National Baseball League

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HARRY DOYLE STYLE BROADCAST — KANSAS CITY ROYALS AT CLEVELAND INDIANS, OCTOBER 8, 1925
"Hello everybody, Harry Doyle here, welcoming you to another fine afternoon of postseason baseball from beautiful Jacobs Field — where the Cleveland Indians have just punched their ticket to the Division Series by taking care of business against the Kansas City Royals, five to two. That’s right — the Tribe sweeps the Wild Card round faster than you can say ‘bring me another cold one.’"
"Cleveland came out swinging early — a run in the second, three more in the third, and they never looked back. Ryan Phipps was the big story today — three hits, a home run, drove in a run, scored twice, probably fed the team dog this morning. The man did it all. He’s your series MVP, and frankly, it wasn’t even close. Phipps hit .750 — I didn’t even hit that in Little League, and I was facing a kid with a lazy eye and a toothpick for an arm."
"On the mound, Marquos Philippon was smooth as fresh bourbon — seven innings, three hits, no earned runs, and a whole lotta confidence. Manager’s quote after the game: ‘We’re clicking on all cylinders.’ Yeah, I’ll say. They’re clicking, purring, and headed to Seattle for the Division Series. The Mariners might wanna invest in some extra bullpen help after watching this bunch swing the bats."
"Kansas City, well… they tried. Vargas swiped a couple of bags, Martinez tripled, but that was about it. The Royals’ bats were quieter than a Sunday morning church service. Their starter, Freddy Diaz, lasted less than three innings — gave up seven hits, four runs, and probably a few gray hairs along the way."
"Final line: Indians five runs on ten hits, a couple errors they won’t remember. Royals, two runs on three hits — yeah, you heard me right, three hits. That’s not gonna get it done in October, folks. Attendance today: 36,429. Most of ‘em left happy — the rest were Royals fans trying to figure out what went wrong."
"Your player of the game — and probably the happiest guy in Cleveland — Marquos Philippon. Your final again: Cleveland five, Kansas City two. The Indians move on. The Royals move out. This is Harry Doyle reminding you — don’t forget to tip your vendors, drive safely, and remember — it’s a lot more fun when your team actually hits the ball. Good night, everybody!"

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"From beautiful Minute Maid Park in Houston — a clear afternoon, 70 degrees, wind blowing out to center — we’ve got playoff baseball for you on FOX!"
"It’s Game 2 of this American League Wild Card Series between the Toronto Blue Jays and the Houston Astros, and the Jays get it done tonight — a 6–2 win to even the series at one game apiece."
"Edwin Martinez was the story. The 27-year-old right-hander was outstanding — seven innings, just four hits, one earned run, and a pair of walks. He mixed in that fastball-changeup combination beautifully, keeping this Houston lineup completely off-balance."
"Toronto got on the board early, capitalizing on a Houston miscue in the second inning. With runners aboard, Othniel Bishr laced a single to left that skipped past the glove of Van Cleve. Two runs scored, and just like that, the Jays were in front 3–0."
"Carlos Rodriguez and Pedro Alicea later added the exclamation points — back-to-back solo home runs in the eighth, one off Hernandez, one off Zavaglia. And that was more than enough on a night where Toronto looked sharp in every phase."
"For Houston, the bats just never really got going. Only five hits on the day, one of them a double from first baseman Jeff Marion who drove in the Astros’ lone RBI. It was that kind of night — chances, but not the big hit to cash them in."
"Final line — Blue Jays six runs, twelve hits, one error. Astros two runs, five hits, one error. Edwin Martinez earns the win, improving to 1-0 in the postseason. Attendance tonight: 48,442 — and they saw a good one."
"So this Wild Card Series heads to a decisive Game 3 tomorrow, right back here at Minute Maid Park. First pitch scheduled for 2:05 Central. Toronto evens the series, and they’ll try to punch their ticket to the ALDS."
"For my partner, John Smoltz, I’m Joe Davis — saying so long from Houston, where the Jays ride strong pitching and timely hitting to a series-tying win. We’ll see you tomorrow for Game 3."

