National Baseball League

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🎙️ [Bob Uecker voice — classic, dry wit, Midwest charm, and a dash of self-deprecation:]

Well folks, the Twins finally said, “Enough’s enough!” After getting bounced out of the playoffs the past two seasons quicker than my fastball back in ’64, Minnesota flipped the script and punched their ticket to the Division Series with a 6-1 win over the White Sox. And let me tell ya—it was almost as fun as a cheese curd eating contest at the state fair.

Now, for those keeping score at home—and if you are, you might need help—this game was all about Ethan Holtzen. Two dingers! Six RBI in the series! He hit .571, and I’m not talkin’ about slugging percentage, I mean he really hit .571. That’s not just hot, that’s “don’t touch the steering wheel in July” hot. He also had a slugged an incredible 1.429 and had an OBP of .667!

Holtzen’s first homer? Solo shot in the second. His second? A two-run cannonball in the eighth. He even remembered to touch all the bases—now that’s a pro. Guy was seeing beach balls out there.

Now I know the Twins haven’t sniffed October success since 1914, but this crew? They look locked in. I haven’t seen Minnesota hit like this since I tried to drive through a snowstorm to call a Brewers game and ended up in North Dakota.

Meanwhile, the White Sox bats were quieter than me during a root canal. One run, nine hits, left seven men on base… and I gotta say, it wasn’t pretty. By the ninth inning, their dugout had more tension than my last marriage.

And you gotta hand it to Danny Bowers—Twins starter, seven shutout innings, struck out seven, walked one. I haven’t seen that kind of control since I tried to parallel park in front of County Stadium back in ’83—and that didn’t go well.

The crowd at Target Field was fired up. Over 39,000 in the seats! And only a handful left early—probably trying to beat traffic, or maybe avoid me singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame one more time.

So now it’s on to Seattle for the Twins. And if they keep hitting like this? Well, they might be bringing back memories of those old championship teams—ya know, the ones that played before radios were invented.

Until next time, folks… remember: baseball’s a funny game. One day you’re on top, the next day you’re getting shelled and wondering why your cleats are full of sunflower seeds.

Back after this.

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1917 Division Series

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🎙️**[Stephen A. Smith voice — emphatic, booming, theatrical, and unapologetically dramatic]**

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...

Let me tell you something right now... the New York Mets came into Citi Field, GAME ONE of the Division Series, and handled their business like grown MEN! You hear me?! Not boys. Not rookies. Not deer in the headlights. GROWN. MEN.

Luke Peters?! My brother, take a bow. SEVEN innings. THREE hits. Gave up just TWO runs. Struck out five. Walked four—but let me tell you something: he bent, but he did NOT break. And that’s the mark of a pitcher with ICE in his veins. A man who stood tall on the mound with the weight of the city on his back, and said: “Not today.”

Now let’s talk about that Cincinnati Reds offense for a second. What did I see out there?! Four hits. Two runs. ZERO life after the first inning! They started hot, yes—but then? NOTHING. You’re tellin’ me a lineup with Soto, Ojeda, and Liotta can’t get a single man across the plate in the final EIGHT innings? That is a disgraceful performance. You got fans flying in from Ohio, spending their hard-earned money, and that’s what you give ‘em? Two runs and a whole lotta disappointment?! COME ON!

Now back to the Mets. We gotta talk about T. Tamura. Three hits. A solo shot in the sixth. Just went up there and said, “Yeah, I’m gonna take your little fastball and put it where the sun don’t shine.” That was a grown man swing. And then... Brubaker follows it up with a bomb of his own in the seventh?! That ball is still orbiting Queens. Somebody call NASA!

Adam Black? Didn’t light up the stat sheet, but he delivered in the fifth with a clutch RBI single. That’s a professional at-bat. That’s what it means to come through when it matters.

And don’t get me started on the bullpen—Moran? Ice cold. Two innings. One hit. Game over.

Listen, I’m not sayin’ this series is over... BUT IF CINCINNATI DON’T WAKE UP AND START PLAYIN’ LIKE THEY BELONG ON THE FIELD WITH THESE NEW YORK METS?! This thing is gonna be over faster than your uncle’s Wi-Fi during a thunderstorm!

Game Two is tomorrow. The Reds better regroup, refocus, and REACT—because if they don’t? They’ll be watching the rest of this postseason from a couch somewhere in Kentucky!

