseball, timeless and eternal, reminds us again that glory rests not always on the many, but often upon the one — and on this night, that one was Mookie Betts.

Game 3
Venue: Braves Field
Weather: Cloudy, 56°F (wind left to right, 12 mph)
Attendance: 47,932
Final Score:
Los Angeles 2023 Dodgers – 0
Boston 1950 Braves – 7
Winning Pitcher: Bob Chipman (1-0) – 6.1 IP, 3 H, 0 R, 4 K
Losing Pitcher: Julio Urías (0-1) – 5.0 IP, 4 H, 2 ER, 5 K
Home Runs: Bob Elliott (2, solo, 6th)
Player of the Game: Bob Chipman
Series Standing: Dodgers lead 2–1

Grantland Rice Commentary
On a cool night at Braves Field, the past rose up and struck a mighty blow. The Dodgers, proud and powerful, came east with momentum at their backs. Yet here, beneath the shadows of Boston’s grandstand, it was the Braves who wrote the tale — bold, defiant, unyielding.
Bob Chipman, no household name, pitched with the command of a master. Each pitch was flung like a gauntlet, silencing the thunderous bats of Los Angeles. Six innings and more, his workman’s hand carved a path of zeros across the scoreboard. Around him the Braves gathered, their bats answering with timely precision: Elliott with a drive to the far reaches, Jethroe with the speed of lightning, Torgeson with the steady hand of resolve.And so the night belonged to Boston, their cheers rolling like waves across a ballpark that once longed for glory. They reminded us that heroes are not always the legends etched in bronze, but sometimes the journeymen who seize their moment.For Los Angeles, it was a humbling — a reminder that destiny does not walk alone, and that even giants must stumble. For Boston, it was hope reborn, a promise that the series is not yet decided. The game marches forward, its story unfolding, and now history waits on Spahn to speak once more.

Game 4
Venue: Braves Field
Attendance: 46,715
Weather: Cloudy, 53°F (wind in from left, 12 mph)
Final Score:
Los Angeles 2023 Dodgers – 9
Boston 1950 Braves – 5
Winning Pitcher: Dustin May (1–0) – 5.2 IP, 3 H, 3 ER, 5 K
Losing Pitcher: Johnny Antonelli (0–1) – 1.2 IP, 5 H, 6 ER, 4 K
Home Runs: Freddie Freeman (2, 2-run, 2nd)
Player of the Game: Max Muncy – 2-for-3, 2 2B, 2 RBI, 2 BB
Series Standing: Dodgers lead 3–1

Grantland Rice — Postgame Commentary
The fourth act unfolded beneath a chill Boston sky, and the Dodgers wrote their intent upon the scoreboard before the home crowd could draw a steady breath. They came not with one blow but with many: patient eyes that would not be fooled, and bats that thundered when the moment called. In the first inning, discipline became destiny; in the second and third, it blossomed into a harvest of runs.Max Muncy was the craftsman of the hour, carving lines into the outfield alleys as though he knew exactly where the night would yield. Freddie Freeman followed with a swing as calm as sunrise, sending the ball arcing to the far fence and the Braves into the shadow of the task ahead. Around them surged a host of steady hands — Martinez with timely sting, Rojas with a triple struck like a bell — and suddenly the tale had turned from contest to pursuit.Dustin May did not seek poetry, only outs. He found enough of them to carry the Dodger standard beyond the middle frames, and though Boston rallied in spurts — Holmes with a sure stroke, Elliott with his stubborn bat, Crandall with the echo of hope — the deficit stood like a cathedral, unshaken by the passing chorus.So the ledger reads three games to one, and Los Angeles stands upon the brink. Yet baseball, that old and faithful friend of the improbable, places one more card on the table: the left arm of Warren Spahn. If there is to be defiance, it must come by that arm, steadied by pride and memory, and by a club that has tasted the sweetness of survival before. One more night, and perhaps another, the cornfields will listen for the sound of bat upon ball and decide whether this story ends with a flourish or extends into legend.

Game 5
Venue: Braves Field
Weather: Rain, 50°F (wind out to left, 6 mph)
Attendance: 46,211
Final Score:
Los Angeles 2023 Dodgers – 4
Boston 1950 Braves – 7
Winning Pitcher: Warren Spahn (1-1) – 5.2 IP, 2 H, 2 ER, 8 K
Losing Pitcher: Bobby Miller (1-1) – 5.1 IP, 5 H, 3 ER, 4 BB, 4 K
Save: Bill Hogue (1) – 0.1 IP, 1 K
Home Runs: Dodgers: Freddie Freeman (3, 2-run, 1st), David Peralta (1, solo, 8th), Max Muncy (1, solo, 9th)
Braves: None
Player of the Game: Warren Spahn
Series Standing: Dodgers lead 3–2

Grantland Rice Commentary
In the gray drizzle of a Boston night, the great Warren Spahn stood where legends are made — upon the mound with his team’s very existence at stake. To falter was to see another man’s champagne poured on his field; to triumph was to write another stanza in his long and noble tale. With a fierce will that echoed through the stands of Braves Field, Spahn bent but did not break, surrendering a single thunderous blow to Freddie Freeman, only to rise stronger as the contest grew older.
From the shadows of bygone time came Tommy Holmes, bat in hand, driving home the hopes of Boston with the sharp crack of leather on wood. Five runs he chased across the plate, each a dagger against the swift tide of elimination. Around him, Gordon, Torgeson, and Elliott found ways to keep the flame burning, refusing to allow their summer’s dream to be snuffed by the power of the Dodgers. The Dodgers, to their credit, answered as champions do. Freeman thundered, Peralta answered off the bench, Muncy raised a cry in the ninth — but the night belonged to the Braves. For when the old warrior Spahn departed, he had left behind more than a line on a scorecard. He left resolve, he left hope, and he left the reminder that the game is never over until the last out is made.So the page turns westward once more, to Los Angeles, where destiny waits. Will the modern colossus of Chavez Ravine seal the crown, or will the gallant Braves of 1950, carried by Spahn’s defiance, claw yet again from the brink? This is the eternal theater of baseball — where past and present converge, and hope takes its stand against inevitability.

Game 6
Venue: Dodger Stadium
Weather: Clear skies, 55°F (wind in from right, 8 mph)
Attendance: 52,814
Final Score:
Boston 1950 Braves – 1,
Los Angeles 2023 Dodgers – 13
Winning Pitcher: Clayton Kershaw (1–0) – 6.0 IP, 4 H, 1 ER, 5 K
Losing Pitcher: Vern Bickford (0–1) – 2.2 IP, 6 H, 4 ER, 3 K
Save: Shelby Miller (1) – 3.0 IP, 0 H, 0 R, 4 K
Home Runs:Braves: Connie Ryan (2, solo, 2nd)
Dodgers: Jason Heyward (2, solo, 2nd), Max Muncy (2, solo, 2nd), Mookie Betts (2, solo, 3rd), J.D. Martinez (2, 2-run, 3rd)
Player of the Game: Clayton Kershaw – 6 IP, 1 R, 5 K, clinching win

Grantland Rice Commentary
The curtain fell tonight at Dodger Stadium with a roar that echoed through baseball’s timeless corridors. Under the clear California sky, the 2023 Dodgers crowned themselves champions of Series 235, and they did so with a display of force and artistry that would have stirred even the sternest old ballplayers from their rest. It was Clayton Kershaw who took the ball, burdened by years of October doubts, and it was Kershaw who answered those doubts with courage and command. For six innings, the left arm that has carved a Hall of Fame path gave no quarter, permitting but a lone thunderbolt from Connie Ryan. Behind him, the Dodgers’ bats thundered — Freeman with his masterful swing, Betts with his flash of power, Martinez with timely might, and Muncy driving daggers into Boston’s hopes. The Braves fought as men of grit, their banners raised proudly from a bygone era. They had stretched the Dodgers, tested their resolve, and left behind the indelible reminder that the game is never surrendered easily. Yet in this contest of ages, they could not match the relentless depth of their modern foe.
And so, as the final out nestled into a Dodger glove, history’s pages turned. A modern powerhouse had written its chapter in the book of dreams. Los Angeles, champions at last, stood tall beneath the lights, their laughter and cheers swirling with the smoke of victory. Baseball, eternal as ever, whispered again: heroes rise, legends endure, and the game goes on.

2023 Los Angeles Dodgers Win Series 4 Games To 2

Series MVP:

(11/22, 3 HR, 9 RBI, 2 2B, 5 R, 1.000 SLG, .577 OBP)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #236



1949 Philadelphia Athletics
Record: 81-73
Finish: 5th in AL
Manager: Connie Mack
Ball Park: shibe Park
WAR Leader: Eddie Joost (7.0)
Franchise Record: 6-18
1949 Season Record: 3-3
Hall of Famers: (2)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/PHA/1949.shtml

The ’49 A’s were Connie Mack’s final full-season club, a team caught between fading tradition and a few bright sparks of talent. First baseman Ferris Fain, a gritty contact hitter, and outfielder Elmer Valo led a lineup that relied on patience and small-ball tactics. On the mound, war hero Lou Brissie provided heart and resilience, overcoming serious injuries to serve as the staff’s anchor. While the A’s lacked depth and were overshadowed in the American League, they embodied determination and the last flickers of Mack’s half-century-long tenure in Philadelphia.

1913 New York Yankees
Record: 57-94
Finish: 7th in AL
Manager: Frank Chance
Ball Park: Polo Grounds
WAR Leader: Ray Caldwell (4.4)
Franchise Record: 17-3
1913 Season Record: 3-0
Hall of famers: (1)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/NYY/1913.shtml

The 1913 Yankees were a franchise in transition, still struggling for identity in the pre-Ruth era. Under player-manager Frank Chance, the “Peerless Leader” of Cubs fame, the team was trying to build credibility after years of mediocrity. Shortstop Roger Peckinpaugh, just 22, already carried the captain’s mantle and symbolized a new foundation. Their pitching staff, headlined by inconsistent but talented arms like Ray Caldwell, gave them potential but also volatility. This was a scrappy, underdog Yankees team — more builders than conquerors — but one eager to prove its place in history long before the dynasty years arrived.
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Heaven’s Dugout – Introductory Show (Series #236)



Panel: Bob Costas (Host), Mark DeRosa, Bruce Levine, Hazel Mae
Matchup: 1949 Philadelphia Athletics vs. 1913 New York Yankees

Segment 1 – Setting the Stage: A Crossroads Series

Bob Costas (Host):
“Good evening, and welcome to Heaven’s Dugout. We are in Dyersville, Iowa, for the unveiling of Series #236 — the 1949 Philadelphia Athletics against the 1913 New York Yankees. This is not your typical Yankees vs. A’s matchup. We’re catching both clubs at very different turning points in their histories. And I think that makes this series a fascinating study.”

Mark DeRosa:
“Bob, what jumps out to me is that Connie Mack is still there in ’49. He’s 86 years old, managing his 49th consecutive season, and he’s still putting on the suit every day. That’s unbelievable. This is not the powerhouse Mack clubs of the ’20s or ’30s, but it’s his last stand. The players knew they were part of something historic, and that’s a motivator.”

Bruce Levine:
“And on the flip side, the 1913 Yankees are before Ruth, before Gehrig, before DiMaggio. This was a franchise struggling for identity. They were playing at the Polo Grounds, still the ‘Highlanders’ in people’s minds. Frank Chance, who had been a great player with the Cubs, was trying to bring legitimacy. It’s a story of two clubs looking for footing at very different ends of the timeline.”

Hazel Mae:
“And I love the visual — Connie Mack in his straw hat, Frank Chance still young and fiery. One man at the end of a dynasty of his own making, the other trying to start one. That contrast is why the Field of Dreams stage is perfect.”

Segment 2 – Key Players & Matchups to Watch



Costas:
“Let’s talk about the players. Because while neither of these teams is loaded with the household names we think of with Yankees or Athletics history, there’s plenty of intrigue.”

DeRosa:
“Ferris Fain jumps out on the ’49 A’s side. This guy could flat-out hit. Two batting titles in the early ’50s. He’s a contact machine, gets on base, and plays with edge. Pair him with Elmer Valo, who could spray the ball around, and you’ve got an offense that can manufacture runs.”

Levine:
“New York’s answer is Roger Peckinpaugh. At 22 years old in 1913, he’s already their captain at shortstop. Smart, steady defender, he becomes a big piece of Yankee lore down the road. And don’t overlook their pitchers — guys like Ray Caldwell, who could dominate when locked in, but also implode. That volatility makes this series unpredictable.”

Mae:
“And the pitching depth matters because the A’s staff in ’49 was thin. They leaned heavily on Lou Brissie, who was a war hero, came back from devastating leg injuries, and still made the All-Star team. That’s a storyline I’ll be watching closely. Can he carry them?”

DeRosa:
“Exactly, Hazel. Brissie’s a gamer. If he gets one of those Iowa nights with the ball moving, he could shut down this Yankee lineup.”

