National Baseball League

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A Beautiful Day for a Baseball Game
By Mister Rogers (as you might imagine he’d write it)

Hello, neighbor.

Sometimes, there are days that feel just a little more special than others. Tuesday, October 24th, 1916, was one of those days. At a lovely ballpark by the bay—Oracle Park in San Francisco—the Giants and the Astros came together to play a very important game: the first game of the World Series.

Now, baseball is a game where everyone has a role. Every pitcher, every batter, every person cheering in the stands. And on this day, a young man named Aidan Stevens played his role very well indeed. He was the starting pitcher for the San Francisco Giants, and oh my, what a calm and steady job he did.

Mr. Stevens pitched for eight full innings and didn’t allow a single run. He let just six batters reach base safely with hits, but he never got upset or flustered. He just kept throwing the ball, doing his best, showing his team that he cared. That’s what it means to be a good teammate, neighbor.

And speaking of teammates—Mr. Nate Moser was there to help too. He had three hits and brought home three runners. He was patient, kind to the ball, and gave his team a little more breathing room with each swing. Another friend, Mr. Ladino, scored three runs and hit a double that made the whole ballpark smile.

The Astros tried their best too. That’s important to remember. They had six hits of their own, and their pitcher, Mr. Peters, worked very hard through almost eight innings. Everyone gave it their best. And that's one of the nicest lessons baseball teaches us—win or lose, we can be proud of trying.

The final score was 4-0. The Giants won Game 1 of the World Series, but tomorrow is a new day, and another game. Another chance to care, to play, to try again.

So whether you're a Giant, an Astro, or someone cheering from home, I want to say: I'm proud of you. It’s a good feeling to know we’re all doing our best in our own way.

I’ll see you again soon, neighbor. Until then—keep playing fair, keep swinging for the fences, and most of all… keep being you.

With love,
Mister Rogers 🧥⚾💛

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MIKE AND THE MAD DOG STYLE TAKE ON GAME 2 OF THE 1916 WORLD SERIES
Live from WFAN, it’s Mike Francesa and Chris “Mad Dog” Russo

MIKE:
Alright, lemme tell ya, folks—this is a disgrace. A disgrace! The Houston Astros have now gone EIGHTEEN INNINGS without scoring a single run in the World Series. I mean, c’mon, what are we doin’ here!?

MAD DOG (losing his mind):
MIKE—MIKE! It’s not just bad, it’s HISTORICALLY BAD! You’re talkin’ about a team that waltzed into the postseason like they owned the place—and now they can’t buy a hit with a credit card and a co-signer! TWO HITS TODAY! TWO!! They got shut out AGAIN, FOUR NOTHIN’! IT’S UNBELIEVABLE!!

MIKE:
Beeman. Shamar Beeman. The kid looked like Sandy Koufax out there. He had 'em baffled! Seven innings, six strikeouts, two hits, no runs, ninety-seven pitches. I mean, it was like the Astros were swinging blindfolded!

MAD DOG:
You got guys like Segovia, Morine, Delgado—0-fers across the board! Rivera looked LOST behind the plate. They’re outta rhythm, they’re outta sync, and lemme tell ya somethin’ Mike: they are OUTTA LUCK unless they wake up yesterday!

MIKE:
Meanwhile, San Francisco—they're not even doing anything flashy! They're just playing clean, crisp, fundamental October baseball. You know what that is, Dog? That’s championship baseball. You get a solo homer from Rudeseal—BOOM. You get a double from Baca, another from Linkletter, and they’re driving in runs while Houston’s leaving bats in the bat rack.

MAD DOG:
And let me tell ya something about Goldsmith, alright? He goes eight innings, gives up four runs, only one walk, 108 pitches. Not a terrible outing—but NO run support! I mean, what do you want the guy to do? Drive himself in!?

MIKE:
Exactly. And let’s talk big picture here—Game 3 goes to Houston. Minute Maid Park. If they don’t score early in that one, you can kiss this series goodbye. You’re not beating this Giants staff three straight, I don’t care if you bring Nolan Ryan outta retirement!