I’M JUST SAYIN’.

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Dramatic Win for World Series Champion Giants

[Duane Kuiper voice — steady, warm, and storytelling with a touch of wonder]

Well folks... if you like postseason baseball, this was one of those games. We had wind blowing out to left, fans on their feet from the first pitch to the final swing, and everything you'd expect from October baseball at Oracle Park. And when the dust settled... the Giants came out on top. 9–8. In 10 innings. They now lead the series one game to none.

Now let’s take you through it.

Right off the bat—literally—Philadelphia came out swinging. Two runs in the first inning off Sam Beeman, including a two-run homer from Vince Brown. And let me tell you, Brown had himself a day. A triple, a homer, got hit by a pitch, took a walk… you might as well call that the cycle, just without the single. The man was everywhere.

But the Giants, as they’ve done so many times before, did not panic.

In the third— Moser. A two-run homer to bring the crowd to its feet. Just like that, it’s 6–3. And we’ve got ourselves a ballgame.

Then came the back-and-forth. Philly got four in the third, Giants chipped away in the fourth, one more in the seventh. But here’s the big moment...

Bottom of the ninth, two outs, Giants trailing by two. C.J. Rudeseal steps up to the plate... and bang! A two-run double. Tie game. Crowd’s going nuts. I mean, you could feel it in your chest.

Fast forward to the tenth... two outs again. Ivan Ramos comes up. Remember, this guy had an error earlier in the game. But baseball’s funny like that—it gives you a chance to write a different ending. And he does. Lines a single into left. Walk-off. Ballgame. Giants win it, 9–8.

And how about the bullpen? Mike Eldridge comes in for the tenth, nails it down with some help from his defense, and picks up the win. That’s what it’s all about.

You want postseason drama? You got it. Game 1 goes to the Giants. Game 2 is tomorrow. Same place, same time. You just hope it’s half as good as this one.

So long, everybody.

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[Bob Costas voice – elegant, articulate, measured, nostalgic]

On a crisp October afternoon in Baltimore, with the wind gently brushing across Oriole Park at Camden Yards and autumn’s edge just beginning to color the trees beyond the right field wall, the 1917 Division Series opened not with fireworks, but with quiet excellence.

This was not a game marked by towering home runs or late-inning chaos, but rather, one run—scored in the bottom of the very first inning—stood alone as the difference. A 1–0 victory. A minimalist’s masterpiece. And for the Baltimore Orioles, a statement of poise and precision.

The story of the day, unequivocally, was Sal Cantu.

In an era—and in a postseason—so often driven by power and spectacle, Cantu delivered something more rare: seven innings of silence. The left-hander tamed the Yankees’ formidable lineup with craft and command. No flash. Just groundouts, fly balls, and a steady rhythm that mirrored the deliberate pacing of a string quartet. He allowed just three hits over those seven frames, walking two, striking out none. There were no exclamation points—just periods. Finality.

In support, the Orioles’ bats didn’t do much—but they didn’t need to. After Cantu set the tone, Jimmy Hyland stepped in during the bottom of the first, grounded out to the right side, and did his job. A run scored. Carlos Alfonso, who had doubled earlier in the inning, crossed the plate. That was it. That was the game.

Credit, too, to Luis Ortiz, the Yankees starter. Seven innings, one run, four walks, three strikeouts. The 22-year-old right-hander was magnificent, but on this day, he was outdueled. It was, quite simply, one of those afternoons where the margin of error was a whisper.

From there, Alex Jeoffrey took the baton for Baltimore and held the Yankees at bay over the final two innings, scattering two hits, striking out three, and collecting the save. Calm, composed, clinical.

And while many will glance over the box score and see a 1–0 game with little to remember, those in attendance—over 43,000 strong—witnessed a different kind of drama. The type that unfolds pitch by pitch. The kind of game that pays homage to the sport’s subtler virtues. Tension. Timing. Stillness.

Game 2 awaits, with the Yankees hungry to respond. But tonight, Baltimore holds a 1–0 series lead, thanks to a pitcher’s quiet brilliance and the lonely, beautiful solitude of a single run.

I'm Bob Costas.

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[Tony Kornheiser voice – sarcastic, sharp, a little exasperated, a little amused]

Okay, so let me get this straight. It’s Game 1 of the Division Series. You’ve got the Minnesota Twins—who won 100 games, might I add—rolling into Seattle to face the Mariners, who themselves won 106. You’re thinking fireworks, right? Something dramatic. Something memorable. Maybe a slugfest. Maybe a walk-off. You’re thinking postseason baseball, baby!