Segment 3 – Legacy, Pride, and Historical Context

Costas:
“One of the joys of this project is the historical resonance. So let’s take a step back. What does this matchup mean in the larger scope of baseball history?”

Levine:
“For the Yankees, this is about proving there was baseball before Ruth. Too often we think the story begins in 1920, but those early Yankee teams were grinding, laying foundations. If this ’13 club can win here, it forces us to remember that heritage.”

DeRosa:
“And for the Athletics, this is a chance to show that Connie Mack’s legacy wasn’t just the glory years. Even late in his tenure, his teams were battling, competing, representing Philadelphia with pride. A win here would validate the players who kept grinding even when the franchise was fading.”

Mae:
“And I think for fans, it’s about connection. Philadelphia lost the A’s decades ago. These games are a reminder of what once was. And for Yankees fans, it’s humbling — seeing the pinstripes before the dynasty, when they were the underdog.”

Costas:
“Well said. That’s the essence of this project — honoring forgotten chapters of baseball’s story.”

Segment 4 – Predictions & Final Thoughts

Costas:
“All right, predictions time. Series #236, who takes it?”

DeRosa:
“I’m going A’s. Fain and Brissie give them enough stability. I think they grind this out in six.”

Levine:
“I’ll take the Yankees. Chance’s leadership and Peckinpaugh’s presence in the infield will stabilize them. Plus, their pitching, if it holds together, can steal games. I say New York in seven.”

Mae:
“I’m siding with Connie Mack one last time. The ’49 Athletics have a point to prove — that they weren’t just a footnote. Philadelphia in five.”

Costas (closing):
“So there you have it — differing views, and that’s what makes this matchup intriguing. The corn is ready, the crowd is gathering, and the past is about to come alive once again. Series #236 — the 1949 Philadelphia Athletics and the 1913 New York Yankees — first pitch is just around the corner.”

Official broadcast team for series:


Russ Hodges:
“Hello everybody, and welcome to the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa. I’m Russ Hodges, alongside Steve Lyons, and we are thrilled to bring you Series number 236 in this grand tournament — the 1949 Philadelphia Athletics meeting the 1913 New York Yankees. Two teams separated by decades, united here in the cornfields, with history on the line.”

Steve Lyons:
“Russ, this is what makes the Field of Dreams so special. These aren’t the dynastic Yankees we’re used to talking about — this is the scrappy 1913 squad under Frank Chance, still trying to carve out an identity before Ruth and Gehrig came along. And opposite them, Connie Mack’s A’s, a club near the end of the line, but with stars like Ferris Fain and Lou Brissie trying to keep the flame alive. It’s almost like watching the end of one era face the start of another.”

Hodges:
“That’s right, Steve. And don’t let the lack of marquee names fool you. This is baseball in its purest form — two clubs with grit, pride, and the opportunity to prove something across time. The Yankees want to show they existed before the dynasty, and the Athletics want to remind us that Connie Mack’s legacy wasn’t just built in the glory years. Every pitch matters here in Iowa.”

Lyons:
“And I love the setting — look behind us, Russ. The cornfields, the crowd leaning in close, the scoreboard lit up with names you might not know, but who are about to be immortalized in this tournament. This is going to be fun.”

Hodges (closing):
“So stay with us — the first pitch of Game One between the 1949 Philadelphia Athletics and the 1913 New York Yankees is coming up, right here on the Field of Dreams.”

[Nick Soulis]

Series #236



A Brighter Day For Mack
In His Final Season, Connie Leads A's Past Rival Chance



Series 236, Game 1
At Shibe Park
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 65°F, wind blowing left to right at 9 mph
Attendance: 30,792
Final Score:
1913 New York Yankees 4
1949 Philadelphia Athletics 6
Winning Pitcher: Joe Coleman (1-0)
Losing Pitcher: Ray Keating (0-1)
Player of the Game: Elmer Valo (3-5, HR, 2B, 3 RBI, 2 R)
Series: Philadelphia leads 1-0

Grantland Rice Commentary
Out here in the golden autumn light of Philadelphia, the story was not of dynasties or legends already etched in stone, but of the overlooked and underappreciated. Elmer Valo, whose name is seldom sung among the immortals, carved his initials into the October breeze with a blow that shook Shibe Park — a home run that lifted his club and his city from shadows into glory.Joe Coleman, a man of steady hands and stout heart, worked the full distance. He bore the burden of Connie Mack’s long and often thankless twilight years and delivered a victory that seemed more than one man’s triumph. In truth, it was a win for the white-haired patriarch himself, who for one afternoon saw his club rise as in better days.And across the diamond stood Hal Chase, the riddle of his age. On this day, he was every inch the fielder and hitter his admirers claimed. No hint of shadow marred his glove or his bat. He played clean, he played true, and in so doing held back the whispers that stalk him still.
So the tale begins: Mack with hope reborn, the Yankees with their armor chipped, and a series ripe with intrigue. The cornfield has spoken once, and it tells us the story will not be simple.

Series 236, Game 2
At Shibe Park
Weather: Clear, 67°F
Attendance: 31,604
Final Score:
1913 New York Yankees 0
1949 Philadelphia Athletics 4
Winning Pitcher: Lou Brissie (1-0)
Losing Pitcher: Ray Caldwell (0-1)
HR: None
Player of the Game: Lou Brissie (9.0 IP, 2 H, 0 R, 5 K, Shutout)
Series: Philadelphia leads 2-0

Grantland Rice Commentary
In the dusk of Shibe Park, there came a left arm and a quiet courage that silenced the mighty Yankees. Lou Brissie, whose very presence upon a mound is a triumph over pain and fate, bent New York to his will with nine innings of mastery. His pitches whispered of resilience, his shutout spoke of redemption, and for a night the cornfields of Iowa seemed to bow before his valor.Elmer Valo, again, was the loyal companion to Brissie’s heroism. With a ringing double, he turned narrow tension into broad assurance, his bat striking chords of confidence in Philadelphia hearts. Twice now he has answered when called, twice now he has been the light by which Connie Mack’s club has traveled forward.
And what of the Yankees? That great, imperious name that has thundered so loudly in this tournament fell silent, muffled by two meager hits. Their proud record trembles, their legacy wavers, and their fabled standard feels for the first time like a fragile thread in the autumn wind.
Hal Chase, enigmatic as ever, stood upon first base with quiet hands and an uncertain soul. He contributed little to break the spell. Each day he resists suspicion, yet each day the shadow lingers, waiting. His is the tale of brilliance burdened.
Thus Mack smiles at last, Brissie stands tall, and the Yankees depart for home diminished. The series now marches into the Polo Grounds, with whispers of reversal and ruin trailing behind.

Series 236, Game 3
At Polo Grounds
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 64°F, wind out to center at 8 mph
Attendance: 33,457
Final Score:
1949 Philadelphia Athletics …… 1
1913 New York Yankees …… 3
Winning Pitcher: George McConnell (1-0)
Losing Pitcher: Bobby Shantz (0-1)
Save: Al Schulz (1)
Player of the Game: George McConnell (7.0 IP, 4 H, 1 ER, 2 K)
Series: Philadelphia leads 2–1

Grantland Rice Commentary
Upon the green at the Polo Grounds, the mighty name of Yankees, long imperiled, rose again upon a cool October breeze. George McConnell, with calm craft, subdued the Athletics’ bats, and Luke Boone lashed a double that split the innings like lightning across a darkened sky. So the pinstripes lived another day, and their aura flickered once more with vigor.
For Connie Mack, it was a night of pause. His men played with fire, stranded chances heavy upon their shoulders, and left him to wait another day for validation. The white-haired patriarch stood upon the dugout steps, the weight of legacy pressing like the autumn dusk itself.
And Hal Chase, elusive as ever, moved like a shadow in plain sight — not failing, not faltering, but not dispelling the whispers either. His every swing is judged, his every step watched, and still he walks the narrow bridge between brilliance and suspicion.
Thus the tale turns: the Yankees, once again alive, the Athletics with redemption deferred. The series breathes, the cornfields listen, and history awaits its next verse.

Series 236, Game 4
At Polo Grounds
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 57°F, wind in from right at 13 mph
Attendance: 34,201
Final Score:
1949 Philadelphia Athletics …… 6
1913 New York Yankees …… 0
Winning Pitcher: Alex Kellner (1-0)
Losing Pitcher: Ray Fisher (0-1)
Player of the Game: Sam Chapman (4-4, 2 HR, 2B, BB, 3 R, 2 RBI)
Series: Philadelphia leads 3–1


Grantland Rice Commentary
Beneath the grand arches of the Polo Grounds, a mighty story was told in bat and ball. Alex Kellner, youthful and strong, stood firm as a tower, permitting but two lonely hits, while his arm traced victory with every pitch. At his side shone Sam Chapman, who strode like a colossus upon the day, striking thunder twice into the October sky, adding a double to gild his triumph, and walking with the serene calm of a man who knew destiny had touched his bat.
And there, in the dugout, sat Connie Mack, his straw hat shading eyes that had seen too many defeats in this land of dreams. But today, at eighty-six, he saw something different: players fighting for him, for his name, for his dignity. Each hit, each run, was a hymn to his long stewardship of the game.The Yankees, proud and imperious in other times, stood silent. Their bats whispered nothing, their aura crumbled in the autumn wind. The Polo Grounds, so often a cathedral for Yankee triumphs, became instead a chamber of doubt, where questions of greatness yielded to the starkness of defeat.Hal Chase, enigmatic as ever, offered but a single hit, his silence louder than his swing. And the whispers remained, carried on the cool breeze, wondering if he would ever free himself of the shadows that clung.So the tale now nears its end: Mack’s redemption at hand, the A’s united by cause, and the Yankees trembling on the edge of collapse. The cornfield whispers not of inevitability, but of men and moments rising at last to seize the light.

Series 236, Game 5
At Polo Grounds
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 59°F, wind in from right at 11 mph
Attendance: 31,977
Final Score:
1949 Philadelphia Athletics …… 8
1913 New York Yankees …… 5
Winning Pitcher: Joe Coleman (2-0)
Losing Pitcher: Russ Ford (0-1)
Save: Dick Fowler (1)
Player of the Game: Sam Chapman (2-4, HR, 3 RBI, 2 R; Series MVP .474, 3 HR, 6 RBI)

Grantland Rice Commentary
In the fading light of the Polo Grounds, a story old as time itself unfolded — not of kings who rose invincible, but of men who fought with heart and found redemption. The Philadelphia Athletics, long seen as footnotes in this grand tournament, lifted their bats and arms for their venerable leader, Connie Mack. And in doing so, they toppled the mighty Yankees.
Sam Chapman stood as the warrior of the day, his bat ringing thrice with authority, his spirit lifting a dugout bound by cause. Each stride of his around the bases was a verse in the hymn the Athletics sang for their old master. Alongside him, Joe Coleman bore the burden on the mound, steady though battered, until Fowler sealed the final note.
Across the diamond, the Yankees, once cloaked in invincibility, unraveled. Their 17–3 record now lay in ruin, their errors and silences echoing louder than their hits. They were no longer the empire of inevitability, but a team humbled before autumn’s judgment.
Hal Chase, the enigma, drifted through the series like a shadow — not disgraced, but not redeemed. His name remains etched in twilight, where suspicion and brilliance forever duel.
And so Connie Mack, the patriarch of Philadelphia, at last tasted triumph in this cornfield of immortals. His hat tipped, his smile rare but true, he walked away not as a relic of the past but as a victor once more. The tale is complete: the A’s win not only a series, but a piece of history for their beloved manager.

1949 Philadelphia Athletics Win Series 4 Games To 1

Series MVP:

(.474, 3 HR, 6 RBI, 5 R, 1.000 SLG, .565 OBP)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #237



1919 Chicago White Sox
Record: 88-52
Finish: Lost in World Series
Manager: Kid Gleason
Ball Park: Comiskey Park
WAR Leader: Eddie Ciccote (9.8)
Franchise Record: 11-7
1919 Season Record: 2-3
Hall of Famers: (3)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/CHW/1919.shtml

1983 Minnesota Twins
Record: 70-92
Finish: 5th in AL West
Manager: Billy Gardner
Ball Park: Metrodome
WAR Leader: John Castino (4.5)
Franchise Record: 5-3
1983 Season Record: 1-1
Hall of Famers: (0)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/MIN/1983.shtml
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heaven’s Dugout — Field of Dreams Series #237: “The Return of the Black Sox”



Host: Bob Costas
Panelists: Kevin Millar | Ozzie Guillen | Mike North | George Will

(The show opens in the rustic Heaven’s Dugout studio in Dyersville, Iowa — the wood-plank backdrop glows softly under golden light, and the cornfield beyond the window sways under the evening sky. A faint echo of Chris Stapleton’s “Starting Over” lingers as Bob Costas welcomes the viewers.)