MAD DOG:
OH PLEASE! Game 3’s a must-win, Mike. You go down 3-0, that’s the end of the movie. Roll the credits, close the book, put the champagne on ice in San Francisco.

MIKE:
We’re talkin’ about a team that won over 120 games in the regular season. And they look like they forgot how to swing a bat. Eighteen scoreless innings. Eighteen!

MAD DOG:
Houston, we have a problem!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

MIKE (deadpan):
Cute. Very cute.

MAD DOG (still laughing):
Mike, I can’t help it, it's a DISASTER!

MIKE:
Game 3, Friday. Minute Maid. If the bats don’t show up, Dog… they might as well not either.

MAD DOG:
Turn out the lights!

MIKE:
The party’s over.

[CUE OUTRO MUSIC]
"Back after this on the FAN!"
📻⚾🔥

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MIKE & MIKE ON ESPN – WORLD SERIES GAME 3 RECAP

Greeny: Alright, folks—hold the phone, stop the presses! We’ve got ourselves a series! After 18 straight scoreless innings to open this World Series, the Houston Astros finally wake up and take Game 3 from the San Francisco Giants, 5–4! That Minute Maid crowd? Electric.

Golic: Big fella, I’m telling ya—I don’t care how good your pitching is, you’re not winning a World Series scoring zero runs. Houston finally puts a crooked number up and shows some life at the plate. And how about Miguel Rivera? Two outs, bottom of the eighth, Astros down a run—BOOM! Two-run single, and the place goes bonkers.

Greeny: And they needed every bit of that hit. Let’s be honest—San Francisco had this one under control for a while. Ryan Grater was fantastic—seven innings, five hits, just two earned. You feel for him. He leaves with the lead, but the bullpen coughs it up.

Golic: Yeah, you hate to see it. F. Quintana comes in and just doesn’t have it—he gives up three hits and two runs in the eighth. Can't happen in October, Mike. Not when you’ve got a chance to go up 3–0 in the Series.

Greeny: Totally. And look, let’s give credit to Houston's starter too—J. Hester was dancing through raindrops. Gave up 10 hits in just under seven innings, but only allowed three earned. Didn’t strike anyone out, didn’t walk a ton either. But he gave them a shot.

Golic: You know I love that grinder mentality. Give me a guy like Hester who competes out there, keeps you in the game. And then the bullpen—Blodgett and Reyes? Shut it down. Lock the doors, throw away the key. Reyes gets the save—his fifth of the postseason.

Greeny: Here’s the thing, Mike. This series just got interesting. It's 2–1 now. San Francisco’s still in the driver’s seat, but this Houston offense finally cracked through. If that confidence carries over into Game 4? Look out.

Golic: And let’s not forget—errors. Sloppy defense from both sides. San Fran had four errors. Four! You’re not gonna win many games kicking the ball around like that. Houston had a couple too, but man, San Francisco’s gotta tighten up.

Greeny: Absolutely. You play clean defense, you usually win in October. But tonight, it was all about Rivera. The guy steps up, two on, two out, full crowd behind him—and he delivers. That’s postseason baseball, baby.

Golic: I got chills, man. Game 4 coming up—can Houston even this thing, or will the Giants bounce back? Either way, buckle up.

Greeny: This one’s heating up. Stay tuned.

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Dateline: Minute Maid Park – October 28, 1916
Written in the voice of Roger Dorn (from Major League)

Look, I’m not usually one to get my uniform dirty unless there’s a clause in the contract, but after watching this one unfold from the comfort of a well-appointed luxury box (where I belong), even I had to admit—it was a gritty win by the Giants.

San Francisco edged Houston 4–3 in Game 4 of the World Series, and now they’re one win away from wrapping this thing up. And believe me, I know a thing or two about being close to the finish line and making it look good.

Vinny Luevanos? The guy’s got ice in his veins. Six and two-thirds innings of control, poise, and zero flash. The guy didn’t need to throw heat—he just put it where they couldn’t drive it. That’s what you want from your starter. Smart pitching. Like I used to say: "Work smarter, not harder—unless the ball's hit to me."