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[Scene: A smoky Chicago sports bar, a big platter of sausages on the table. The “Superfans” are gathered around, decked out in Cubs and Bears gear.]
Bill Swerski:
“Alright, welcome back to ‘Cubs Talk with Da Bears Guys’ — I’m Bill Swerski, here with my good buddies, Carl, Todd, and Pat. And today, gentlemen… da Cubbies have done it!”
Carl:
“DA CUBS!”
Todd:
“DA CUBS!”
Pat:
“CUBS WIN! CUBS WIN! They beat da Atlanta Braves, five to tree, takin’ da Wild Card series, movin’ on to face… da Pittsburgh Pirates.”
Bill:
“Now lemme tell ya somethin’, fellas. Evan Balliett — da kid was dealin’. Seven innings, four hits, two runs, no walks. Guy looked like a young Greg Maddux out dere. Except with more hair.”
Carl:
“Balliett was hittin’ spots like Ditka hittin’ a bratwurst buffet. Precision, poise, perfection.”
Todd:
“And don’t forget Esteban Rivera — da MVP of da series! Hit .500, couple’a doubles, a dinger, three ribbies. Dat’s what we call clutch. Like Walter Payton, but with a bat instead of a football.”
Pat:
“You know, I was a little worried in da eighth inning when da Braves’ catcher, Carranza, hits dat solo shot — boom! — and I’m thinkin’, ‘Uh-oh, da Cubbies are gonna Cub again.’ But nope. Zeitlin comes in, shuts da door. Lights out.”
Carl:
“Da Braves? Fuggedaboutit. They tried, but it’s da Cubs’ year, baby. Rain, wind blowin’ in, doesn’t matter. You can’t stop destiny — and you sure as heck can’t stop da Cubs when da sausage vibes are strong.”
Bill:
“Alright, let’s look ahead here. Next up — da Pirates. Now, historically, Cubs vs. Pirates is like Bears vs. Packers, except da Packers are… slightly less annoying.”
Todd:
“Prediction time, Bill. Cubs in four. Rivera hits two bombs. Balliett throws another gem. And Wrigley’s gonna be rockin’ so hard, it might tip over into da lake.”
Carl:
“I’ll go one better — Cubs sweep da Pirates, go on to da World Series, and finally… finally… we can all die happy, surrounded by Polish sausage and championship glory.”
Bill:
“Da Cubs… da Cubs… da Cubs!”
All together:
“DA CUBS!!!”
(They clink their beer mugs and take a massive bite of sausage as the camera pans out to a mural of Harry Caray and Mike Ditka high-fiving over Lake Michigan.)