Segment 1 – A Return from the Shadows

Bob Costas (opening):

“Good evening, everybody. Tonight, we open a series that transcends baseball. The 1919 Chicago White Sox — eight men who broke the covenant of the game — step once more onto a diamond. Opposite them, the 1983 Minnesota Twins, a team with youthful innocence, facing ghosts whose story has haunted the sport for more than a century. Gentlemen, some call this a travesty, others a chance at redemption. Let’s begin there.”

Kevin Millar:

“Bob, I love it. You can’t tell the story of baseball without the ‘19 Sox. Yeah, they did wrong, but this field — this tournament — it’s built for second chances. Joe Jackson hit .375 in that Series. The man never stopped raking. Maybe this is his shot to show what he could’ve done if history hadn’t slammed the door on him.”

Ozzie Guillen (grinning, passionate):

“I played for that organization, Bob, and we live with that ghost every day. People forget — the city of Chicago never got over it. You talk about forgiveness? Then let’s see it. If Joe Jackson walks out of the corn and gets another hit, you clap your hands. You don’t judge him — you enjoy the game he loved.”

Mike North (snapping in, Chicago cadence):

“Hold on, Ozzie. I’m a South Side guy, but come on — they threw the World Series! If Landis were alive, he’d shut this thing down tonight. You can’t make heroes outta guys who tanked games. Redemption’s fine, but let’s not rewrite the rulebook because we get sentimental.”

George Will (measured):

“But Mike, baseball’s morality has always existed in tension with its mythology. The beauty of this setting — the cornfield, the ghosts — is that it allows for reflection, not absolution. The 1919 Sox remind us of how fragile virtue is when money whispers. Yet they also remind us that love for the game survives even disgrace.”

Costas:

“And that, perhaps, is the paradox at the center of this series — the need for justice and the hunger for forgiveness.”

Segment 2 – The Meaning of Shoeless Joe

Costas:

“Let’s zero in on Shoeless Joe. He’s become the moral compass of the dishonest — a man guilty yet innocent, punished yet beloved. Why does he endure in our imagination?”

Will:

“Because he embodies the Shakespearean tragedy in baseball — a man too gifted for his own circumstance. His swing was poetry, his silence damning. We can’t decide whether to condemn or canonize him, so we do both.”

Millar:

“Man, you talk about talent — 408 lifetime on-base in a dead-ball era? Forget it. I just wanna see him lace one into the gap tonight, take that slow jog to second, and smile. That’s what the fans came for.”

Guillen:

“Joe Jackson never talked much, but his bat did. You think those kids on the Twins don’t feel it? They look across and see a ghost who could’ve been the best ever. That’s pressure. That’s respect.”

North:

“Or intimidation, Ozzie. The ‘83 Twins are real people, not storybook characters. They’re out here to win, not play therapist. You think Gaetti’s shaking hands with Joe Jackson because he wants to heal baseball’s soul? No — he’s thinking about parking one off the barn.”

Costas (smiling):

“And yet, that’s what makes the matchup so fascinating — reality colliding with myth.”

Segment 3 – The Matchup: 1919 White Sox vs 1983 Twins



Costas:

“On the field, what are we looking at? Ozzie, you managed in both eras in spirit — what happens between the lines?”

Guillen:

“You got Eddie Cicotte and Lefty Williams — old-school command, ball moving like it’s dancing in the corn. Twins got power: Gaetti, Hrbek, a young Puckett, hungry. But this White Sox team plays angry. They’re playing for their names.”

Millar:

“Don’t underestimate that. Anger’s fuel. These ‘19 guys have been in baseball purgatory for a hundred years. They’ll play like it’s oxygen.”

North:

“And I’ll tell ya this — if the ‘83 Twins take Game 1, that purgatory turns into quicksand. These ghosts’ll start doubting themselves again. History ain’t just baggage — it’s a backpack full of bricks.”

Will:

“But perhaps the cornfield itself is a neutralizer — a pastoral tribunal where the game, stripped of commerce, returns to its essence. Perhaps we’ll see pure baseball, uncorrupted.”

Costas:

“So the question becomes — is this series about winning, or about becoming whole again?”

Segment 4 – The Soul of the Tournament

Costas (reflective):

“The Field of Dreams Tournament has brought together nearly 2,300 teams across time. But many say this is its soul — the moment it was all leading to. The disgraced team returning to the place built for grace. Kevin, what’s at stake here beyond the scoreboard?”

Millar:

“Legacy, Bob. Simple as that. If the ‘19 Sox can play clean, compete hard, show love for the game — even if they lose — they win something bigger. They show every kid that baseball forgives.”

Guillen:

“It’s not about forgiving — it’s about feeling. You see Joe Jackson hit a double, you feel baseball in your chest again. That’s what this place does.”

North (leaning in):

“And if they blow it again? If they get beat by a bunch of kids from the Metrodome era? Then the story ends the same way it started — with disappointment. That’s the risk of redemption.”

Will:

“But what a magnificent risk. The Field of Dreams is not a courtroom — it’s a confessional. And in confession, there’s always the hope that grace, however undeserved, will find you.”

Costas (nodding slowly):

“Perhaps that’s why we watch. Not for certainty, but for hope. When the 1919 White Sox step onto this field, they remind us that no sin, however infamous, can entirely silence the beauty of the game.”

(The panel falls silent; the camera drifts toward the glowing window beyond them, the cornfield swaying as twilight fades to night.)

Costas (final words):

“Series 237 isn’t just another matchup. It’s the heartbeat of this tournament — the collision of guilt and grace, of what was lost and what can still be found. From the shadows of 1919 to the promise of 1983, baseball once again asks its eternal question: can a game this pure ever truly forgive?”

(The music swells. The Heaven’s Dugout logo fades onto the screen — Field of Dreams Series #237 — “The Return of the Black Sox.” Fade to black.)

Series #237 Broadcasters:



From the Booth – Red Barber and David Ross

(The vintage Comiskey Park crowd hums with anticipation — the wooden grandstands creak under 35,000 restless fans, pennants flutter above the scoreboard, and the faint smell of cigars and roasted peanuts fills the air. The camera pans to the broadcast booth where Red Barber, immaculately composed, leans toward his microphone.)

Red Barber:

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is Red Barber speaking to you from Comiskey Park in Chicago, where the ghosts of baseball’s most controversial chapter return to the living game. It is, quite simply, one of the most anticipated contests ever played in this grand Field of Dreams tournament — the 1919 White Sox, their honor long debated, their skill never denied, meeting the 1983 Minnesota Twins, a team forged in youth, resilience, and the bright lights of the Metrodome era.”

(He pauses as the camera captures the field — Lefty Williams warming in the bullpen, his windup deliberate and calm.)

“There’s something in the air tonight that feels older than the ballgame itself — something like penance. Out on that mound, Lefty Williams carries the weight of a scandal that shook baseball to its roots. And standing in the opposite dugout, a smiling Bobby Castillo, the California kid with the screwball and the swagger, ready to remind the world that baseball’s joy always outlives its shame.”

David Ross (chuckling softly):

“Red, I gotta tell you, walking into this park today felt different. You can feel the ghosts here. You see those old Sox warming up, and there’s Joe Jackson loosening that left arm — it’s like baseball’s past walked right into your living room. But those ’83 Twins? Don’t sleep on them. They’re scrappy, they play loose, and they’ve got Frank Viola ready to go later in the series. They’re not just here for the history — they’re here to win.”

Barber:

“Yes indeed, Mr. Ross. And if there’s one thing this series promises, it is contrast — redemption against youth, conscience against confidence, and the unspoken question that hangs above us all: Can time forgive what talent once betrayed?”

(The crowd begins to rise as the public address announcer introduces the lineups — the names echo like scripture from the loudspeakers. Jackson, Weaver, Collins, Felsch — the crowd cheers with reverent hesitation.)

Ross:

“And Red, listen to that reaction for Joe Jackson — 104 years later, they’re still debating him, but man, they still love him. You can hear it. That’s the sound of forgiveness — or maybe just fascination.”

Barber:

“And perhaps, Mr. Ross, they are one and the same. We’re moments away from the first pitch in Game One of Series 237. The corn is quiet, the crowd is not, and baseball — as it always does — prepares to speak for itself.”

(The camera fades from the booth to the field as Lefty Williams walks slowly to the mound. The crackle of Barber’s voice lingers as the broadcast transitions…)

“Stay with us, friends. After the first pitch, we’ll head to the Heaven’s Dugout panel — where Bob Costas and company will dive into what this series means, not just to the White Sox, but to the soul of the game itself.”

[Nick Soulis]

An Evening in the Corn — Grantland Rice with Shoeless Joe Jackson




Location: The front porch of the old white farmhouse, Dyersville, Iowa.
Time: Dusk, the night before Game 1 of Field of Dreams Series #237.
Participants: Grantland Rice and Shoeless Joe Jackson.

(The camera opens softly, the horizon fading into amber and indigo. Crickets sing from the rows of corn. A single lantern flickers between two rocking chairs on the farmhouse porch. Grantland Rice, his notebook resting across one knee, looks toward the man beside him — Shoeless Joe Jackson, hat in hand, eyes fixed on the distant diamond glowing faintly under the moon.)

Grantland Rice (gentle, poetic tone):

“It is said that baseball is not merely a game of inches, but a game of hearts — that somewhere between first and third lies the measure of a man’s soul. Tonight, I sit with a man whose heart has been both worshiped and wounded — the immortal, imperfect Shoeless Joe Jackson. Joe, it has been more than a hundred years since the summer that changed you. How heavy does it still rest on your shoulders?”

Shoeless Joe Jackson (quietly):

“Heavier than a bat, Mr. Rice. A man can put down a bat at day’s end, but he can’t lay down shame. It rides home with you. It eats your supper, sits by your bed. When folks look at you, they don’t see a man — they see the ghost of what you done wrong. I never stopped loving the game, but the game stopped loving me back.”

Rice:

“And yet, here you are — summoned by this strange, forgiving field. You’ve walked out of the corn, back into the sunlight. What stirs inside you when you see that diamond again?”

Jackson:

“It’s like meeting an old friend you wronged and never got to apologize to. Every blade of grass whispers, ‘We missed you.’ But there’s fear too — fear that maybe the game don’t want you anymore. The first time I touch that dirt tomorrow, I’ll probably cry, though I ain’t cried since they banned me. The game was my church. This field feels like confession.”

Rice (leaning forward):

“Joe, there are those who believe that this very tournament — this grand gathering of ballplayers across time — was born out of your story. That somewhere, between fact and faith, baseball built this field for you. What do you think when you hear that?”

Jackson (eyes glinting in the lantern light):

“I think maybe it’s true. When I heard about a place where old players step through corn and play again, I thought — that’s the game’s way of saying sorry. Maybe the Lord looked down and said, ‘Joe loved the game enough to die for it. Let’s give him another chance to live through it.’ You can’t build a heaven for baseball without letting the damned have a door.”

(A pause. The lantern flickers as the night wind moves across the porch.)

Rice:

“Some men call this series a redemption. Others say you forfeited the right to redemption. What does this mean to you, personally — this chance to play again?”

Jackson:

“It ain’t about redemption for me, Mr. Rice. It’s about belonging. When you’re banished, the hardest part ain’t the punishment — it’s watching the game go on without you. Tomorrow when I dig in that box, I won’t be thinkin’ about the Black Sox, or Landis, or the whispers. I’ll be thinkin’ about how good the ball feels off the wood, and how the sun still shines on left field like it did in 1919. That’s all a man like me ever wanted.”

Rice (softly):

“You know, Joe, when the wind moves through this place, it carries an old phrase with it — ‘If you build it, he will come.’ Perhaps the ‘he’ was always you.”

Jackson (smiling faintly):

“Maybe so. I didn’t build this place with hammer or nail, but maybe I helped build it with regret. Regret’s a strong thing — sometimes it plants seeds deeper than pride. Maybe these cornstalks grew from the tears of every ballplayer who ever wanted one more chance.”

(Silence. The two men watch fireflies blink over the infield. The faint crack of a bat echoes somewhere — perhaps memory, perhaps tomorrow’s dream.)

Rice (closing narration):

“And so we sit, two travelers in twilight — one who wrote of the game’s poetry, the other who lived its tragedy. Tomorrow, Shoeless Joe Jackson will cross the foul line not as a villain nor a saint, but as something nobler — a man who once fell from grace and still chose to return. In that single step from corn to diamond, perhaps baseball itself finds the courage to forgive.”

(Camera slowly pans away — the two figures small against the endless field. The porch light fades as the screen dissolves to the text

“Field of Dreams Series #237 — The Legend Returns.”

Grantland Rice Commentary — “The Ghost Who Came Home”

(Filed from Dyersville, Iowa — on the eve of Game 1, Field of Dreams Series #237)

There are moments in sport that drift beyond time — where scoreboards lose meaning and the heart of the game beats louder than its own rules. Tonight, under the gentle Iowa dusk, I saw one of those moments. Shoeless Joe Jackson — the barefoot comet of 1919, the exiled prince of baseball’s greatest tragedy — sat beside me as the wind moved through the corn. And for the first time in more than a century, the game of baseball seemed to breathe again.