And what do you get?

Crickets.

You get a 3–0 Mariners win that felt more like a two-hour nap than a playoff opener. I mean, it’s not that it wasn’t good baseball, it’s just that it was... it was broccoli. It was fiber. It was good for you, but nobody’s waking up tomorrow screaming about fiber.

Let’s talk about Julio Morales for a second. Eight innings. No runs. Seven hits. A smooth 89 pitches. Guy probably could’ve gone nine but, God forbid we let a starting pitcher finish a game in 1917. What is this, 1910?

He was great. He was terrific. He was boring. That’s the point. He sliced through the Twins lineup like a hot knife through butter. You’d think the Twins might fight a little—scratch out a run, cause some havoc—but no. Just… eight singles and a sigh.

And can we talk about Minnesota’s baserunning? They had two triples! Two triples! That’s like finding a working pay phone—and they did nothing with them. Nothing! They couldn’t move a guy 90 feet if the base path was downhill. You’d think someone was out there with a stop sign and a whistle yelling, “DON’T SCORE!”

Meanwhile, Seattle just methodically pecked away. One run here, one run there, a Josh Freeman single, a McCall homer, a Welch homer—bam, bam, we're done here. It’s like they ran a tutorial on “How to Win Without Breaking a Sweat.”

And the fielding? Double plays everywhere. I counted six between the two teams. At one point I thought I was watching an infield defense drill at Spring Training. It’s like they were competing to see who could hit into the most well-turned 4–6–3s.

Bottom line: Seattle wins Game 1. Minnesota looks like they overslept. Morales shoves. Freeman and the gang scratch out enough. Nobody makes a peep. Game over.

If you’re the Twins, you better show up tomorrow with some runs and a pulse. Otherwise, Seattle’s gonna lull you into winter while sipping chamomile tea.

I’m Tony Kornheiser. That’s the show.

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[Gary Cohen voice – thoughtful, professional, but with unmistakable disappointment layered in every syllable]

Well... what can you say?

On a day when the Mets had a chance to take control of this Division Series… they just didn’t show up. And the Reds made sure everyone at Citi Field knew it.

An 8–1 loss. A game that started badly and, frankly, never got better. You could feel the air come out of the ballpark the moment Pedro Rodriguez launched that grand slam in the first inning. A 2–2 pitch from Ben Navarro, a hanging curveball, and Rodriguez didn’t miss. He crushed it. Four-nothing before some fans had even found their seats.

Rodriguez finishes with five RBIs, three hits, a double, a homer… he did everything but sell peanuts in the mezzanine.

And from the Mets? Well, there were eight hits. But no big ones. A run here, a couple of scattered singles there. A lot of traffic with nowhere to go. They grounded into three double plays. And when they finally had something going in the fourth, Norwood hit a soft ground ball to bring in a run… and that was it. That’s the entire offensive highlight reel.

Now, give credit to Johnny Landaverde. The Reds' starter was brilliant—complete game, eight hits, one run, just 98 pitches. He didn’t overpower anybody, but he was efficient, and the Mets never adjusted. That’s the kind of outing you want in October. That’s the kind of outing you dream about as a kid.

As for the Mets… the defense was shaky. Tamura had two errors at first base, and Porche added another at third. It was sloppy. This is the postseason. You cannot give a team like the Reds extra outs and expect to survive.

And now this series shifts to Cincinnati, tied at one. And yes, the Mets still have a chance. But this was the game. The one you needed. The one you had circled.

And they just... let it slip away.

For now, it’s back to the clubhouse, back to the drawing board, and on to Great American Ball Park on Tuesday. This team has shown resilience all year, but that... that was a gut punch.

We’ll step aside. More postgame coverage coming up.

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[Jon Miller voice – melodic, dramatic, and building toward crescendo with each syllable…]

Folks… it was another day by the bay… and another October memory to etch into Giants lore.

Welcome to Oracle Park, where the defending champions, tied 3-3 heading into the ninth, found their heartbeat—and then some.

And ohhhhhh, doctor… did they ever come alive.

The Giants came to bat in the bottom of the ninth, the crowd restless, the fog lingering just beyond the archways of right field, and a chill in the air that could only mean… postseason baseball.