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Joe Benigno voice — WFAN postgame rant, opening theme blares, mic crackles:
“OH. MY. GOD. Folks… lemme tell ya somethin’ right now — the New York Mets, the New York freakin’ Mets, have somehow — somehow! — survived Milwaukee in what might be the most Metsian rollercoaster of all time. Final score, thirteen to twelve — thirteen to twelve! — in TEN innings! You can’t make this up!”
(sighs) “I mean, I’m exhausted, folks. Absolutely shot. I aged, like, fifteen years watchin’ this game. One minute they’re up four, next minute they’re blowin’ it, next thing ya know, Sloan’s hittin’ not one but TWO home runs — one of ‘em in extra innings, are you kidding me? The guy’s channelin’ Mike Piazza out there!”
“Alan Sloan — player of the freakin’ game — four RBIs, two bombs, drives in the game-winner. Finally, someone in this organization shows up in a big spot! Weaver — this guy Weaver — hits .750 in the series, .750! Where’d this guy come from, huh? Probably won’t hear from him again ‘til 2029, but right now, he’s a legend.”
“Now look, let’s be honest here — the Mets bullpen… oh my God, I can’t. I can’t. Miranda? Brutal. Jeoffrey? Forget it. Garcia somehow gets the win, Rojas gets the save — barely. It was like a clown car of relievers out there, folks. But ya know what? They won! They actually won the freakin’ series!”
“And can we talk about the Brewers for a second? How do you lose a game where you score TWELVE runs at home? TWELVE! I mean, that’s peak Mets opponent behavior. The Mets make other teams Met now. That’s how weird this season is.”
“So now, we move on — the Mets advance, baby! They’re goin’ to face the Arizona Diamondbacks. And lemme tell ya — the Mets, after this kind of series, after goin’ through the emotional trauma we all just lived through — they’re playin’ with house money. I don’t even care what happens next. Ya win a 13–12 elimination game on the road? Ya earned my respect — for at least 24 hours.”
(chuckles, takes a breath) “But folks… let’s be real. This team could drive a therapist crazy. I don’t even know what I just watched. It was like watching fireworks in a gas station — exciting, but you’re terrified the whole time.”
“So here we go — Mets vs. Diamondbacks. The dream continues. And who knows? Maybe — just maybe — this time, this time, the Mets won’t break our hearts. But I ain’t holdin’ my breath. I’ve been here too long for that.”
(music fades in)
“Alright, we’ll take your calls — 877-337-6666 — talk me off the ledge, Mets fans. I need therapy, I need oxygen, I need a drink. But for now — ya gotta love it — DA METS WIN, BAYBEE!”

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JOE DAVIS (Fox Sports voice, smooth and energetic, setting the stage):
“From Minute Maid Park in Houston, Texas… a crowd of nearly forty-nine thousand standing, waving the orange towels, and hanging on every pitch — the Astros have done it. They win the Wild Card Series, taking down the Toronto Blue Jays, seven to four.”
(tone shifts — warm, storytelling cadence):
“It was a game that had everything — early offense from Toronto, a big middle innings surge from Houston, and the kind of poise that’s made this team a postseason mainstay over the past decade.”
“Michael Petesch — what a series. The 27-year-old center fielder, named the series MVP, goes three-for-five tonight, drives in a run, scores two more, and seemed to be everywhere — doubling in the third, doubling again in the fifth, and flying around the bases like he was born for this moment.”
(excited play-by-play tone):
“Then came the sixth — the turning point. Astros up by two, one on, nobody out… and J. Collie — the shortstop — turns around a hanging breaking ball from Brandon Martinez and sends it deep to left! A two-run shot that brought this ballpark to its feet — and maybe, just maybe, sealed Houston’s ticket to the Division Series.”
(slower, reflective tone):
“For the Blue Jays, it was a case of opportunity missed. Thirteen hits… but just four runs. They stranded ten men, including the bases loaded in the seventh. They had traffic all night — just couldn’t find that big swing.”
“Houston’s starter, R. Doll, was far from perfect — four runs on eleven hits in six and two-thirds — but he competed. He battled. And when he handed it off, the bullpen was nails. M. Zavaglia gets the one big out he needed, and J. Oceguera — calm, collected — two spotless innings to close it out.”
(pauses for effect — signature Davis smile in his voice):
“And with that, the Astros move on. Another October chapter for a franchise that just seems to know how to win when the lights are brightest. Up next: a heavyweight showdown with the New York Yankees — a matchup that feels like it’s been written into the modern baseball calendar.”
(crescendoing finish, camera panning over the field):
“Final score again from Houston — Astros seven, Blue Jays four. Houston takes the series, two games to one. For the Blue Jays — the season ends with a mix of pride and what-ifs. For the Astros — it’s another step toward a familiar stage. And for everyone watching… this is why October baseball just feels different.”