He spoke not as a ghost, but as a man returned to the front porch of his youth. His voice was low, unhurried — the voice of a craftsman describing a long-lost tool he still knows how to use. He did not beg forgiveness, nor deny his sins. He merely remembered. The feel of horsehide off the bat, the laughter of teammates in the dugout before the storm. The shame that came after. The ache of being cut from something you love so much that it defines your very name.

There was in him no bitterness — only the kind of sorrow that time itself cannot erode. “When you’re banished,” he told me, “the hardest part ain’t the punishment — it’s watchin’ the game go on without you.” And as he said it, his eyes fixed not on me, but on the faint outline of the diamond in the distance, glowing like an altar. You could feel the ache of every banned man, every forgotten player, in that gaze.

Yet there is poetry in baseball’s forgiveness. For here, in the quiet farmland of Iowa, the game has chosen to speak not through verdicts, but through mercy. When Joe Jackson walks through the corn tomorrow, it will not erase what happened in 1919 — but it will remind us that beauty is never fully lost to sin. Baseball, in its mysterious grace, has built a field where even the fallen may find light enough to play by.

And so, as the night settles over Dyersville, I am left with the vision of Joe Jackson rising once more from the soil that birthed him — barefoot, unashamed, a symbol not of disgrace but of the enduring power of love for the game. For some men, glory is found in pennants and trophies. For Joe Jackson, glory will be found in that first step back onto the field — the crack of the bat echoing across a century, whispering to heaven itself: “I’m home.”

[Nick Soulis]

Series #237



Shoeless Souls Redeemed
1919 White Sox Find Their Way Home in the Field of Dreams



Series 237, Game 1
At Comiskey Park
Weather: Clear skies, 59°F, wind out to center at 10 mph
Attendance: 21,273
Final Score:
1983 Minnesota Twins …… 1
1919 Chicago White Sox …… 2
Winning Pitcher: Lefty Williams (1–0)
Losing Pitcher: Bobby Castillo (0–1)
Player of the Game: Lefty Williams (10.0 IP, 5 H, 1 ER, 2 BB, 4 K, 140 pitches)
Key Moment: Happy Felsch’s 2-run walk-off single to center in the bottom of the 10th.
Series: Chicago White Sox leads 1–0

Grantland Rice Commentary – “The Night the Ghosts Stood Tall”
There are nights in baseball when the soul of the game steps out from between the foul lines and sits quietly among the living. Tonight, at Comiskey Park, the ghosts of 1919 took their place among men once more.Lefty Williams, whose arm once carried both promise and suspicion, threw with the grace of a man unburdened. His every pitch seemed an act of repentance, his every strike a whisper to the years he lost. And when the tenth inning came, with redemption on the line, it was Happy Felsch — his name a cruel irony for a century — who found the happiness denied him long ago.The ball leapt from his bat, slicing the air like a tear finally shed, and landed softly in center field as two runners crossed home. The crowd — descendants of skeptics, sons of believers — rose not for victory, but for vindication.
Baseball, in its mysterious mercy, granted these men what history would not: a moment without guilt. The wind off Lake Michigan carried their names across time — Weaver, Jackson, Collins, Williams — and for one quiet instant, they were not the fallen of 1919, but champions of the eternal game.For baseball, like grace itself, never forgets — but sometimes, it forgives.

Series 237, Game 2
At Comiskey Park – October 2, 1919
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 62°F, wind out to center 10 mph
Attendance: 31,442
Final Score:
1983 Minnesota Twins …… 4
1919 Chicago White Sox …… 8
Winning Pitcher: Eddie Cicotte (1–0)
Losing Pitcher: Pete Filson (0–1)
Player of the Game: Eddie Cicotte (CG, 9.0 IP, 12 H, 4 R, 3 ER, 1 BB, 3 K, 124 pitches)
Series: Chicago leads 2–0
Special Note: 3B Gary Gaetti injured in a base collision (MIN)

Grantland Rice Commentary — “When the Past Found Its Pace”
There are games that begin like a hymn and end like a verdict. Today’s belonged to Eddie Cicotte, he of the troubled page, who labored under a century’s shadow and found the sun long enough to throw nine honest innings. The fifth brought thunder from Minnesota — a squall of line drives, a hard rain of base hits — yet when the storm passed, he stood dry-eyed upon the mound, the ball in his palm, the prayer still on his fingers.
Around him, the White Sox played the old music — bunts laid like fine stitching, doubles struck like tuning forks, baserunners taking the extra breath and the extra base. Joe Jackson’s late single did not absolve a myth; it completed a moment, the way a final brushstroke saves a painting from mere intention. And when Happy Felsch again drove home the faith of his teammates, Comiskey exhaled a century of doubt.
Minnesota rallied in the manner of the living — loud, imperfect, earnest. But the day belonged to men reaching out of their history for the simple grace of doing a thing well. Baseball is generous in this way; it will let you atone by inches, by throws to first, by the thud of leather, by the last out collected without flourish.
So it was that the White Sox, once the byword for betrayal, played a game beyond suspicion. They did not cleanse the ledger; they merely wrote in a neat hand. And somewhere, in the hush after the final strike, the game itself seemed to nod — not to pardon, but to permit — that most human of victories: the right to try again.

Series 237, Game 3
At Metrodome – October 4, 1919
Weather: Indoor (Metrodome Roof Closed)
Attendance: 37,936
Final Score:
1919 Chicago White Sox …… 6
1983 Minnesota Twins …… 3
Winning Pitcher: Dickey Kerr (1–0)
Losing Pitcher: Ken Schrom (0–1)
Player of the Game: Eddie Collins (3-for-4, BB, 3 R, RBI, 3 SB)
Series: Chicago leads 3–0

Grantland Rice Commentary – “The Honest Man’s Reward”
There are ballgames, and there are reckonings. Tonight, beneath a roof of white and echo, baseball itself held a quiet court. The 1919 Chicago White Sox, who once betrayed their covenant, have found their testimony in the clean hands of Dickey Kerr and the unyielding grace of Eddie Collins.Kerr, the small southpaw with a schoolboy’s composure, spun a masterpiece of quiet defiance. He walked none, yielded little, and in every inning reminded the crowd — and perhaps his own teammates’ ghosts — that virtue still knows how to throw a strike. Collins darted about the bases like a man chasing time itself, three stolen bases, three runs, three reminders that excellence requires neither noise nor apology.
Around them, the crowd — modern and bewildered — saw something they’d never known but somehow recognized: baseball without adornment. Just men, a ball, and a truth too large to whisper. The Twins fought gamely, but it was like trying to catch sunlight in their gloves.
In these White Sox there is no perfection, only penance — and perhaps that’s what makes them beautiful. For as long as the game allows second chances, it will remember this: that a century after betrayal, the honest man finally found his reward.

Series 237, Game 4
At Metrodome – October 5, 1919 (Roof closed)
Attendance: 38,324
Final Score:
1919 Chicago White Sox …… 5
1983 Minnesota Twins …… 6
Winning Pitcher: Bobby Castillo (1–1)
Losing Pitcher: Red Faber (0–1)
Player of the Game: John Castino (2-for-3, 2B, BB, 2 R)
Series: Chicago leads 3–1

Grantland Rice Commentary — “Roof of Sound, Breath of Hope”
Beneath the Metrodome’s pale ceiling, baseball discovered a new voice—less a hymn than a drumbeat. The Twins, who had been lulled toward forgetfulness by the sweet cadence of Chicago’s redemption, suddenly found their own rhythm. It arrived on the barrel of Tom Brunansky’s two-out double, the instant when time itself seemed to shudder and turn.
Bobby Castillo then became the steward of the night. He did not dazzle; he endured. He pitched not for applause but for survival, and the white roof banked his courage back upon him as a warm echo. Around him, John Castino moved like a poet with a pocketknife—precise, unfancy, essential. Two runs scored on his footprints; two innings turned on his insistence.Across the field, the ghosts had their say. In the seventh, Collins stole time, Weaver hustled it forward, Jackson lashed it to the wall, and Felsch carried it home. For a moment the past reasserted its claim. But baseball, that democratic art, reserved the final word for the living who defended stoutly and the pitcher who would not yield the ball.
So the sweep did not come. Instead, the series learned to breathe again. Under a roof of manufactured weather, hope was handmade: one double, one out recorded, one heartbeat restored. Tomorrow brings the same old question, dressed in new light—can the past be postponed another day?

Series 237, Game 5
At Metrodome – October 6, 1919 (Roof Closed)
Attendance: 38,169
Final Score:
1919 Chicago White Sox …… 1
1983 Minnesota Twins …… 2
Winning Pitcher: Pete Filson (1–1)
Losing Pitcher: Lefty Williams (1–1)
Save: Ron Davis (1)
Player of the Game: Pete Filson (8.2 IP, 7 H, 1 ER, 4 BB, 3 K, 145 pitches)
Series: Chicago leads 3–2

Grantland Rice Commentary — “The Long Night of the White Sox”
Beneath the Dome’s pale hush, the White Sox felt the first touch of mortality. For three games they had been whispers of myth—immovable, uncanny, destined. But tonight, under synthetic air and electric light, they became mortal again.
Pete Filson was their undoing, though he arrived not as a conqueror but as a craftsman. He spun his art quietly, without flourish—each pitch a small defiance against history’s larger tide. In the eighth, as tension bent the air like wire, Dave Engle’s bat spoke for every man who had ever faced erasure. The ball slid past the mound, skipped through the grass, and brought home two who had waited too long to matter.
Across the field, Lefty Williams stood alone in the gathering silence. He had pitched as though forgiveness were a thing he might yet earn—eight innings of grace, broken only by a single lapse. But baseball, that cruel confessor, seldom forgives at once. His loss was not in numbers but in echoes; the crowd’s roar marked the price of remembrance.
So the ghosts return to Chicago, their lead intact but their breath uneven. The Field of Dreams has reminded them that redemption, like baseball itself, is never granted in five games. It must be earned one swing, one inning, one heartbeat at a time.
Tomorrow waits on the South Side, where memory is louder, the air heavier, and the past closer than ever.


Series 237, Game 6 (Clincher)
At Comiskey Park – October 8, 1919
Weather: Clear, 55°F, wind right-to-left at 11 mph
Attendance: 34,118
Final Score:
1983 Minnesota Twins …… 4 R, 13 H, 2 E
1919 Chicago White Sox …… 8 R, 11 H, 0 E
Winning Pitcher: Eddie Cicotte (2–0) — CG, 9.0 IP, 13 H, 4 R, 2 BB, 2 K, 143 pitches
Losing Pitcher: Bobby Castillo (1–2) — 6.2 IP, 9 H, 8 R (2 ER), 3 BB, 2 K, 114 pitches
Player of the Game: Joe Jackson (2–4, 3B, 2 RBI, 2 R, BB)
Series MVP: Buck Weaver (.423 AVG, 3 RBI; go-ahead knock in G6 rally)


Grantland Rice Commentary — “When the Ledger Softened”
Baseball keeps books no banker could balance — columns for joy and sorrow, for noise and silence, for what was done and what was meant. Tonight, under the clean October light of Comiskey, the ink bled toward mercy.Eddie Cicotte threw the length of the night and the length of his history. He bent but did not break when the ball found green; he found the edges where courage lives. When the last grounder trickled toward the first-base line, he claimed it like a lost letter finally delivered and closed the account with his own hand.
Around him, the White Sox stitched the innings like careful tailors: Buck Weaver’s needed single, Joe Jackson’s triple that woke the afternoon, Happy Felsch’s threaded stroke, Nemo Leibold’s two-strike insistence. Five runs in a single turn — not a storm, but the tide coming in at last.
Across the diamond, the Twins played as the valiant must, and their refusal made the coronation honest. A champion without a worthy foe is merely fortunate; Chicago met resistance and earned absolution.
No game can rewrite the past. But some games can change how the past is carried. Tonight the men of 1919 shouldered their century and found it lighter. The ledger did not forget; it simply softened — and in that softening, the game kept its oldest promise: that effort, clean and complete, can yet purchase a little peace.

1919 Chicago White Sox Win Series 4 Games To 2

Series MVP:

(.375, 7 RBI, 3 R, 2 2B, .407 OBP, .866 OPS, walk off hit game 1)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #238



1955 Boston Red Sox
Record: 84-70
Finish: 4th in AL
Manager: Pinky Higgins
Ball Park: Fenway Park
WAR Leader: Ted Williams (6.9)
Franchise Record: 9-6
1955 Season Record: 0-3
Hall of Famers: (1)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/BOS/1955.shtml

1970 California Angels
Record: 86-76
Finish: 3rd in AL West
Manager: Lefty Williams
Ball Park: Anaheim Stadium
WAR Leader: Jim Fregosi (7.7)
Franchise Record: 5-4
1970 Season Record: 3-1
Hall of Famers: (0)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/CAL/1970.shtml
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HEAVEN’S DUGOUT — SERIES #238 PREVIEW SHOW



Broadcast live from a softly lit studio overlooking the dreamscape of Fenway Park, its Green Monster glowing emerald against the dusk.