After a leadoff walk to Moser, and then Dominguez, the scene was set.

And up came C.J. Rudeseal—the kid from Bakersfield, the third baseman with ice in his veins and a fastball on his bat. Nick Stewart delivered a 1–1 heater...

AND RUDeseal SWINGS, AND HITS ONE HIGH! DEEP! GOOOONE!!! INTO THE NIGHT AND INTO THE COVE!!

Adios, pelota!

A three-run, walk-off home run! And just like that, the Giants—dead quiet for the first four innings—erupt with six unanswered runs, the final three coming on a swing that shook this ballpark to its core!

The Phillies stunned. The Giants dancing. And this crowd of 43,000 is going absolutely bonkers!

Rudeseal finishes the night 2-for-4 with a double and the biggest swing of this series. The Giants now lead two games to none, and are heading to Philadelphia with a chance to close it out.

That’s Giants baseball. You can never count 'em out. Not in this ballpark. Not in this city. And certainly not in October.

We’ll see you Tuesday from Citizens Bank Park… but for now, from Oracle Park in San Francisco…

The Giants win it!
They win it 6–3!
And the magic lives on!

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[Michael Kay voice – edge in the tone, long pauses for effect, the weight of a thousand Octobers hanging in the booth...]

Well... that's another one the Yankees let slip away.

They had a 3–1 lead going into the seventh inning. You’d like to think that’s enough in October. You’d hope that’s enough for a team wearing pinstripes. And yet... once again, the bullpen couldn’t hold it, the bats went silent, and now the Yankees head back to the Bronx facing elimination.

Let me say that again. They are down two games to none in the Division Series.

The final was 5–3 Baltimore. The Orioles, to their credit, pounded out sixteen hits. Sixteen! And the Yankees? Just seven. One walk. Three strikeouts. Only two runners left on base, because they couldn’t even get on base.

And let’s talk about Matt Simmons.

I mean... at what point does this become a crisis? He’s now 0 for 17 in the postseason. He’s supposed to be the guy. The two-hole hitter. The anchor in the middle of this lineup. And he hasn’t sniffed a hit. No extra-base power. No walks in this series. Nothing. It’s becoming glaring.

And you can see it in his body language now. Head down. Shoulders slumped. Like he’s hoping the ball finds someone else. I don’t know if it’s the moment, I don’t know if it’s the pressure... but this team needs him. Because right now, they’re playing with a hole in the middle of the order.

And how about the at-bats from van der Linde? Another 0-for. That’s .053 for the postseason. That’s not a slump. That’s a flatline.

Look—Deming was gritty. He gave them seven innings, battled through 128 pitches. He didn’t have his best stuff, but he gave the Yankees a chance. The bullpen came in, and Nevarez—who’s been reliable all year—just didn’t have it. Seven batters faced, three hits, two runs. Ballgame.

And now... the Yankees go home needing two straight wins just to stay alive.

Game 3 is in the Bronx. It’s do or die. There’s no tomorrow.

So the question is—when does Matt Simmons wake up?

Because if he doesn’t... this Yankees season might be going to sleep. And fast.

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[Sebastian Maniscalco voice – full of disbelief, animated hand gestures, squinting like the box score personally insulted him...]

Twelve to one. TWELVE!

I mean... what are we even doing here!?

You ever show up to a party, and you’re the only one without a costume? That’s what the Twins looked like out there tonight. Seattle’s dressed like it’s October, the Twins? They came in wearin’ July energy. I mean—ONE RUN!? Off a solo homer? That’s it??

And this guy Galindo? Cole Galindo! Sounds like a guy who should be runnin’ a wine bar in Portland. Eight and two-thirds innings, five hits, one run, just out there mowin' through 'em like he’s takin' the trash to the curb.

Meanwhile, Minnesota’s pitchers... my God. Andrade? Two and two-thirds innings, gave up seven runs and walked six guys! SIX! That’s not pitching, that’s speed dating! "Hi, nice to meet you, here’s first base. You want second too? Go nuts!"

And the Mariners? They had eight hits and still scored TWELVE runs! You know what that is? That’s efficiency. That’s like goin’ to Costco and feedin’ a family of twenty with two rotisserie chickens and a sleeve of crackers.