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1925 Division Series

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NL Top Seeds

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[Scene: The SNL “Superfans” are at their table in Chicago, chompin’ on Polish sausages and washing it down with a couple’a cold ones.]
Bill Swerski:
Alright, gentlemen — today’s topic: Da Cubbies vs Da Pirates — Game One o’ da Division Series. Cubs fall 6–5 in a heartbreaker at PNC Park. Tough one, fellas. Tough one.
Todd O’Connor:
Yeah, Bill, dat one hurt more than da time I got my mustache caught in da deep fryer.
Carl Wollarski:
Now don’t get me wrong — Cubbies hit da ball pretty good. Fourteen hits! But you can’t leave eleven guys on base, Bill. Eleven! That’s not baseball — that’s a buffet line!
Pat Arnold:
And dat Pittsburgh guy — what’s his name? Croak?
Bill:
Croke. Matt Croke.
Pat:
Yeah, him! He went three-for-four, homer, double, three runs scored — guy’s playin’ like he’s Honus Wagner after eatin’ a kielbasa sandwich.
Todd:
I tell ya, Croke’s hittin’ everything in sight. Meanwhile, our guy Tommy Fleming’s out there throwin’ meatballs like it’s the Italian Fest in Wrigleyville.
Carl:
Hey, hey, respect da man — he gave up six runs but at least he didn’t walk da bases loaded like da Bears do every offensive possession.
All together:
Da Bears!
Bill:
Now lemme say dis — Esteban Rivera? Da kid’s got pop! Two-for-five, another dinger in da ninth. He’s hittin’ .471 this postseason! You give him a sausage and a lawn chair, he’s Babe Ruth!
Pat:
Yeah but it’s like dis, Bill — da Cubbies always tease ya. They get close, they get ya heart racin’, then BOOM — Pirates score two in da seventh and next thing ya know, you’re drownin’ your sorrows in a bucket o’ cheese fries.
Todd:
I’m still confident, though. I got Cubbies in four. Da Pirates are due for a collapse. You can’t spell “Pittsburgh” without “burp,” Bill.
Bill:
Good point, Todd. And da weather in Pittsburgh? Forty-eight degrees, wind blowin’ left to right. Dat’s practically tropical for a Chicago boy!
Carl:
Loder got da win for da Pirates, but let’s be honest — guy threw ninety pitches like he was tryin’ to hail a cab in rush hour.
Pat:
Hey, as long as da Cubs bring da bats tomorrow and somebody tells Fleming to stop servin’ up softballs, we’ll be fine.
Bill (raising his beer):
Here’s to Game Two, boys. Cubbies bounce back, Rivera goes deep again, and we even it up before headin’ back to da Friendly Confines.
All together (chanting):
Da Cubbies! Da Cubbies! Da Cubbies!
Todd:
Prediction time, Bill — Cubs win 9–3. Rivera hits two bombs, Padillo drives in four, and Matt Croke goes back to workin’ at Primanti Bros. where he belongs.
Bill (nodding):
I like it. Cubbies in four. And if not… well, at least we still got—
All together, triumphantly:
DA BEARS!
(camera zooms out as the Superfans continue eating sausages and arguing over which Chicago team would win in a cage match with Mike Ditka.)