Panel: Bob Costas (host), Tom Seaver, Vin Scully, Alex Rodriguez

Segment 1 — Setting the Stage: The Heartbeat of Fenway

Costas:
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Heaven’s Dugout. The field of play this week may be surrounded by corn, but the heartbeat belongs to Fenway Park — home to the 1955 Boston Red Sox. They’ll face the 1970 California Angels, a club from the other coast and another mindset entirely. Two eras. Two ways of seeing baseball. And standing right in the middle of it — as always — is Theodore Samuel Williams, age thirty-seven, still the center of the baseball universe.”

Vin Scully (smiling faintly):
“Bob, there’s something poetic about that number — thirty-seven. Most men by then are coaching or golfing. Ted is still chasing the perfect swing, like Ahab after the whale. You can almost hear the crack of that bat as a kind of sermon — one that says, I’m not done yet.”

Tom Seaver:
“And the Angels know it. Every pitcher who faces Williams learns that lesson fast. You can make a perfect pitch and he’ll still find a way to foul it off until you blink. But this Angels team isn’t awed by him. They’ve got young power arms, led by Clyde Wright and Andy Messersmith, and a staff that can keep you off balance. They don’t mind being underdogs — they like being the irritant.”

Alex Rodriguez:
“And that’s what makes this series fascinating. The Red Sox are built around myth, the Angels around modernity. Ted’s the axis — pure hitting genius in a park that rewards precision. But this Angels lineup? They play for the extra base, they pitch for the corner, and they know how to win ugly. I think we’re going to see contrast not just in styles, but in philosophies of baseball itself.”

Segment 2 — The Boston Side: The Shadow of the Splendid Splinter

Costas:
“Vin, let’s go deeper on Boston. It’s 1955. Williams is returning from injury. The roster around him is capable but inconsistent — Goodman, Jensen, Nixon — talent, yes, but not the juggernaut of ’46. How does this team rally around a man who is, frankly, bigger than the uniform?”

Scully:
“Bob, baseball in Boston in 1955 was like a cathedral with one stained-glass window — and it had Ted’s face on it. He was the reason you came, the reason you believed. Every swing was a memory being made. But it’s also a burden. When you’ve got a man that transcendent, the rest of the lineup can sometimes forget they’re allowed to be heroes too. The Red Sox will need more than Williams; they’ll need players like Jackie Jensen to shoulder the load when Ted is walked four times a night.”

Seaver:
“And they’ll need pitching. Boston’s arms are the question mark here — they don’t have the pure velocity of California. They rely on craft, control, and guts. You can win with that, but you’ve got to be perfect in this kind of series.”

Rodriguez:
“I’ll say this though — Williams has a way of elevating everyone. You talk about clubhouse influence, presence — I don’t think there’s a man in that dugout who won’t take a sharper swing just knowing Ted’s watching.”

Segment 3 — The Angels’ Identity: The Other Coast Comes to the Corn



Costas:
“Now let’s shift to the 1970 Angels. A team built on pitching, opportunism, and quiet professionalism. Seaver, as a man of that same era, what defines them?”

Seaver:
“Resilience. That’s the word. They’re not flashy. Fregosi’s the anchor — a manager’s dream shortstop who plays with an old soul. They’ve got real depth on the mound — Clyde Wright’s had that 20-win kind of season, Messersmith is maturing, and they’ve got relievers who don’t flinch. They’ll grind you down inning by inning. They’re not trying to win headlines — they’re trying to win at-bats.”

Scully:
“And, Tom, I’ll add — they’re also free from ghosts. The Red Sox play under the weight of a city’s history; the Angels play for joy. Their manager, Lefty Phillips, understands that. He’s told his players not to think about eras, not to think about legends — just to play their kind of baseball. There’s freedom in that.”

Rodriguez:
“I love this matchup because the Angels don’t get intimidated. They’ve seen the likes of Yaz, Carew, Killebrew — they’ve played in the AL West when power ruled. They’re going to attack the Red Sox at the corners. They’re going to test that defense. It’s small things — taking the extra base, forcing bad throws — that’ll decide whether this series goes long.”

Segment 4 — Ted Williams: The Eternal Competitor

Costas:
“Let’s take a moment just for Ted. He’s thirty-seven. Most players fade by then. Ted still owns the strike zone like it’s his birthright. What does he represent in a setting like this, where time doesn’t exist and legacy plays on loop?”

Scully (softly):
“Ted is baseball’s burning star — the man who never made peace with imperfection. When he said, ‘All I want out of life is that when I walk down the street, folks will say, there goes the greatest hitter who ever lived,’ he meant it. He’s chasing that even here, even now. It’s not about winning this series for him — it’s about being the truest version of the hitter he believes himself to be.”

Seaver:
“And I’ll tell you, from a pitcher’s standpoint — that’s terrifying. You’re not just facing a man, you’re facing a concept. He studies you, breaks you down, and never forgives your mistake. You don’t get away with missing by an inch. That’s why his legend still feels alive. Even in a place like this — maybe especially here.”

Rodriguez:
“And it’s not nostalgia — it’s relevance. Williams’ approach would dominate any era. His eye, his patience, his mechanics — he’s the blueprint. If the Red Sox win this series, it’ll be because Ted still refuses to let go of the fight.”

Costas:
“And if they lose?”

Rodriguez (pauses):
“Then the Angels will have done what almost no one else has — they’ll have beaten not just the man, but the myth.”

Segment 5 — Predictions, Legacy, and the Weight of Advancement

Costas:
“Final thoughts, gentlemen. No championships here — just the right to advance. What’s at stake for these teams beyond the scoreboard?”

Seaver:
“For the Angels, it’s validation — proving that their brand of baseball, built on control and fundamentals, can topple a legend. For the Red Sox, it’s preservation — keeping the flame of the 1950s alive through the man who defined it.”

Scully:
“And perhaps, Tom, it’s about conversation. This field lets eras speak to each other. The Angels are the voice of the coming modern game. The Red Sox are the echo of the old one. Every series like this adds a new verse to baseball’s hymn.”

Rodriguez:
“My pick? I’ll go with the Angels in seven. They’re younger, deeper, and hungry. But Ted’s going to hit something in this series — something we’ll still talk about when the lights go out.”

Seaver (smiling):
“I’ll take Boston in six. Williams will get his pitches, and the Angels’ youth will crack under the weight of that moment.”

Scully:
“I’m not picking. I just want to hear the sound of the bat and the crowd’s hush that follows. That’s all I ever needed.”

Costas (closing):
“This is why we come back — to see the impossible meet the inevitable. Fenway Park, the 1955 Red Sox, the 1970 California Angels. The game continues its grand march through time. May it, as always, find its way home.”

[Camera pans from the studio to the glowing Fenway skyline. The faint echo of Brandi Carlile’s voice drifts over the field again, mingling with the sound of distant cheers and the rustle of corn.]

[Nick Soulis]

Series #238



ANGELS ASCEND AT FENWAY
JOHNSONE AND MAY LEAD CALIFORNIA PAST WILLIAMS AND THE RED SOX



Series 238, Game 1
Weather: Rain, 58°F, wind left to right at 12 mph
Attendance: 47,611 (overflow crowd, fans lining rooftops beyond Lansdowne Street)
At Fenway Park
Final Score:
1970 California Angels …… 0
1955 Boston Red Sox …… 7
Winning Pitcher: Willard Nixon (1–0)
Losing Pitcher: Andy Messersmith (0–1)
HR: J. Jensen 2 (2)
Player of the Game: Jackie Jensen (3–4, 2 HR, 4 RBI, BB, 2 R)
Series: Boston leads 1–0

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY
In the quiet that followed the final out, Fenway Park seemed to breathe — as though the old park had seen another ghost pass through and nodded in recognition. The rain fell like memory itself, each drop carrying the scent of stories retold. And at the heart of it all was Jackie Jensen — the broad-shouldered prince of Boston’s forgotten summers — who reminded the game that glory still blooms beneath gray skies.
He struck like lightning in the second, and again in the fourth, not out of anger but out of rhythm, as if he could hear some eternal metronome pulsing behind the wind. Around him, Ted Williams stood sentinel — the older craftsman watching the younger man write a chapter of his own. It was not Ted’s night to rule, but his to witness — the torch flickering but never extinguished.Andy Messersmith, brave but undone by the storm within, struggled as many do when they first face history’s weight. His pitches wandered as though distracted by the ghosts in the bleachers. Yet such is the lesson of this field — that even defeat has dignity when it bends to the spirit of the game.As the crowd drifted into the rain, Jensen’s name lingered above the park like a bell tone — rich, defiant, alive. The Angels will return tomorrow with new resolve. But tonight belongs to the man who played as if time itself had waited for him.
And so, the first embers of Series #238 are lit — a reminder that in this place beyond years, every swing still carries the dream that built the field.

Series 238, Game 2
At Fenway Park – October 2, 1955
Weather: Cloudy, 57°F, wind out to center at 13 mph
Attendance: 45,102 (rain delay of 20 minutes in the 4th inning)
Final Score:
1970 California Angels …… 13
1955 Boston Red Sox …… 6
Winning Pitcher: Rudy May (1–0)
Losing Pitcher: Ike Delock (0–1)
Player of the Game: Jim Fregosi (3–4, HR, 2 2B, 3 RBI, 3 R)
Home Runs: CAL — Johnstone (1), Fregosi (1), Repoz (1), A. Rodríguez (1); BOS — Jensen (3)
Series: Tied 1–1

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY
The sky above Fenway wept and then cleared, as if to cleanse the canvas before the Angels began their art. Out of that gray cathedral of brick and lore came a chorus of bats — sudden, bold, unrelenting. The Red Sox, proud and storied, were struck not by chance, but by rhythm — a rhythm born of youth and hunger.Jim Fregosi stood at the center of it, the captain of a club too often overlooked by history’s poets. He struck the ball as if to answer their silence, a drive that climbed into the wet wind and disappeared beyond the Monster’s shoulder. Around him, his teammates followed — the ball bounding, the scoreboard blinking with numbers unfamiliar to Fenway’s solemn eyes.And yet, even in defeat, Boston’s spirit did not vanish. Ted Williams lingered in the twilight, his gaze steady, his bat heavy with unspent fire. Jackie Jensen, again heroic, carried the echo of resistance with each stride around the bases.But tonight belonged to the Angels — not of heaven, but of California — who rose in the mist to prove that time itself can be defied by courage. The field, glistening under the returning light, seemed to whisper its approval.The series, like the game itself, stands even — the dream renewed, the promise alive, and the story moving west, where sunlight and memory meet once more.

Series 238, Game 3
At Anaheim Stadium – October 4, 1955
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 70°F, wind out to left at 9 mph
Attendance: 46,337 (clear skies and the hum of transistor radios)
Final Score:
1955 Boston Red Sox …… 7
1970 California Angels …… 4
Winning Pitcher: Frank Sullivan (1–0)
Losing Pitcher: Tom Bradley (0–1)
Player of the Game: Ted Williams (3–3, HR, 2 BB, 2 R, RBI)
Home Runs: BOS — Williams (1), Jensen (4); CAL — Johnstone (2), A. Rodríguez (2)
Series: Boston leads 2–1

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY
The lights of Anaheim gleamed like halos over the diamond, and beneath them, the old master returned to his canvas. Ted Williams — still proud, still relentless — painted the night with a stroke of red and gold. The swing was smooth as scripture, the contact clean as dawn. When the ball rose beyond the left-field fence, the years seemed to fade, leaving only grace in motion.Frank Sullivan, towering and unhurried, matched the rhythm. His pitches spoke in the old tongue — location, resolve, simplicity. Around him, the Red Sox played like a company of craftsmen, each man sure of his task.
Across the field, the Angels fought bravely, but found themselves spectators in a museum of greatness. Aurelio Rodríguez’s home run was fierce, Jay Johnstone’s valiant, yet neither could unseat the figure standing at the plate, that eternal image of a hitter unbound by time.
As the crowd filed out beneath the soft orange moon, the murmurs carried a single truth — the Kid still reigns. In the Field of Dreams, where legends cross their own footprints, the game remains both sermon and song.
Boston leads the series 2–1, the air thick with memory, and the echo of one perfect swing still hanging above the California night.