And let’s talk about this kid McCall. Another home run?! Two in the series. This guy’s hittin’ bombs like he's got somewhere to be. Minnesota’s pitching? They’re like, “Oh no no, after you! Want a fastball? How about right down the middle!”

And the Twins’ bats? Missing! Like, put 'em on a milk carton, we got five hits, one run, and nobody’s got the decency to look upset! Pena gets two hits like, “I guess I’ll show up today.” And the rest of the lineup’s like, “Nah, I’m good.”

Seattle’s up 2-0 in the series, and they’re playin’ like they’ve already booked reservations for the next round. Minnesota? They better wake up, or they’re gonna be outta here faster than my uncle Tony at a vegan restaurant.

Target Field’s next. Twins, it’s your house. Maybe... maybe try defending it like it matters. 'Cause right now? You’re not battlin’. You’re just attending the playoffs. Like tourists.

Disgraceful.

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San Francisco Giants: 3rd NLCS appearance
1915 1916 1917

[In the unmistakable rhythm and voice of Jackie Mason:]

Lemme tell ya somethin’. You ever see a baseball game where nobody wanted to win, but somebody had to? That was this one right here. The Giants and Phillies playin’ like two old men fightin’ over the last blintz at a deli—nobody’s fast, everybody’s spillin’ things, but in the end, somebody walks away satisfied.

So the Giants win it, 10 to 9. That’s not a baseball score, that’s a deli counter number. You walk in, “Who’s next?” “Oh, it’s number 10!” And that’s the Giants, movin’ on to the next round. The Phillies? They’re goin’ home to rethink their life choices.

Now listen to this—fifteen hits for the Giants, thirteen for the Phillies. You think with all that hittin’, you’d see a clinic. A masterpiece. A thing of beauty! But it was chaos! Errors, walks, bad decisions—it looked like a bingo night exploded on a baseball field.

You got this kid, Contreras—Ricky! The guy's hittin’ everything. .538 for the series! I’ve seen less consistency in my cousin Louie’s marriages. The guy’s rippin’ doubles, knockin’ in runs like he’s payin' off debts. MVP of the series? Of course! He was the only one who knew what time the game started!

Then you got Moser, Dominguez, Rudeseal... these names, I tell ya, it sounds like a law firm. “Moser, Dominguez & Rudeseal—injured in a playoff game? Call now!” But they all hit, they all scored, even the guy who sells peanuts probably got a base hit the way it was goin’.

Meanwhile, the Phillies—they were tryin’, don’t get me wrong! They came out swingin’. They were up, they were down, they were back up again! It was like a cardiogram with spikes! And this Farnsworth guy? Triple, couple RBIs, runs the bases like he’s got somewhere to be. Which is more than I can say for their bullpen!

And don’t get me started on the pitching. Luevanos for the Giants, he gave up eight hits in three innings! Eight! That’s not a start, that’s an invitation. “Come on in! Take a base, take two, we’re very generous!” And Sandbulte for the Phillies? Gave up five runs in two-thirds of an inning. That’s not relief, that’s sabotage!

You had three errors from the Giants, wild swings, hit batsmen—it wasn’t a game, it was a bar mitzvah with bats! Everybody's runnin', dancin', celebratin', nobody knows who’s in charge.

And now the Giants move on again. Third straight League Championship Series. They’re like your aunt Sadie—never invited, always shows up anyway.

So what happens next? They wait to see who wins between the Reds and the Mets. Either way, it’s gonna be more tsuris. More headaches. More heart attacks. But this is October baseball, ladies and gentlemen. It’s not supposed to be good for your blood pressure. It’s supposed to be memorable.

And lemme tell ya—this one? Oy. We’ll remember it all right.

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[In the voice of Keith Hernandez, in the SNY booth, maybe sipping a coffee mid-inning, mustache on point:]

Well... where do you even start with this one?

I mean, this was one of those games where you’re watching and you say to yourself, “Are we gonna win this thing or are we gonna let it get away?” And to the Mets’ credit—they hung in. They didn’t flinch. That’s what good teams do.

Ruben Soto—my goodness. That’s one of the better postseason performances I’ve seen in a long time. Four hits, two triples, a double, a walk. That’s just quality at-bats, all game long. Not tryin’ to do too much. Just takin’ what the pitcher gives you and hitting the ball hard to all fields. That’s textbook baseball. And look, I’ve seen guys get hot in the playoffs, but Ruben was seeing the ball like it was a grapefruit. I mean—two triples? In October? That’s rare air.