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[Cue the WFAN theme — the familiar horns blare. It’s Mike and the Mad Dog, late afternoon, the phone lines are jammed, and they’re fired up about the Mets.]
MIKE:
Alright, right now, Chris — right now! — these Mets are playin’ like the dynasty teams from the early ’20s. The ’21, ’22, ’23 clubs that won three straight World Series. That’s what this feels like, Chris.
CHRIS ("Mad Dog"):
OHHHH stop it, Mike! Stop it! Let’s not start crowning ‘em in October of 1925 after one game in the desert! They won ONE game! Against Arizona! The Diamondbacks, Mike! Please!
MIKE:
Nah, nah, nah — this team’s got the look, Dog. I’m tellin’ ya, they went out to Chase Field, took care of business, professional win. 6–1. Eleven hits. Didn’t make an error. Veteran Luke Peters — 38 years old, Chris! — gives you five-plus innings of shutout ball, sets the tone. That’s what championship teams do.
CHRIS:
I’ll give ya Peters, Mike, he was terrific. He was terrific. But lemme tell ya somethin’ — Arizona couldn’t hit a beach ball with a tennis racket! Four hits all night! Bojorquez throws a hundred and forty-six pitches, Mike! That’s malpractice!
MIKE (half laughing):
He was laboring. He was workin’ harder than you tryin’ to pronounce “Bojorquez” all show.
CHRIS:
HEY, HEY, HEY! Don’t start with me, Mikey! Don’t start! Listen — Kevin Brubaker, okay? Two-run homer in the third, beautiful swing, no question. And Sloan? Kid’s been red hot — red hot! Three homers this postseason already! But you’re talkin’ about a Diamondbacks lineup that looked half asleep.
MIKE:
But that’s the point, Chris! The Mets made them look that way. Every inning, they had traffic. They controlled the pace. They stole two bags. They turned a double play. They stranded Arizona runners when it mattered. That’s how you win in October.
CHRIS:
Alright, fine, fine, fine. They did the little things. I’ll give ya that. But, Mike, let’s see ‘em do it again tomorrow! That’s been the issue with this franchise forever — consistency! They win one, then they fall asleep at the wheel.
MIKE:
Not this group, Dog. Lamar Craig’s got ‘em playin’ no-nonsense baseball. You can see it. They’re focused. Veteran presence. Balanced lineup. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s got that 1922 feel.
CHRIS (mocking):
Oh, please, 1922 feel! You were ten years away from bein’ born, Mike!
MIKE:
Hey, history repeats itself, Chris. When you see it, you see it. You can feel it.
CHRIS:
Well, lemme see ‘em win Game Two first! I don’t care if it’s 1925, 2005, or 2085 — you gotta win the series!
MIKE:
They’re up 1–0 on the road, Dog. That’s how dynasties start.
CHRIS:
Ohhhh stop it! STOP IT!
MIKE:
(laughing) Take a break. When we come back, we’ll take your calls — Mets fans, you buyin’ into this? Are the ’25 Mets the real deal, or are you waitin’ for the other shoe to drop?* 877-337-6666* — we’ll get to your calls right after this.