Series 238, Game 4
At Anaheim Stadium – October 5, 1955
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 72°F, wind out to center at 8 mph
Attendance: 45,906 (fans waving towels and halos, dusk gold sky)
Final Score:
1955 Boston Red Sox …… 1
1970 California Angels …… 6
Winning Pitcher: Clyde Wright (1–0)
Losing Pitcher: George Susce (0–1)
Player of the Game: Clyde Wright (8 IP, 6 H, 1 ER, 4 BB, 2 K; HR, 2 RBI)
Home Runs: CAL — Wright (1), Repoz (2)
Series: Tied 2–2

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY
The west wind was kind to the Angels tonight. It carried with it the scent of orange blossoms and victory, and in its wake rose a pitcher who dared to write his name in the clouds. Clyde Wright, humble in his manner and bold in his craft, tamed both bat and ball beneath the lights of Anaheim.
He threw with the grace of an artist and struck with the power of a believer. His home run — a pitcher’s rebellion against his own expectations — soared high into the night, the sound of it ringing like a hymn across the bleachers.
Boston fought with dignity, yet its flame flickered against the calm of California’s resolve. The great Williams stood watchful, the mighty Jensen silent, as the younger men claimed the hour.
And so the ledger reads even, the balance restored. In this Field of Dreams, where eras entwine like ivy and sunlight, one truth endures: on any given night, the game belongs to the brave.
The series stands tied, two wins apiece — and the horizon burns with promise.

Series 238, Game 5
At Anaheim Stadium – October 6, 1955
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 72°F, wind out to left at 6 mph
Attendance: 47,012 (halo gleaming above the Big A, crowd restless and electric)
Final Score:
1955 Boston Red Sox …… 2
1970 California Angels …… 5
Winning Pitcher: Andy Messersmith (1–1)
Save: Eddie Fisher (1)
Losing Pitcher: Willard Nixon (1–1)
Player of the Game: Andy Messersmith (6.0 IP, 5 H, 2 ER, 4 BB, 4 K; steady redemption effort)
Home Runs: BOS — Jensen (5)
Series: California leads 3–2


GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY
Beneath the fading sun of Anaheim, a man found redemption and a team found its wings. Andy Messersmith — once burdened by wildness, now reborn in command — stood tall upon the mound as though forgiven by the game itself. Each pitch carried the hush of absolution, each out a verse of renewal.The Angels followed his courage like pilgrims chasing light. Fregosi’s double rang with certainty, Repoz’s runs hummed with defiance, and the field itself seemed to glow with conviction. It was not just victory they found — it was identity.Across the diamond, Boston stood proud but weary. The Kid waited for his pitch, and the night did not offer it. Jensen’s bat sang its lonely hymn, but the chorus had fallen silent.And so the series bends westward toward destiny — California one step from ascension, Boston one strike from memory. Yet in the realm of the Field of Dreams, where all times are equal, hope never dies, it merely changes dugouts.The Angels lead three games to two, and the wind whispers east — carrying both promise and reckoning toward Fenway Park.

Series 238, Game 6
At Fenway Park
Weather: Clear, 59°F, wind out to center at 11 mph
Attendance: 31,694 (Fenway faithful solemn, applauding through heartbreak)
Final Score:
1970 California Angels …… 5
1955 Boston Red Sox …… 2
Winning Pitcher: Rudy May (2–0)
Save: Eddie Fisher (2)
Losing Pitcher: Ike Delock (0–2)
Player of the Game: Joe Azcue (3-for-3, 2 RBI, double, walk, scored once)
Home Runs: None

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY — “The Halo Over Fenway”
The light was thin and golden upon the old park, and somewhere beyond the Citgo sign the autumn wind carried the hymn of another ending.
Out of that hallowed soil came a new song — the Angels, young and unburdened, had climbed the ladder of memory and hung a halo above the oldest wall in the game.
Rudy May stood upon the mound like a man walking a high wire across history — every pitch a prayer, every strike a step closer to forever. Behind him, Fregosi’s sure hands turned chaos into calm. Beside him, Joe Azcue, the unheralded sentinel, called the symphony of triumph.
Boston fought bravely — Jensen’s bat, Williams’ gaze, Goodman’s grit — but their season drifted into the same twilight that once followed Ruth and Cronin. The crowd applauded not loss, but the continuation of something grander: the truth that the game will always outlive its heartbreak.
And when the last ball settled in Spencer’s glove, the Angels leapt into eternity — not as conquerors, but as heirs to the dream.
For in this tournament of ghosts, they became something more than champions.
They became remembered.
“May the game forever find its way home.”


1970 California Angels Win Series 4 Games To 2

Series MVP:

(.364, 2 HR, 5 R, 2 2B, 1.119 OPS)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #239



1996 San Diego Padres
Record: 91-71
Finish: Lost in NLDS
Manager: Bruce Bochy
Ball Park: Jack Murphy Stadium
WAR Leader: Ken Caminiti
Franchise Record: 4-3
1996 Season Record: 5-2
Hall of Famers: (2)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/SDP/1996.shtml

1927 Philadelphia Phillies
Record: 51-103
Finish: 8th in NL
Manager: Stuffy McGinnis
Ball Park: Baker Bowl
Franchise Record: 7-18
1927 Season Record: 3-1
Hall of Famers: 0
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/PHI/1927.shtml
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FIELD OF DREAMS — SERIES 239



The cameras sweep low over the diamond, catching the last amber flare of sunlight off the left-field corn. The crowd settles into a murmuring hush as the booth feed comes alive.

Sean McDonough (play-by-play):
“From the heart of Iowa, where baseball’s memory refuses to fade, welcome to Field of Dreams, Series 239. Tonight, the 1927 Philadelphia Phillies meet the 1996 San Diego Padres in a clash that folds generations into one evening sky.”

Jim Palmer (color):
“Sean, when you look out across this field, you can almost see the seams of time stitched together. Two clubs separated by seventy seasons, one from the old Baker Bowl days, the other from Qualcomm’s sun-baked turf. Same game, same test: can you execute when nothing but the heartbeat of the crowd and the weight of history are left?”

McDonough:
“Both managers spoke yesterday about identity. Burt Shotton brings that quiet, methodical steadiness of the twenties — bunts, placement hitting, survival. Bruce Bochy countering with the bold strokes of the nineties — power, leverage, and the closer waiting in the wings. Contrasts everywhere, and yet somehow, symmetry.”

Palmer:
“I’ll be watching how the Phillies’ pitchers handle Tony Gwynn. The man could find a hole in a needle. And the Padres? They’d better watch Lefty O’Doul; he could turn any mistake into a headline. It’s going to be fascinating to see who blinks first.”

McDonough:
“The crowd’s on its feet now — families, ghosts, and legends all sharing the same bleachers. The organist plays a tune older than both teams, and the horizon still glows like an ember. Game 1 of Series 239 is ready to begin. When we return — the lineups, the national anthem, and first pitch from Iowa’s eternal diamond.”

Cue the soft brass theme, cameras panning across both dugouts — modern polyester against old flannel — before fading to commercial break.

FIELD OF DREAMS — SERIES 239

Heaven’s Dugout Pregame Show

The familiar theme rises — warm brass, slow-rolling strings. The studio’s oak panels gleam under soft light. Behind the desk, a mural of the Iowa diamond fades in and out with ghostly sepia images of old scorecards and flickering film reels. Bob Costas opens with the calm confidence of a man who’s been doing this for centuries.

Segment 1 — “Time Versus Talent”

Costas:
“Good evening once again from the eternal broadcast booth in the sky — or at least the closest thing to it. Series 239 brings together two teams separated by nearly seventy years. The 1927 Philadelphia Phillies, a club forgotten by history’s louder neighbors, and the 1996 San Diego Padres, a team that defined the calm before baseball’s steroid storm. Gentlemen, how do we weigh a matchup like this?”

Jim Leyland:
“You start with context, Bob. That ’27 Phillies team, they weren’t world-beaters — they were scrappers. Pitching thin, lineup leaning on contact. But they faced the best offensive era the game ever saw. You drop ’em in here, in this air, with modern conditioning, and they’ll fight you pitch for pitch.”

Pete Rose:
“They better. Those Padres could hit. Caminiti, Finley, Gwynn — that’s not a soft lineup. You give those guys a mistake, they’ll park it. But don’t sleep on toughness. The old National League was mean. They’d spike you for looking at ’em wrong.”

Jackie Robinson:
“What interests me is the mentality. The 1920s players carried their livelihood in a threadbare glove. The 1990s carried endorsements. But competition — that doesn’t age. A .300 hitter from 1927 would still be a .300 hitter in 1996. The bat meets the ball the same way; the courage doesn’t change.”

Costas:
“Time versus talent — a fair fight across eras. We’ll find out which carries further.”

Segment 2 — “The Managers and the Blueprint”

Costas:
“Bruce Bochy and Burt Shotton — two very different generals. One manages by gut, the other by calculation. Jim, you know that tightrope.”

Leyland:
“Bochy’s the modern commander: bullpen by matchup, data before breakfast. But Shotton’s got that instinct that comes from no safety net. In ’27 he had to survive without analytics or depth. He managed fatigue, not spreadsheets. Out here, with both styles colliding, you’ll see whose rhythm adapts quicker.”

Robinson:
“The mark of a manager isn’t what he knows but what his players believe he knows. Shotton’s calm might steady the old Phillies. Bochy’s quiet certainty will steady San Diego. The difference may come in how each man handles failure — because both will fail at some point in this series.”

Rose (grinning):
“And whichever one pinch-hits sooner probably wins.”

Costas (laughing):
“Strategy and superstition — baseball’s eternal roommates.”

Segment 3 — “The Players and the Pulse”



Costas:
“Let’s talk about the faces of this matchup. Lefty O’Doul versus Tony Gwynn — a duel of pure hitters from opposite coasts and opposite centuries.”

Rose:
“Gwynn’s my kind of guy. Short swing, all fields, doesn’t strike out. He’d have been fine in 1927. O’Doul could hit anything with seams. Those two could talk for hours about backspin and grip pressure.”

Leyland:
“Don’t forget the pitching angle. The Phillies will lean on Jack Benton and Hal Elliott — contact guys. The Padres have Andy Ashby, Joey Hamilton, and Trevor Hoffman waiting to close it. That’s where it tilts modern. You bring in Hoffman here, with that changeup dancing in the Iowa dusk, I don’t care what year you’re from — you’re in trouble.”

Robinson:
“But the older pitchers had to think faster. They couldn’t reach for ninety-five; they reached for guile. That kind of discipline can unravel modern aggression. The question is: can it last through seven games?”

Costas:
“A study in patience and precision — sounds like baseball at its best.”

Segment 4 — “Legacy and Resurrection”

Costas:
“The Phillies of 1927 are not a celebrated team. Their record was poor, their spotlight dim. Yet here they stand again. What does resurrection mean in a tournament like this?”

Robinson:
“It means dignity restored. You can’t choose your era, but you can choose how you meet it. Every swing they take now is a chance to remind the game they existed.”

Leyland:
“That’s why this place matters. You give forgotten clubs another crack at immortality. It’s not about who wins — though try telling them that — it’s about being seen again.”

Rose:
“I’ll tell you what it means: competition never dies. The corn keeps growing, and so does the will to win. That’s the only immortality any of us get.”

Costas:
“From the streets of Philadelphia in 1927 to the shores of San Diego in 1996 — baseball’s reach is long, and its memory longer. These two clubs now join that conversation.”

Closing Segment — “Final Thoughts”

Costas:
“As the sun sets over Iowa, we prepare for Game 1 of Series 239. McDonough and Palmer will have the call, but before we turn it over — final thoughts?”

Leyland:
“Watch the first inning. It’ll tell you who’s nervous. The game won’t lie.”

Rose:
“Watch for hustle. The team that runs hardest between first and third usually writes the story.”

Robinson:
“Watch the grace under pressure. That’s where the game reveals character.”

Costas:
“And that’s why we keep coming back — to see character under a sky that never forgets. From our panel here at Heaven’s Dugout, we send you down to the field. Series 239 — the 1927 Phillies and the 1996 Padres — is about to begin.”

Cue music — slow organ blending into the night wind over the cornfields. Fade to black.

[Nick Soulis]

Series #229



Padres Paint a Perfect Series
Gwynn’s Timeless Mastery Leads 1996 San Diego Sweep of Phillies



Series 239, Game 1
Weather: Clear skies, 67°F, wind in from right at 7 mph
Attendance: 31,970 (warm California dusk, crowd buzzing under the lights at “The Murph”)
At Jack Murphy Stadium
Final Score:
1927 Philadelphia Phillies …… 4
1996 San Diego Padres …… 5
Winning Pitcher: Doug Bochtler (1–0)
Save: Trevor Hoffman (1)
Losing Pitcher: Russ Miller (0–1, BS)
Player of the Game: Steve Finley (2-for-3, HR, 2 RBI, BB; set the tone with command and calm)
Home Runs: PHI — Leach (1), Williams (1); SD — Finley (1)
Series: San Diego leads 1–0


Grantland Rice Commentary
The voice enters like a whisper over typewriter keys.
The night in San Diego closed like an old book left open too long, its pages lit by the quiet triumph of a center fielder’s swing. Steve Finley wrote his name into a line that stretches backward through dust and tobacco smoke to men who never dreamed of floodlights. The 1927 Phillies — weary travelers from an age of flannel and faith — came west to prove that effort never goes out of style, and they nearly did.
Baseball is not a contest of decades but of daring. The Padres held firm when the shadows lengthened, their bullpen a procession of discipline, their closer a man unmoved by history. Yet in defeat, the Phillies walked from the field with the look of those who have found a lost friend.
For the brief hours between first pitch and final out, time stood aside, and two versions of the game shook hands. The scoreboard may remember the numbers, but the field will remember the echo — the sound of competition undimmed by the passing of years. And somewhere beyond the right-field fence, the corn still sways, whispering the oldest truth of all: that the game endures, and with it, every man who ever played.”