Now, let’s talk about that 11th inning. Alan Sloan, he’s been quiet most of the night. Couple tough at-bats early, rolls into a double play, maybe tries to do too much. But that’s the thing about this game—you hang around long enough, you get one more shot. And Sloan... he doesn’t miss it. First pitch fastball, up in the zone, and he turns on it. That’s a big-league swing. That’s a swing that says, “We’re not goin’ home yet.”

You know who also deserves some credit? Danny Moran outta the ‘pen. Four innings, shuts it down, keeps the game where it is. That’s what you want out of your bullpen in extras. Throw strikes, don’t nibble, let the defense work behind you—and he did it all. Real old-school effort there. He’s not throwin’ 100, but he’s pitchin’ smart.

But look—I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. This game was sloppy early. Gamez, for the Mets... not great. Seven earned runs in five innings. You can’t do that in the playoffs. You can’t. And the Reds? They hit him hard, especially Soto on the other side, who was everywhere. Fastballs, breaking balls—it didn’t matter.

But somehow, someway, the Mets kept chipping away. Five runs in the sixth? That’s called grinding. That’s the kind of inning where you’re putting together at-bats, passin’ the baton. Not everyone’s gonna hit a three-run homer, but when you string together singles, move guys over, take your walks... it adds up.

Defensively? Solid. No errors. Couple nice turns up the middle. You win games like this when you don’t give the other team extra outs.

So now you go into Game 4 with a 2-1 series lead, you’ve got momentum, you’ve got your bullpen in decent shape, and you’ve got confidence.

And folks—look, you’ve been watching this team all year. This isn’t the 2010 Mets. This group fights. They show up. And now they’re one win away from moving on.

We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Should be a good one. But tonight? That was a team win. That was Mets baseball.

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Baltimore Orioles: 6th ALCS appearance
1902 1903 1904 1907 1915 1917

[In the unmistakable, exasperated-yet-smug voice of Elaine Benes, fresh off waving her Orioles cap in the Yankees’ owners box... again:]

Well, well, well... look who’s going home early... again.

The mighty New York Yankees—all that pinstripe pride, all that tradition, all that "27 rings" talk... and here come the Baltimore Orioles, swooping into Yankee Stadium like a flock of smug, playoff-tested birds, and sweeping the whole series like they’re cleaning up after a parade that never happened.

Yankees? Eliminated.
Orioles? ALCS bound, baby. For the SIXTH time.
And me? Sitting in Steinbrenner’s luxury box, wearing my Orioles cap like a crown of truth. TAKE THAT, STEINBRENNER!

Let’s talk about Kazuhito Kawakami—this guy was everywhere. He hits .583 in the series like it’s no big deal, gets on base more than a turnstile at Grand Central, and oh yeah—he hits a home run in the first inning of the clincher. I mean, if this guy were a sandwich, he’d be a footlong with extra MVP sauce. They gave him the series MVP, which is nice, but I say build the man a statue in Camden Yards yesterday.

And that pitching—hello, Albert Garay! Seven innings, one run, just totally silencing the Yankee bats like a librarian with a grudge. You wanna know how many runs the Yankees scored in this game? One. In an elimination game. At home. That’s not October baseball, that’s like... mid-April in Tampa Bay baseball.

Meanwhile, the Orioles? All business. Kawakami with the blast. Hemphill with a clutch RBI. And in the ninth? Alfonso doubles, Kawakami walks—because he’s a gentleman—and Hemphill drives him in. It’s a 2-1 game and Baltimore says, “Thanks for playing, now show us the way to the ALCS.”

And let’s just take a moment for that Yankee crowd... 42,997 fans sitting in that cold Bronx wind, bundled up in their Judge hoodies and Jeter nostalgia, watching their season end with a double play and a shrug. It was like watching someone realize their Uber rating dropped—just total devastation.

So here we are. Yankees out. Orioles marching on. And me?

I’m gonna wear this Orioles cap all the way to the ALCS. Maybe even to the grocery store. Maybe even to a Yankee Tavern. What are they gonna do—throw me out?

Because this isn't just baseball...
This is justice.
This is poetic.
This is... BALTIMORE, BABY!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go call Jerry and scream "SWEEEEEEEEP!" into the phone.

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SKIP BAYLESS VOICE ACTIVATED.
I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: THE SEATTLE MARINERS ARE WHO I THOUGHT THEY WERE.