And let’s talk Leo Dominguez. Sure, he may not look like the guy you want driving your Porsche, but when it comes to driving in runs, he gets the job done. That bases-loaded walk in the fifth? Textbook patience. You think that just happens? No way. That’s a guy who’s locked in. Focused. Possibly reading The Art of the Deal between innings.

J. Ladino put up a couple of doubles, and Linkletter legged out a triple. As long as they keep swinging like this and stay out of the spa before games, I like their chances.

Now the Astros—oh boy. They had their shots. They jumped ahead 2–0 early, but then went colder than a hotel bar tab after curfew. Segovia had himself a night, sure—three hits, a triple—but when your offense is more singles than a wedding reception, you're going to struggle. And their baserunning? Let’s just say if I’d ever been caught stealing that many times, I’d have faked an injury.

To be fair, B. Foulk wasn’t bad on the mound. Seven innings, four runs, none of them gifts. But in the postseason, “not bad” is about as useful as a gold glove that doesn’t fit.

So here we are. San Francisco up 3–1 in the series. One more win and they’re pouring champagne while the rest of us are trying not to get our loafers wet. Houston’s not out yet, but let’s just say they’re gonna need a lot more than grit—they need a miracle, a cleanup hitter, and probably a new third baseman.

Game 5 tomorrow. Bring your A-game… and maybe a poncho.

—Roger Dorn
(Still fielding grounders. Occasionally.)

[jg2977]

Lou Brown-Style Recap: Giants Get Flattened in Game 5, Series Heads Back to San Francisco

Well, hell. You don't win ‘em all, but you sure as hell better show up. That’s more than I can say for my boys today.

We had a shot to put this thing away in Game 5, but instead we looked like we were trying out for a damn beer league. Final score? 9-0, Astros. That ain’t a typo. We didn’t plate a single run. Not even a sniff. Zip. Zero. Zilch. I’ve seen more fight in a wet sock.

Luke Peters — gotta tip your cap. The kid threw a complete-game shutout. Scattered six hits over nine, didn’t walk a soul. Looked like Tom frickin’ Glavine out there. Meanwhile, our lineup couldn’t hit water if they fell outta a boat. That’s not baseball — that’s batting practice for the other guy.

Now let’s talk about the mound. Aidan Stevens? Love the kid’s grit, but he left a lot of pitches over the plate. Four earned in 4.1, and Houston made him pay every time. And don’t get me started on the bullpen — walks, wildness, you name it. If I had a nickel for every free pass we gave up, I’d be on a beach somewhere drinking something cold instead of watching this mess.

Errors? Three of ‘em. Hell, you can’t spot a playoff team extra outs and expect to win. Especially not when they’re stealing bases like it's a damn track meet. Astros were runnin' wild out there — Segovia, Arciniega, Dunham, Delgado… I need a new stop watch just to keep up.

Our bats? Couple of doubles from Linkletter and Ladino, but that was about it. Dominguez, Rudeseal, Edwards — nothing doin’. Nobody drew a walk, which tells me we were swinging at junk. Again.

This was a “clear your sinuses” kind of loss. Smells bad, feels worse.

Look — series is still 3-2 in our favor. We’re going back to San Francisco. That’s our park. That’s our turf. We’ve got a chance to close this thing out at home.

But lemme be real clear: if we don’t show up Tuesday with our heads screwed on straight and our spikes dug in, Houston’s gonna take us to a Game 7 — and then anything can happen.

So enjoy the flight home, fellas. But when we land? It’s time to play like your lives depend on it. Because they damn well might.

Lou Brown
Manager, San Francisco Giants
(Still waiting for someone to learn how to bunt properly)

[jg2977]

San Francisco Giants: 1916 World Series Champions (1st title)

LOU BROWN RECAP — GIANTS WIN THE DAMN THING

Well, I’ll be damned.

San Francisco finally did it. The Giants shut the door on the Houston Astros, 1-0, in Game 6, and now they’re callin’ themselves World Champions. And hell, they earned it.

Shamar Beeman? That kid pitched like he had a grudge against baseballs. Seven and a third innings, only gave up two hits and didn’t let a single run cross the plate. The guy was a bulldog out there. Gritty. Mean. Like the time I had to drag Cerrano outta the weight room for batting practice—Beeman wasn’t going anywhere.