Series 239, Game 2
At Jack Murphy Stadium
Weather: Partly Cloudy, 63°F, wind in from left at 5 mph
Attendance: 31,607 (crowd layered in sweatshirts under the marine breeze, tension humming through The Murph)
Final Score
1927 Philadelphia Phillies …… 2
1996 San Diego Padres …… 3
Winning Pitcher: Tim Worrell (1–0)
Save: Trevor Hoffman (2)
Losing Pitcher: Russ Miller (0–2)
Player of the Game: Tim Worrell (8.0 IP, 8 H, 2 ER, 1 BB, 7 K; held his poise across decades)
Home Runs: None
Series: San Diego leads 2–0

Grantland Rice Commentary
The second act of this series unfolded like the soft turning of a page, each inning written in restraint rather than thunder. Tim Worrell stood upon the mound as though he were guarding the border between centuries, his command tracing a quiet geometry of control.
Dutch Ulrich matched him pitch for pitch, proving that guile can still whisper to power. But in the seventh came the familiar rhythm — the sound of Tony Gwynn’s contact, the ripple of anticipation, and Steve Finley’s single sliding through time like a blade of light.
The Padres did not conquer; they endured. The Phillies did not falter; they learned. And when the final out rose into the warm San Diego night, the past itself seemed to sigh — acknowledging that the future had borrowed its grace.Now the story travels eastward, to a city of smoke and iron, where Baker Bowl waits like an old stage creaking under the weight of memory. There, perhaps, the flannel hearts of Philadelphia will find their echo — and baseball will once more remember that redemption is its oldest trick.

Series 239, Game 3
At Baker Bowl – October 4, 1996
Weather: Clear, 54°F, wind out to right at 10 mph
Attendance: 18,987 (the old wood creaked; the night air crackled)
Final Score:
1996 San Diego Padres …… 11 R, 18 H, 0 E
1927 Philadelphia Phillies …… 3 R, 9 H, 1 E
Winning Pitcher: Bob Tewksbury (1–0)
Save: None
Losing Pitcher: Alex Ferguson (0–1)
Player of the Game: Brian Johnson (SD) — 4-for-5, HR, 3 R, 2 RBI (catalyst from the nine-spot)
Home Runs: SD — Johnson (1), Gwynn (1); PHI — none
Series: San Diego leads 3–0


Grantland Rice — Full Commentary
The small park with the large soul opened its wooden lungs and exhaled an old, familiar truth: that a baseball can be struck a dozen honest ways, and each will tell its own sermon.
Tonight San Diego’s order, like careful carpenters, measured the angles of Baker Bowl and laid a roadway of base hits from foul line to fence. A catcher named Johnson — a humble knight in armor of dust — set the cadence from the back of the parade, and in his wake the brown tide rolled.Philadelphia, proud as any forgotten regiment, found its moment in a single bright inning; yet the hours beyond belonged to modern discipline, to gloves meeting hops without panic and pitches finding corners without fear.In the eighth, when Gwynn’s blow arced into the cool October, time itself seemed to nod. The maestro of contact had written a signature where the ledger of eras cannot erase it.
And so the ledger reads three to the Padres and none to the Phillies, the candles drawing low. But baseball — the old, undaunted pilgrim — whispers still: that even at the edge of the map, a lone heartbeat may yet be heard. Tomorrow, in the creak of boards and the hush before the first pitch, we will listen for it.”

Series 239, Game 4
At Baker Bowl
Weather: Clear skies, 57°F, wind out to left at 16 mph
Attendance: 29,800 (packed to the rafters, wooden stands trembling under modern dominance)
Final Score:
1996 San Diego Padres …… 11
1927 Philadelphia Phillies …… 3
Winning Pitcher: Joey Hamilton (1–0)
Save: None
Losing Pitcher: Jack Scott (0–1)
Player of the Game: Tony Gwynn (5-for-6, 2 3B, 2B; sets postseason marks for hits and triples in a game)
Home Runs: SD — Cedeno (1); PHI — Leach 2 (3)

Grantland Rice — Closing Commentary
“In the small hours of the night, as the wood of Baker Bowl cooled under the weight of another era passing, a man named Gwynn left footprints where once Cobb, Ruth, and Speaker had trod. His five hits shone like polished coins scattered across the diamond, each a tribute to mastery born not of power, but of understanding.
The Padres came east not as conquerors, but as messengers — carrying the patience of the modern game to an old stage of splinters and smoke. They found beauty where others found boundaries. Twenty-one hits — each a hymn to preparation — and a sweep that felt more like a passing of torches than a burial of ghosts.
For Philadelphia, defeat wore dignity’s face. Their flannel jerseys clung to effort, and in Leach’s twin homers the old spirit roared one last time.
Thus closes the 239th tale in the Field of Dreams, written not in chalk, but in light and memory. The 1996 Padres walk into eternity tonight, not as champions of an age, but as proof that craftsmanship endures beyond time’s cruel arithmetic.
And somewhere, as the moon settles above the corn, you can almost hear it — the sound of leather and wood, echoing softly through the years, promising the same eternal refrain: the game goes on.”

1996 San Diego Padres Win Series 4 Games To 0

Series MVP:

(12/19, 3 2B, 2 3B, 1 HR, 8 R, 1 SB, .632 OBP)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #240



2004 Cleveland Indians
Record: 80-82
Finish: 3rd in AL Central
Manager: Eric Wedge
Ball Park: Jacobs Field
WAR Leader: Travis Hafner
Franchise Record: 10-10
2004 Season Record: 9-0
Hall of Famers: (1)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/CLE/2004.shtml

1930 Boston Braves
Record: 70-84
Finish: 6th in NL
Manager: Bill McKechnie
Ball Park: Braves Field
WAR Leader: Bob Smith (4.8)
Franchise Record: 2-8
1930 Season Record: 2-1
Hall of Famers: (4)
https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/BSN/1930.shtml
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“HEAVEN’S DUGOUT – SERIES #240 PREVIEW SHOW”
Live from the Field of Dreams – Dyersville, Iowa
Host: Bob Costas
Panelists: Sandy Koufax, Ernie Harwell, and David Ortiz



Segment 1 – Setting the Scene

Costas:
“Good evening, everyone. The stalks are whispering again in Iowa, and with them comes another chapter in this endless pilgrimage we call the Field of Dreams Tournament. Series #240 brings together two teams separated by time and temperament—the 1930 Boston Braves and the 2004 Cleveland Indians. Both carried the burden of transition years, yet within them lived sparks of greatness. Al Michaels and David Cone will have the call tomorrow, but for now, our panel gathers to dig into the ghosts, the glory, and the possibilities. Sandy, Ernie, Big Papi—it’s an unusual matchup.”

Harwell:
“Indeed it is, Bob. These 1930 Braves were a bridge between eras. You had Rabbit Maranville, still darting around like a man half his age, George Sisler playing out his twilight, and Lance Richbourg, one of the purest contact hitters in the league that year. They lost a lot more games than they won, but that lineup had heritage—and heart. In Iowa, those things matter more than the standings.”

Koufax:
“I love what you said, Ernie. The numbers didn’t define them, but the craft did. The 1930 Braves could hit—remember, that was the year offense went wild across baseball. Everyone was swinging heavy lumber. But pitching? That’s where the Indians might make them pay. The 2004 club had young arms that could bring it—Sabathia, Westbrook, and a bullpen that could shorten the game.”

Ortiz:
“I like that matchup, Sandy, but I don’t think the Indians are gonna just walk through these guys. You put Sisler in that cornfield, he’s gonna find grass all night. That man could hit in any century. And Maranville? That’s the kind of energy that changes a clubhouse. These old-school guys, they’re tough, man. No scouting reports, no analytics—just baseball from the gut.”

Segment 2 – Legacy Lines

Costas:
“Let’s talk legacy. The 1930 Braves may not be champions, but the roster was a museum—Maranville, Sisler, Les Bell. And on the other side, you’ve got Cleveland trying to define itself between the powerhouse of the 1990s and the resurgence of the 2010s. Sandy, what’s at stake in a series like this?”

Koufax:
“Identity, Bob. The 2004 Indians were building something—they were young, raw, and on the verge of another great Cleveland run. For them, this is a chance to show they belong among the lineages of Lofton and Belle before them, or Ramirez and Lindor after. For the Braves, it’s pride. It’s a chance for men like Sisler and Maranville, often remembered as past their prime, to show they could still lace them up with anyone.”

Harwell:
“And what a story that is! These Braves came from a quieter time, before night games, before planes, before the modern showbiz of sport. You put them here in Dyersville and they fit right in. There’s a poetry to it—a kind of redemption for teams that history overlooked.”

Ortiz:
“You know what I see? Opportunity. Those Cleveland bats—Victor Martinez, Travis Hafner, Casey Blake—they’re big dudes with power. But in a place like this, the ball doesn’t carry like it does at Jacobs Field. It’s heavy air, old-school baseball. You’re gonna have to manufacture runs, not wait for three-run homers.”

Segment 3 – Key Players and X-Factors



Costas:
“David, you mentioned Hafner—he’s the modern slugger in this matchup, but who’s the heartbeat of each team?”

Ortiz:
“For Cleveland? It’s Victor Martinez. Switch-hitting catcher, handles the staff, calls a smart game, and can hit from both sides. If he gets rolling, Cleveland’s gonna roll. For the Braves, I’m looking at Rabbit Maranville. He’s the kind of guy who turns a grounder into a story. Gets under your skin, fires up his team. That’s what you need in a short series like this.”

Koufax:
“I’ll throw in another name—Ed Brandt. The Braves’ left-hander. He had a live arm for the time and could change speeds well enough to confuse modern hitters. If he can command the corners, he could frustrate those free-swingers from 2004.”

Harwell:
“And don’t forget the weather, gentlemen. These October nights in Iowa, cool air, a little dew on the grass—pitchers love it. That’s a subtle edge for the Braves, who played many a chilly New England afternoon.”

Segment 4 – Predictions and Philosophies

Costas:
“All right, we’ve reached the moment the viewers love—the predictions. Sandy, you’ve faced both eras in spirit: who survives this clash of styles?”

Koufax:
“I’m leaning toward Cleveland. Too much power, too much depth in the bullpen. But it won’t come easy. The Braves will make them work for every run.”

Harwell:
“I’ll take the Braves, and I’ll take them for sentimental reasons. They represent a time when baseball was intimate, almost fragile. In a place like this, maybe that intimacy wins one more day.”

Ortiz (grinning):
“I gotta go with the Indians, baby. They’re young, they got swagger, they can hit it to the moon. But I want to see how they handle a team that plays small ball and bunts like it’s church on Sunday.”

Costas:
“So, two leaning modern, one tipping toward the past. In other words, the Field of Dreams balance remains intact. The 1930 Braves and the 2004 Indians—one from the age of train whistles, the other from the era of digital scoreboards—will meet under the same moonlight, with ghosts in attendance and history as the umpire.”

Segment 5 – Closing Thoughts

Costas:
“As always, the Heavens Dugout gives us more than predictions—it gives us a bridge between eras. Tomorrow, Al Michaels and David Cone will open the broadcast from the booth, and Fay Vincent’s ceremonial ball will find its way to the mound. Out here, the only thing that matters is the next pitch, the next heartbeat, the next echo through the corn. Gentlemen, thank you.”

Harwell:
“It’s the sound of the game, Bob—the sound that never dies.”

Ortiz:
“And that’s why we play it here.”

Koufax:
“Because every pitch is a memory waiting to be written.”

Costas:
“From Dyersville, Iowa, this has been Heaven’s Dugout. Series #240 is next—the Braves and the Indians, where yesterday meets forever.”

Cue music. Fade to a wide shot of the diamond under the Iowa dusk, the crowd murmuring, the lights soft against the corn.

Official Announcers for the series:


FIELD OF DREAMS SERIES #240 – BROADCAST PREVIEW
Live from the Booth at Jacobs Field
Commentators: Al Michaels and David Cone

Michaels (opening):
“Good evening, friends. From the shores of Lake Erie to the rows of corn in Iowa, the Field of Dreams Tournament continues its strange and wonderful march through baseball’s timeline. Tonight, under the lights of Jacobs Field, we open Series #240—an unlikely collision between the 1930 Boston Braves and the 2004 Cleveland Indians. Two teams separated by 74 years and joined by that one eternal thread—the crack of the bat and the echo of possibility. David Cone alongside me, and David, this one feels like an historian’s dream.”