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[WFAN theme hits — it’s Mike and the Mad Dog, Sunday night postgame, the mics are hot and both guys are fired up.]
MIKE:
Alright, right now, Chris, lemme tell ya somethin’. The Yankees had this game won. They were down early, they fought back — six runs in the fourth — you think they’re gonna cruise, right? You’re up 9-6 late, the crowd’s rockin’, Yankee Stadium’s buzzin’, and then… the bullpen implodes.
CHRIS (Mad Dog):
OH MY GAWD, MIKEY, IT WAS A DISASTER! AN ABSOLUTE DISASTER! You CANNOT — I repeat, CANNOT — blow a 9-6 lead at home in October! You cannot do it! You got thirty thousand people screamin’, you got the Astros on the ropes, and you hand it right back to ‘em!
MIKE:
Twelve to ten, final. Astros steal Game 1. It’s the same story, Dog — the same story we’ve seen with this team. They mash, they rake, sixteen hits, ten runs — and the pitching just cannot get a stop.
CHRIS:
The pitching, Mike, was atrocious. Jenkins? He’s throwin’ batting practice! Every pitch is middle-middle! Three innings, seven hits, six runs — I mean, you can’t win postseason games with that! You just can’t!
MIKE:
And what about Schoeppen? Two innings, three runs, gives up the game-losing homer to Josh Curtis — a moonshot! That ball’s still goin’, Chris.
CHRIS:
CURTIS! The guy’s been hittin’ .290 all year, not exactly Babe Ruth, and he crushes one into the Bronx night to make it 12-10! You could hear that crowd go silent. DEAD SILENT!
MIKE:
Meanwhile, Houston — give ‘em credit. Cory LeMond, three-for-five, two doubles, three RBIs. Van Cleve, big doubles. Castaneda, Seeley, Collie — everybody’s hittin’. Joe Ellis has that lineup rolling.
CHRIS:
They don’t quit, Mike! They just don’t! That’s what makes ‘em scary. They’re down 10–8, you think they’re finished, and then BAM — three in the seventh, three more in the eighth, just like that, ballgame.
MIKE:
And I’ll tell ya somethin’ — the Yankees offense, it was there. Kim, Lord, Centeno, Rawlings — everybody’s hittin’. You put up ten runs, you expect to win!
CHRIS:
EXACTLY! You put up ten runs at home in the postseason, that’s supposed to be a W! You cannot waste those nights! This one’s gonna sting, Mike. This one’s gonna sting.
MIKE:
Now they gotta turn it around tomorrow, Dog. Game Two, right back at the Stadium. You lose that one, you’re down 0–2 headin’ to Houston, and good luck with that crowd.
CHRIS:
Good luck is right! Those fans down there, Mike, they’re savages! You don’t wanna go into that bandbox down a couple games, no way.
MIKE:
So here it is, Chris — the Yankees better come out swingin’ and pitchin’ tomorrow. You can’t rely on the offense to bail you out every night.
CHRIS:
And hey, maybe — MAYBE — Boone learns you can’t run a bullpen like it’s a tryout camp! Go with your best arms! Stop mixin’ and matchin’ every inning!
MIKE:
Amen. Astros 12, Yankees 10. Houston up 1–0 in the series. Game Two tomorrow, same place, same time — and maybe, just maybe, we’ll see a little Yankee pride.
CHRIS:
Oh, they better show it, Mike! They better show it! Or this series is over.
MIKE:
Alright, we’ll take a break. We’ll get your calls comin’ up — Yankees fans, what’s your confidence level after this one? 877-337-6666 — Mets fans, don’t even start.
CHRIS:
(laughing) OH THEY’RE GONNA CALL, MIKEY! THEY’RE GONNA CALL!
[Theme music swells as the show cuts to commercial.]

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Harry Doyle:
Well folks, good afternoon and welcome to beautiful T-Mobile Park here in Seattle, Washington — home of overpriced sushi, overpriced beer, and today, your Seattle Mariners, who somehow managed to remember which end of the bat to hold for Game 1 of the Division Series!
Final score in this one: Seattle 6, Cleveland 2.
And what a ballgame it was, friends — assuming you were a Mariners fan. If you’re a Cleveland fan… well, there’s always next century.
38-year-old lefty Cole Galindo turned back the clock today — seven strong innings, gave up just three hits, two runs, and a whole lotta false hope for the Cleveland lineup. He was painting the corners like it was an art show out there.
Let’s look at the highlights, if we can find any for Cleveland. The Indians managed just three hits all afternoon — one of ‘em a double by Z. Eneki that just barely missed clearing the fence. The other two? Well, we think they happened, but the official scorer might’ve been napping.
Seattle, meanwhile, sprayed the ball around like a busted sprinkler. Ten hits on the day! Arthur Brown, the center fielder, was the star — a couple of doubles, drove in two runs, and looked like a guy who’s been hitting off Cleveland pitching since Little League.
The turning point came in the bottom of the sixth. Game tied, 2-2, Brown rips a double to left-center off David Girard — that put the Mariners up for good. The crowd of 39,028 went wild, or as wild as people in fleece jackets get in 48-degree weather.
From there, it was all Seattle. They tacked on three more in the eighth, just to make sure the Indians remembered the long flight home.
Cleveland’s bullpen? Let’s just say if you threw that many strikes at a dartboard, you’d hit the wall. Poor B. Barnard faced six batters, gave up four hits, three runs, and a lifetime of regret.
For Seattle, Galindo gets the win, J. Clay the two-inning save — and somewhere in the distance, Cleveland fans are already saying, “We’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” while quietly packing for winter.
Manager Mike McGill said after the game, “We’re one game closer to our goal.”
Yeah, well, his goal’s a trophy. Cleveland’s goal is just remembering how to hit.
Game Two tomorrow afternoon, right back here at T-Mobile Park. Weather looks about the same — clear skies, 48 degrees, and a gentle breeze blowing in from left field to remind hitters that baseball is, in fact, a cruel and unforgiving game.
Once again, your final score: Seattle 6, Cleveland 2.
I’m Harry Doyle saying, “Hey — at least the beer’s cold.”
(beat)
And remember folks — it’s only Game One. The Indians still have plenty of time to disappoint us all over again.
Good night from Seattle!