Quintana came in to close the damn thing out and didn’t blink. Not once. Kid got ice water in his veins.

Now the offense… yeah, it wasn’t exactly Murderer’s Row, but they scratched one across, and that’s all you needed today. Baca had a nice double. Fisher knocked him in. Nothing fancy—just good, fundamental ball. Like I been screamin’ since spring training.

And let me tell you somethin’, this wasn't some fluke. The Giants didn’t sneak into the playoffs through the back door. They won 104 games, finished first in the NL West, and outlasted everybody. They had heart, they had hustle, and most importantly, they didn’t screw around when it counted.

The Houston boys? They fought hard. But three hits and two errors ain’t gonna cut it when the other guy’s throwing darts. That Goldsmith kid pitched fine, but if you don’t score, you don’t win. That’s just how it goes.

So here we are. San Francisco’s on top of the baseball world, spraying champagne and actin’ like they just stole Christmas. And I say let ‘em. They earned every damn drop.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go ice my knees and have a whiskey. Congratulations, Giants.

—Lou Brown
(Manager, occasional philosopher)

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1916 World Series

A key factor of the series seems to be that the Astros did not score a single run in Oracle Park. Giants' pitching at home was lights out.

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[jg2977]

1916 AL Reliever of the Year

Okay so, like, yo, this guy Cameron Nevarez? Dude was unreal this year. Like, not even joking, man. He just shut everything down—total beast mode outta the bullpen for the Yankees, bro.

So like—get this—48 saves, dude! FORTY-EIGHT. In 69 games! That's, like, almost every time they needed him, he came in and just said “Nope. Not today.” He had a 1.62 ERA, which is like… elite elite, you know? Like, better than my GPA before Dad made me take chemistry tutoring. And 89 innings? That’s, like, a starter’s workload for a reliever! And he still kept it tight.

And yeah, okay, not a big strikeout guy—only 40 K’s—but who even cares, man? Dude just got outs. Ground balls, fly balls, double plays—whatever. Ten wins? As a reliever?? That’s like... baseball wizard stuff.

He got 21 first-place votes, man. Out of 30! That's, like, most of them! He totally crushed it. And I guess Angelo Reyes from Houston was cool too or whatever, but this was Nevarez’s year, no cap.

So yeah, props to you, Cameron. You earned that AL Reliever of the Year. Yankees fans better throw a freakin’ parade for this guy.

Whew… alright, I gotta go rewatch the highlights again. Let’s goooooo! 🎉⚾🔥

— Flynn White, reporting from the kitchen while eating breakfast for dinner

[jg2977]

1916 NL Reliever of the Year

Oh, hey there. Yeah, so, um… Fernando Quintana? He’s… he’s just really good, sir. Like, really good. I mean, 45 saves? That’s… that’s a lot of saves. That’s not easy to do, no sir.

And, well, he’s only 25. Which is… young. Younger than me, I guess. And to be the Reliever of the Year already? That’s… that’s something. I mean, he had a 1.42 ERA. That’s low. Real low. It means he didn’t let many runs in. I looked it up.

I watched a few of his games on TV. He comes in real calm, you know? Not flashy or anything. Just gets the job done. That’s the kind of guy I respect. Reliable. Doesn’t mess around. Just throws strikes, gets outs, ends games. Like clockwork. Kinda reminds me of… well, never mind.

He got 30 first place votes. All of them, actually. Which means no one else got any. That’s what you call unanimous. I like that word. Makes things simple.

Tony Plascencia and Zach Gonser? They tried. But, uh… they’re not Fernando. Nope. This guy’s the best. At least for now. Guess we’ll see how next year goes.

So, yeah… congrats to him. He earned it. Good job, Fernando. Keep it up, man. Don’t let it get to your head.

Okay. That’s it. Thanks for listening, sir.