Cone:
“It really does, Al. You’re talking about a 1930 Braves club that might’ve been short on wins but long on legends. They had George Sisler, Rabbit Maranville, and Wally Berger—guys who could hit in any era. Sisler especially—smooth swing, line drives to all fields. They were craftsmen from the live-ball generation, playing with heavy lumber and light egos. Then you line them up across from a modern Cleveland team built on power, analytics, and swagger—Travis Hafner, Victor Martinez, Omar Vizquel leading the charge. The contrast is beautiful.”

Michaels:
“And you look at those pitching matchups, the opening duel sets the tone—Bob Smith for Boston, a soft-tossing right-hander with pinpoint control, versus Cliff Lee, the lefty who’d later win a Cy Young. David, these guys lived in different worlds—Smith in a league without radar guns, Lee in an era obsessed with them.”

Cone:
“That’s what makes this fun, Al. Out here, the game’s stripped down. You can’t rely on scouting reports from iPads or spin-rate data. It’s instincts, it’s feel. I’d expect the Braves to bunt early, try to pull the infield out of rhythm. Meanwhile, Cleveland’s going to test that old-time pitching with their patience. Guys like Hafner and Martinez will make Smith throw every pitch he’s got. This is a chess match between generations.”

Michaels:
“One of the joys of this tournament, David, is that it’s not about trophies—it’s about rediscovery. Every series resurrects a forgotten chapter. That 1930 Boston team, most folks remember their 100-loss record. But out here, none of that matters. The corn erases the standings.”

Cone:
“Exactly, Al. You bring them here, to the heartland, and suddenly it’s just baseball—no front office, no contracts, no headlines. Sisler gets to remind people he was one of the purest hitters who ever lived. Maranville gets to drive everyone crazy again with that glove and that chatter. And Cleveland? They get to honor their own bridge era—the group that kept the fire burning between the glory of the ’90s and the pennant years that came later. That’s the poetry of this project—you give them all a second life.”

Michaels:
“You can already feel it around the park tonight. The temperature’s in the mid-50s, a little wind off the lake, and about 38,000 here in attendance—some in flannel, some in fleece, everyone wrapped in that same expectation. First pitch tomorrow night at 7:05 Eastern, and we’ll be right here in the booth for all of it.”

Cone:
“I can’t wait, Al. Two eras, one field, one heartbeat. It doesn’t get better than that.”

Michaels (signing off):
“For David Cone, I’m Al Michaels. Stay with us—The Field of Dreams Series #240 begins tomorrow. The 1930 Braves and the 2004 Indians… where yesterday meets forever.”

(Cue soft piano music, camera pans from the broadcast booth out across the illuminated diamond at Jacobs Field, where the faint echo of a ball hitting a mitt drifts into the night.)

[Nick Soulis]

Series #240



Across the Eras, Cleveland Prevails
Indians of 2004 Outlast the Braves in Six-Game Epic



SERIES #240, GAME 1
Jacobs Field, Cleveland –
Attendance: 62,848 (cloudy, 50°F, wind out to left at 13 mph)
FINAL SCORE
Boston 1930 Braves – 9
Cleveland 2004 Indians – 6
WINNING PITCHER: Ted Zachary (1-0)
SAVE: Bob Smith (1)
LOSING PITCHER: C.C. Sabathia (0-1)
PLAYER OF THE GAME: Al Spohrer (BOS) – 3-for-4, 3 RBI, BB, R
2B: Neun (1), Maguire (1) 3B: Berger (1), Crisp (1) HR: Richbourg (1), Hafner (1)
Notables: Sisler 2-for-4 RBI; Neun 3-for-5 2 R; Crisp 3 RBI triple; Hafner solo HR.
Time: 3:46 (30-min rain delay in 3rd)
Series: Boston 1930 leads 1-0

Grantland Rice Commentary — “The Braves Who Remembered”
Field of Dreams Series #240 – Game 1
There are nights in this tournament when the cornfield feels almost sentient, as if it senses history rediscovering itself. Tonight was one of those nights. The 1930 Boston Braves — a team forgotten by most, pitied by others — came out of the shadows and reminded the world what it means to play the game without expectation, without illusion, and without fear. They didn’t need fireworks or launch angles. They needed only a bat, a ball, and belief. And with those simple tools, they carved a 9–6 victory that echoed far beyond the modern steel of Jacobs Field.
Al Spohrer became the unlikely voice of the past — a catcher few remember, now forever tied to one unforgettable evening. Three hits, three runs driven home, and the calm of a craftsman. His bat did not strike the ball with violence, but with understanding. Around him, the Braves played a style of baseball that has almost vanished — short, sharp swings, bunts laid down like brushstrokes, gloves that never seemed hurried. Across from them, Cleveland swung hard and loud, and for a time it looked like power would prevail. But power fades in cool October air; patience endures.
As the last out fell, the old Braves walked from the field not as time travelers but as rightful heirs. The game had remembered them, and in doing so, remembered itself. Out of the wet wind came the scent of cut grass and redemption. Baseball, eternal in its stubbornness, had once more proven that while eras change, its heart does not. The past, for one clear night, was not past at all.

SERIES 240 GAME 2
Jacobs Field, Cleveland
Att: 62,902
Attendance: 63,072 (partly cloudy, 53°F, wind in from right at 11 mph)
Final Score:
Boston 1930 Braves – 1
Cleveland 2004 Indians – 3
W: Jake Westbrook (1–0) L: Ed Brandt (0–1) SV: Bob Wickman (1)
HR: Ben Broussard (CLE, 7th) 
Player of the Game: Jake Westbrook (CLE)
Series tied 1–1

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY – “A Game Measured in Heartbeats”
The game tonight was not thunderous—it was deliberate.
Cleveland’s Jake Westbrook stood on the mound as though sculpted from the soil beneath him, and every pitch seemed carved from patience. His sinker, low and unhurried, found comfort in the glove and the trust of his infield. Against a team built on memory, he pitched with understanding rather than fury, and in that simplicity, found mastery.
Ed Brandt, too, pitched with grace. His rhythm was old-fashioned—pauses between pitches, thought before motion—and for six innings he matched Westbrook’s poise. But baseball is often decided not by brilliance, but by the briefest tremor of imperfection. Broussard’s seventh-inning home run, brief and bright as a comet, provided all the separation the modern age required.And so the series travels east, even in score and spirit. The Braves have proven their hearts still beat, the Indians that progress still matters. In the dusk of this strange experiment, the game continues to whisper its oldest truth: that between eras, between men, between heartbeats—baseball remains the same.

SERIES #240, GAME 3 POSTGAME COVERAGE
Braves Field, Boston – Monday, October 4th, 2004
Attendance: 41,772 (partly cloudy, 50°F, wind out to left at 14 mph)
Final Score:
Cleveland 2004 Indians - 6
Boston 1930 Braves - 4
W: K. Tadano (1–0) L: B. Smith (0–1) SV: B. Wickman (2)
HR: Casey Blake (CLE, 3rd) 
Player of the Game: Casey Blake (CLE)
Series: Cleveland 2004 leads 2–1

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY – “The Sound of the Wooden Crowd”
Beneath the low roar of Braves Field, something older than noise stirred tonight. It was the hum of time folding in on itself — the rasp of wool uniforms beside the click of plastic cleats, the sigh of flannel ghosts watching men who play their echoes. The Cleveland Indians came from the future to win, but it was the past that made their triumph feel human.
Casey Blake’s home run rose into the gray Boston night like a flare over two centuries of baseball, and when it came down, it landed somewhere between eras. The Braves fought with grace, their bats persistent and proud, yet the game slipped from them in that cruel, familiar way — not through failure, but through the quiet perfection of another man’s moment.
And so the series turns, the air heavy with both memory and momentum. The Braves walk off their old field not defeated, but reminded that baseball’s promise was never immortality. It was recurrence. Every crack of the bat is a reminder: the game will return, the cheers will echo, and the ghosts will rise again.

SERIES #240, GAME 4
Braves Field, Boston
Attendance: 31,671 (Cloudy, 52°F, wind blowing out to left at 11 mph)
Final Score:
Cleveland 2004 Indians - 2
Boston 1930 Braves - 0
W: Jason Davis (1–0) L: Socks Seibold (0–1) SV: Bob Wickman (3)
Player of the Game: Jason Davis (CLE) – 8.0 IP, 3 H, 0 R, 3 BB, 3 K
Series: Cleveland 2004 leads 3–1

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY – “The Wind That Wouldn’t Yield”
The game tonight moved like a whisper through an old cathedral.
Jason Davis pitched not with fury but with faith—faith in his arm, in his defense, in the notion that even under antique lights, precision still conquers memory. His fastball cut through the cool Boston air like a note struck clean on a violin string, and with each inning, the crowd grew quieter, not out of surrender but of reluctant awe.
Socks Seibold matched him with courage, if not result. His curve floated, his heart steadied, but the small mercies of the past could not keep out the modern patience of Cleveland’s bats. Hafner’s two triples sang of strength that the wooden bleachers could scarcely believe. And when the final out was caught, the silence felt less like defeat and more like reverence.Now the Braves face time itself—its weight, its mercy, its final test. Tomorrow they will step once more from the dugout, chasing the sound of their own history. For baseball, like faith, does not end in the loss. It ends only when the belief in one more inning fades. Tonight, it has not faded yet.

SERIES #240, GAME 5 POSTGAME COVERAGE
Braves Field, Boston –
Attendance: 62,104 (Cloudy, 52°F, wind right to left at 12 mph)
Final Score:
Cleveland 2004 Indians - 5
Boston 1930 Braves - 6
W: B. Smith (1–1) L: K. Tadano (1–1, BS #2)
HR: Coco Crisp 2 (CLE) 
Player of the Game: Coco Crisp (CLE)
Walk-Off Hero: George Sisler (BOS)
Series: Cleveland 2004 leads 3–2

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY – “The Old Game Breathes Again”
Beneath the gray veil of Boston’s October sky, time exhaled. The 1930 Braves, those forgotten craftsmen of the diamond, refused to vanish quietly into myth. With each pitch, each breath, they defied the ticking clock of history, and when the ninth inning came, they reached back and found the heartbeat of baseball itself. Coco Crisp struck twice against them, his home runs carving through the cold air like declarations of the modern age. Yet for all his brilliance, the night belonged not to speed or strength, but to patience — to the sound of George Sisler’s bat meeting destiny. His swing was not thunderous; it was graceful, inevitable. A single into the twilight, a ripple through a century. The crowd did not cheer so much as remember.
And when the players poured from the dugout, their uniforms ghost-white under the lights, Braves Field was young again. The dust rose, the voices of a thousand yesterdays sang through the wind, and baseball — timeless, stubborn, alive — reminded us why it endures. Tomorrow, the scene shifts to Cleveland, but tonight, in Boston, the old game breathed once more.

SERIES #240, GAME 6
Jacobs Field, Cleveland
Attendance: 46,992 (Clear skies, 40°F, wind out to left at 10 mph)
Final Score
Cleveland 2004 Indians 5
Boston 1930 Braves 3
W: Jake Westbrook (2–0) L: Ed Brandt (0–2) SV: Bob Wickman (4)
HR: Omar Vizquel (CLE, grand slam, 6th inning)
Player of the Game: Jake Westbrook – 8.0 IP, 11 H, 3 R (2 ER), 1 BB, 2 K

GRANTLAND RICE COMMENTARY – “The Ballpark Beyond Time”
There are nights when baseball ceases to be a game and becomes something nearer to remembrance. Tonight in Cleveland was such a night. Under a hard autumn sky, with breath misting in the cold and the lights cutting through the wind, two teams met on the narrow bridge between centuries. The 1930 Braves brought with them the grit of the Depression age, the dust of train platforms and the purity of wooden bats. The 2004 Indians carried the modern faith—data and confidence, steel and sweat. And yet, by the ninth inning, all distinctions dissolved. It was simply baseball. Jake Westbrook’s right arm told a story of steadiness, of labor earned and quiet courage. He threw not for glory but for continuity, each pitch a thread woven into the fabric of those who came before him. And when Omar Vizquel turned on that pitch in the sixth and sent it arcing into the blue cold night, it felt less like a home run and more like an inheritance. A bridge built in flight—one century handing the flame to another.
For the Braves, defeat arrived not as shame but as conclusion. They played with integrity so ancient it became new again—batting gloves covered in grit, eyes clear as old glass. They didn’t fall; they yielded, as proud figures must when time gently closes the curtain. The applause that met them as they left the field was not farewell—it was gratitude.
And so the night ended, not in triumph but in understanding. Cleveland’s men of 2004 lifted their arms to the cold heavens, their cheers mingling with the whispers of Boston long past. Baseball had once again reminded us of its singular promise: that time bends for no one, yet somehow, on a diamond, it can stand perfectly still.

2004 Cleveland Indians Win Series 4 Games To 2

Series MVP:

(2-0, 15.2 IP, 7 K, 2 BB, 1.15 ERA, 1.28 WHIP)