You had a chance. You had momentum. You had the 2-0 series lead. And what do you do in Game 3? You let a team that couldn’t hit water if they fell out of a boat in Games 1 and 2—the Minnesota Twins—PUNCH. YOU. IN. THE. MOUTH.

And you let Jose Gutierres do it?? JOSÉ GUTIERRES?? I mean, I’ve seen more explosive swings at a nursing home piñata party, and suddenly this guy’s the spark plug of your collapse? The man hadn’t done a thing all series, then goes 2-for-3, walks, drives in a run, and gets the Player of the Game like it’s Opening Day 2009. GIVE ME A BREAK.

Let’s talk about that 9th inning, shall we?

Seattle’s down 5-3. Runner on first. NO ONE OUT. You’ve got life. You’ve got hope. You’ve got your season hanging in the balance. What do you do?

Mark McCall—your supposed spark plug at short—grounds into a DOUBLE PLAY.

Game. Over. Series now hanging in the balance. Momentum? FLIPPED.

That’s not clutch. That’s not playoff baseball. That’s choking.

Let’s look at Minnesota’s bullpen. Myslinski? Comes in for the final six outs. What does he do? Two innings. No hits. No walks. Three strikeouts. That’s called CLOSING. That’s called mentality. That’s what WINNING teams do in October.

Meanwhile, Seattle? They get eight hits. Walk FIVE times. They strand nine runners. Nine! You can’t win in the postseason when you leave more ducks on the pond than a nature preserve.

And G. Hall? Seven innings, four runs, six walks. SIX WALKS. Are you kidding me? You walk six guys in the playoffs, you’re not pitching—you’re panicking.

Let’s not even get into the THREE double plays turned by the Twins’ infield. Minnesota’s defense played like they were the team up 2-0 in the series. Seattle played like they were trying not to spill their lattes.

So now, guess what?

Seattle? They’re in trouble.
Minnesota? They believe.
And me? I TOLD YOU. This Mariners team has no clutch gene. And unless somebody wakes up tomorrow morning channeling Reggie Jackson, the Twins are gonna flip this series on its head.

Book it.
Seattle blew their shot.
Now the Twins are coming.
And I. AM. NOT. SURPRISED.

UNDISPUTED.

[jg2977]

New York Mets: 3rd NLCS appearanche
1903 1904 1917

JERRY SEINFELD VOICE
THE METS DID IT!! THE METS DID IT!!!

Can you believe this?! The Mets are going to the NLCS! THE. N. L. C. S.!!! I mean... what is this feeling?! Is this joy? Is this happiness? Is this... relief?!?

Thirteen years, folks. Thirteen years without a trip to the Championship Series. That’s not a drought — that’s a biblical event! Moses was leading people through the desert in less time than it took the Mets to get back to the NLCS!

And how did they do it? Down 3-0 heading into the eighth inning... DEAD! FLATLINE! Nothing! You’re looking at your TV like, “Well, here we go again... Mets collapse, it’s tradition!” Then — BOOM — out of nowhere, Brubaker shows up like a Broadway understudy and clears the stage!

A bases-clearing double!
“Hello, Cincinnati? Yeah, you’re done.”

Four runs in the eighth! Four! It’s like the Mets suddenly remembered, "Oh right, we’re allowed to HIT the baseball!" What were they doing the first seven innings?! Practicing mindfulness?!

And don’t forget the bullpen! Hudspeth comes in, shuts the door! Just locks it up! Like Kramer slamming the peephole shut on Newman! "NO MORE RUNS FOR YOU!"

Let me ask you something — what kind of team waits until the 8th inning of an elimination game to start scoring? THE METS, THAT’S WHO. That’s our brand! That’s our drama! That’s Mets baseball, baby — it's stress, it’s chaos, it’s magic.

Kevin Brubaker — MVP of the series! A .333 average, 5 RBIs, and a name that sounds like he should be selling you a used car in Staten Island. “Come on down to Brubaker’s Auto, where we knock it outta the park!”

So now... it’s the Giants. San Francisco. The fog. The seagulls. The garlic fries. Bring 'em on!

Folks — the Mets are four wins away from the World Series. Let me say that again: FOUR. WINS. FROM. THE. WORLD. SERIES.

What is this life?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

👏 LET'S 👏 GO 👏 METS 👏

[jg2977]

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