[jg2977]

1916 AL Platinum Stick winners

Well hi-diddly-ho, baseball fan-a-renos! It's a dandy diddly day for some slugger-celebratin’, because the Commissioner of Major League Baseball has officially handed out the ol' Platinum Stick Awards for the 1916 American League season! These holier-than-home-run heroes sure swung their sticks with heavenly might—praise the Lord and pass the pine tar!

Now let’s give a neighborly tip of the cap to your nine bat-swingin’, base-stealin’, stat-stuffin’ recipients:

⚾ Catcher:
Jesus Fagundes (Boston Red Sox)
Why, this fine fella was a backstop blessing! Batting a righteous .294 with a .378 on-base and a sluggerific .476 slugging, he also swiped 14 bags! And don’t even get me started on that divine 7.0 WAR—woo doggy!

⚾ First Baseman:
Eric Rehfeld (Chicago White Sox)
This gent was a base-hit machine with a .311 average and a heavenly 165 wRC+. And holy smokes—46 stolen bases? That’s faster than Maude racing to the bake sale!

⚾ Second Baseman:
Ethan Holtzen (Minnesota Twins)
Well butter my biscuit and call me Homer! Ten wins above replacement?! A .435 OBP?! This Holtzen feller played second base like he had the Good Book in his glove and a thunderbolt in his bat.

⚾ Third Baseman:
Angel Pena (Cleveland Indians)
With a name like Angel, he’s gotta be divinely inspired! A .336 average and 167 wRC+? Sounds like a halo-worthy hitter if I ever saw one!

⚾ Shortstop:
Mike Lord (Oakland Athletics)
A perfect name for a fella who lorded over shortstop! The man hit .304 and swiped a sanctified 72 bases. That’s more steals than the Leftorium clearance rack, neighbor!

⚾ Left Fielder:
Jon Dunham (Houston Astros)
Dunham got it done-ham! Four dingers, 73 steals, and a .381 OBP? That’s hustle with a capital H-E-double-hockey-sticks (uh, whoops)!

⚾ Center Fielder:
Andres Segovia (Houston Astros)
Segovia played center field like it was the Garden of Eden out there—clean, fast, and fruitful. A slick 4.6 WAR for this humble hitter.

⚾ Right Fielder:
Nate Cech (Seattle Mariners)
He wasn’t just Cech-ing boxes—he was checkin’ in as one of the best! With a .292 average, 6 home runs, and 6.7 WAR, this right fielder was diddly-right on the money!

⚾ Designated Hitter:
Luke Satterwhite (Chicago White Sox)
A holy roller of a DH, Satterwhite delivered 15 homers, 49 steals, and drove in a blessed 101 runs. He might not wear a glove, but he sure wore out that scoreboard!

So let’s raise our root beers and give thanks for another glorious season of baseball, brought to you by hard work, hustle, and just a dash of divine intervention. Congratulations to the Platinum Stickers of 1916—you’ve earned your spot in the kingdom of clout!

Okily-dokily, that’s all from me—now go play some catch with the kids and don’t forget to stretch before church league!

[jg2977]

1916 NL Platinum Stick winners

Well now. Looks like some folks made themselves useful this season. Swung a piece of wood, ran in circles, collected numbers like they were bottle caps.

Major League Baseball handed out their little Platinum Stick Awards today—the kind of thing you dust off once a year when company comes over. Officially, it's for the top offensive performer at each position in the National League. Unofficially? It's a polite way of saying you did more damage than the guy next to you.

Let’s take a walk down the list, shall we?

⚾ Catcher
Ricardo Calzolai (Los Angeles Dodgers)
A backstop with hands like cinder blocks and a bat that didn’t know when to quit. .298 average, 8 homers, and a WAR just shy of 7. That’s not catching—that’s execution.

⚾ First Baseman
Angelo Liotta (Cincinnati Reds)
This guy ran 86 bases like someone was chasing him. Only one home run, but you know what they say—stealth is a weapon too. 8.9 WAR. No accident.

⚾ Second Baseman
Alex Ojeda (Cincinnati Reds)
Cincinnati again. Huh. Maybe there’s something in the water. 24 bombs and a .497 slugging. That’s not a second baseman, that’s an enforcer.

⚾ Third Baseman
Oscar Arispe (St. Louis Cardinals)
Oscar played third like he owned it—because he did. Nine home runs, 17 stolen bases, and a batting line that tells you he was quiet, but lethal. Kind of like a knife in a dark room.

⚾ Shortstop
Alan Sloan (New York Mets)
Sloan made contact more often than a hitman with a Rolodex. Sixteen home runs, 15 steals—versatile. Which is another way of saying dangerous.

⚾ Left Fielder
Matt Williams (San Diego Padres)
One home run. Not much on paper. But .323 average and 29 stolen bases? That's a guy who doesn’t need to swing hard to hurt you. He just… makes it happen.

⚾ Center Fielder
Jaden Hunter (Arizona Diamondbacks)
Look, you don’t win these things on looks. Jaden hit .246 and still walked away with a trophy. Why? Because he stole 52 bases and never looked back. Efficient. Cold. Respectable.

⚾ Right Fielder
Vince Brown (Philadelphia Phillies)
Thirteen home runs, 53 stolen bases. .386 OBP. That’s a man who sees opportunity and takes it. Not because he wants it. Because he can.

⚾ Designated Hitter
Juan Flores (Washington Nationals)
DHs don’t play defense. That’s fine. Flores didn’t need to. He just got on base, 81 times stole a bag, and left the mess for someone else to clean up.

So there you have it. Nine men with bats and no conscience, carving their names into the woodgrain of history. Platinum Stick winners, 1916.

You think that means something?

To them, maybe. To the rest of us? Just a reminder that when the lights go down and the fans go home, somebody always ends up on top—and somebody else ends up under the bus.

[jg2977]

1916 AL Top Rookie

Okay, okay—wait a second, just… just hear me out for a minute, all right?

So we’ve got this rookie, Brendan Morine. Shortstop. Houston Astros. Now, on the surface? On the surface, you look at his stats—.219 average, .255 OBP, zero home runs—you think, "Wait, this guy? This guy won Rookie of the Year?" And I know, I know—it doesn’t look like much. But that’s exactly the problem! You’re thinking about it too linearly!

Let’s take a step back. This kid? He played shortstop every day in a league filled with guys hitting like they're swinging at alien spacecraft, and he survived. Not only survived—thrived, relatively speaking. Forty-seven RBIs, 45 runs scored. That’s production! That’s grit! That’s—dare I say—human resilience in the face of impossible odds!

And get this: he got 16 first-place votes out of 30. That’s not just luck, that’s a pattern. That’s evidence. Someone—scratch that, a whole group of someones—looked at Brendan Morine and said, “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

Now, Rickey Doll? Boston Red Sox. He came close. Really close—only one point behind in the voting. But you know what close gets you in this league? The silver medal. And no one’s building statues for silver.

So here’s the breakdown:

Player Team 1st Place Votes Total Points
Brendan Morine Houston Astros 16 97
Rickey Doll Boston Red Sox 12 96
Edgar Ruiz New York Yankees 1 29
Aaron Marshall Texas Rangers 1 28
Kelly Brunke Texas Rangers 0 18
Eric Usher Boston Red Sox 0 2
Look, all I’m saying is this: sometimes the numbers lie. Or at least, they don’t tell you the whole story. Sometimes the story is hidden in the margins, in the grind, in the human moments that don’t show up in the stat sheet. Brendan Morine didn’t just win an award—he proved that in the right moment, with the right heart, you can overcome anything.

Even aliens.

...Or, you know, .219 batting averages.

[jg2977]

1916 NL Top Rookie

My fellow Americans,

Tonight, we recognize not only a rising star in our national pastime, but a young man whose dedication, consistency, and resilience speak to the very best of what this country—and this game—stands for.

Juan Flores, a third baseman for the Washington Nationals, has been named the National League Rookie of the Year for the 1916 season. At just 23 years old, this young man stepped onto the field for the first time as a major leaguer—and played with the poise and purpose of a seasoned veteran.

In 148 games, Juan batted .276, with 161 hits, 3 home runs, 56 RBIs, and 94 runs scored. These aren't just numbers on a stat sheet. They're the result of hard work, long hours, and an unwavering commitment to excellence. He walked 37 times, kept a steady .318 on-base percentage, and every day he gave everything he had for his teammates and his city.

Out of a possible 30 first-place votes, Juan Flores received 28. That is not just a victory—it is a message. A message that when you do the work, when you stay focused, when you believe in yourself—others will too.

Let us also commend Julio Cardenas of the Pittsburgh Pirates, who received the remaining two first-place votes and finished a strong second. And we recognize Mike Cook of the Cincinnati Reds for rounding out the top three.

Here are the final results:

Player Team 1st Place Votes Total Points
Juan Flores Washington Nationals 28 146
Julio Cardenas Pittsburgh Pirates 2 80
Mike Cook Cincinnati Reds 0 36
Fernando Huerta New York Mets 0 7
Bob Simonson Milwaukee Brewers 0 1
Ladies and gentlemen, this is not just a story about baseball. It's a story about potential. About perseverance. And about what can happen when you rise to the moment.

Congratulations, Juan. This country is proud of you. Keep going. Keep grinding. And above all—stay ready.

God bless you, and God bless the game of baseball.

[jg2977]

1916 AL Manager of the Year

OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: ARNette Wins Manager of the Year

TARGET IDENTIFICATION: Rickey Arnette
DESIGNATION: Manager, New York Yankees
MISSION OUTCOME: Success

SEASON ANALYSIS:
Arnette executed optimal strategy protocols throughout the 1916 American League baseball season. Result: First place in the AL East Division. Total wins: 102. Total losses: 60. Victory ratio: .630. Primary directive achieved: Division dominance.

EVALUATION CRITERIA MET:

Tactical lineup deployment
Efficient bullpen utilization
Maximization of player performance units
Sustained morale and mission focus across 162 games
AWARD: American League Manager of the Year
Reason: Leadership excellence under high-pressure conditions.
Comment from Subject: “Everyone on the team put in a lot of hard work this season. It’s always nice when it’s acknowledged in some way.”

EMOTION: Detected — Satisfaction
CONFIDENCE LEVEL: 100% — Recognition justified.

CONCLUSION:
Rickey Arnette’s leadership subroutines executed at maximum efficiency. Adversaries neutralized. Objective achieved. Commendation issued.

MISSION LOG: TERMINATED.

[jg2977]

1916 NL Manager of the Year

Yo, so check this out, man...

My boy Chris Roberts—dude just got the big one, y’know? National League Manager of the Year, baby! And get this—he ain’t even know it was comin’. He was just chillin’, talkin’ to some Giants fans at this fancy luncheon or whatever, and bam!—the owner drops the news like, “Yo, congrats, bro.”

And Roberts? Man looked like someone just handed him front-row seats to a Wu-Tang reunion or somethin’. He’s all like, “Wow... how lucky can a guy be? Manage a great bunch of guys... have great fans... have a great season... and now this... life don’t get any better than this.” Real humble, man. Real chill.

Fans went nuts, toasted him and everything. Lotta love in the room for their skipper—like, real vibes, y’know?

But for real, this dude earned it, yo. 104 wins, only 58 losses, and first place in the NL West. That’s some boss-level managing right there. And oh yeah, he didn’t just stop at the regular season—won the whole freakin' World Series, man! First time the Giants brought it home. Historic, yo.

So yeah, Chris Roberts? Dude’s straight legend status now. Respect.

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1916 AL Cy Young Award

Ayo, listen up! Sal Cantu, that fireballer from the Baltimore Orioles, straight dominated the mound this season, no cap. The dude went 17-11, but that don’t even tell the full story. The American League straight-up crowned him the 1916 Cy Young winner, and yeah, it’s well deserved.

This guy was locking down hitters like a boss — opponents hitting just .210 off him? That’s nasty. Plus, he rocked a slick 1.71 ERA over 284.2 innings, fanning 148 batters while only giving up 216 hits and 44 walks. Pure nasty stuff.

Voting was tight, but Sal pulled in 19 first place votes outta 30. His teammate Albert Garay snagged 7, and Julio Morales from Seattle grabbed 2. But hey, when it comes to the top dog on the mound? Cantu’s the real deal, no question.

Here’s how it broke down, straight facts:

Sal Cantu – Baltimore Orioles – 19 first place votes – 172 points
Albert Garay – Baltimore Orioles – 7 – 116
Julio Morales – Seattle Mariners – 2 – 99
Luke Peters – Houston Astros – 2 – 73
Mike Deming – New York Yankees – 0 – 16
Zach Guckian – Baltimore Orioles – 0 – 12
Will Goldsmith – Houston Astros – 0 – 9
George Attwood – New York Yankees – 0 – 8
Colin Yovanovich – Minnesota Twins – 0 – 5

So salute to Sal Cantu, the AL’s Cy Young champ — he earned every bit of that shine!

[jg2977]

1916 NL Cy Young Award

Alright, let’s get something straight about this Steven Janczak guy from the St. Louis Cardinals. The dude’s out there pitching like it’s the freakin’ apocalypse. Nineteen wins, eight losses — and an ERA that’s so low it makes you wonder if he’s throwing with a little cheating magic or something. 2.09, baby. And 160 strikeouts over almost 280 innings? That’s not a pitcher, that’s a machine. A very cranky, deadly machine.

So, surprise surprise, they gave him the Cy Young Award. Not his first rodeo either — third time he’s snagged that thing, and second year in a row. You know, consistency. Like a tax collector who keeps showing up no matter how much you don’t want him to.

But here’s the kicker: he only got 10 first-place votes out of 30. What? That’s less than half! Rich Alvarado from the Reds actually got 11 votes, and Ricardo Garcia from Miami got 9. So the voters are split like it’s some kind of congressional debate, and the prize ends up going to the guy who didn’t even get the most votes. Democracy in baseball, folks. Gotta love it.

Here’s the scoreboard for you:

Steven Janczak, Cardinals, 10 first place votes, 146 points
Rich Alvarado, Reds, 11 votes, 143 points
Ricardo Garcia, Marlins, 9 votes, 122 points

Then some other guys trailing off like lost tourists.
So yeah, Janczak’s the Cy Young champ again. But really, it’s just a fancy way of saying, “Hey, you threw better than most of the other guys, so here’s a shiny trophy to keep you quiet.” And that’s baseball for ya.

[jg2977]

1916 AL MVP Award

Oh God… of course Ethan Holtzen wins the MVP. Why not? The guy’s 34 years old, still plays like a freakin’ cyborg, and meanwhile I can’t walk up a flight of stairs without wondering if my hip just filed for divorce. Holtzen hits .295, gets on base like a monk with a vow to never strike out — .435 OBP! What is he, allergic to outs?! I haven’t been that consistent with anything since Clinton was in office!

He racks up 152 hits, 20 doubles, 10 triples — TRIPLES! I haven’t seen a triple since dial-up internet! Then he adds 21 home runs and walks 133 times. That’s not a stat, that’s an intervention. I’ve dated people who paid less attention to me than pitchers did to this guy!

And then, just to drive it home like a nail in my self-esteem, he unanimously wins the MVP. Thirty out of thirty first-place votes. That’s a landslide, folks. That’s the kind of result you only see in rigged elections or Beatles albums.

Eric Rehfeld of the White Sox came in second — sorry, pal, you’re just the “meh” after the masterpiece. Josh Freeman was third, which is basically second place for losers. All solid seasons, but Ethan’s just out here rewriting the Torah of baseball.

Here’s the full breakdown, if you want to ruin your day:

Player - Team - First Place - Total Points
Ethan Holtzen - Twins - 30 - 420
Eric Rehfeld - White Sox - 0 - 229
Josh Freeman - Mariners - 0 - 197
Mark McCall - Mariners - 0 - 182
Luke Satterwhite - White Sox - 0 - 127
Jesus Fagundes - Red Sox - 0 - 104
… and then it’s a giant conga line of very nice, very talented, very not MVPs.

Bottom line? Holtzen is an offensive machine with the patience of a saint and the legs of a gazelle. I’m happy for him. I’m also furious. And tired. And I might need a nap.

God, I hate how good he is.