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Bob Costas (voiceover):
On an unseasonably cool afternoon along the banks of the Allegheny, where the golden bridges gleam against the October sun, the Chicago Cubs and Pittsburgh Pirates played a game that reminded us why postseason baseball remains the most compelling theater in sports.
The final score at PNC Park — Cubs 7, Pirates 6 — only begins to tell the story.
Chicago, facing a raucous Pittsburgh crowd and a 1-0 deficit in the Division Series, showed both resilience and flair. The Cubs trailed 5-4 entering the eighth, but as so often happens in October, it wasn’t the superstar who changed the narrative — it was the role player.
Third baseman Israel Fernández, a postseason hero for last year's World Champion Indians, hitless to that point, stepped into the box with two men aboard and his team’s season teetering on the edge. One swing — a sharp triple into the right-field corner — cleared the bases and flipped the score, putting Chicago ahead for good. Fernández’s only hit of the day, but one that might echo all the way back to Wrigley Field.
Matt Croke, the 27-year-old shortstop who has become something of a quiet leader for the Pirates, was magnificent in a losing effort. Three hits, including a home run, two runs scored — and a reminder that postseason poise doesn’t always require postseason pedigree.
For the Pirates, it was a night of frustration wrapped in flashes of brilliance. Croke’s opposite number, V. Barros, came off the bench in the ninth and delivered a solo homer to keep hope alive, but it was too little, too late.
Pittsburgh starter Michael Orton pitched admirably through seven innings, but reliever Sung-min Kim, so reliable all season, faltered under the weight of the moment — surrendering four runs in the fateful eighth inning.
And so, the series shifts to Chicago tied at one game apiece. Game Three will be played Tuesday at Wrigley Field, a venue where ivy and autumn have long intertwined, where history seems to breathe between every pitch.
The Cubs — forever chasing ghosts, forever defined by hope — have given themselves a chance.
At PNC Park, under clear skies and with the wind carrying to left field, they found a way to win.
The scene now moves to the North Side, and as always in October, the question lingers:
Can the magic last?
Final score once again: Chicago Cubs 7, Pittsburgh Pirates 6.
From Pittsburgh — I’m Bob Costas.

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MIKE: Alright, Dog, let’s talk about the Mets. What a game out in the desert, huh? They’re down 4–2, ninth inning, and James Weaver — James Weaver! — comes through, ties the game 4–4. And then they go on to win it in eleven. Seven–six Mets. They’re up 2–0 on the Diamondbacks.
MAD DOG: WEEEAAVAH! — Mikey, I tell ya, this kid, you can’t make it up! The Mets were dead! They were cooked! And then Weaver — BOOM! — ties it up, and they find a way! You gotta give ‘em credit, they’re playing like a team that believes right now!
MIKE: No question, Dog. But Jason Gonzalez for Arizona — four hits, a homer, a double, two singles. He’s been unbelievable. You can’t pitch to him right now. He’s hittin’ everything. The rest of his team needs to wake up!
MAD DOG: He’s unconscious, Mike! You throw him a fastball? Forget it! Off the wall, over the wall, into the gap, wherever! And then Joe Stacks — how about Joe Stacks! — in the eleventh, bases loaded, two-run single. That’s a gamer!
MIKE: The Mets are doin’ the little things, too. Rosa stealin’ bases, defense turning double plays, clutch hitting late. They’re not relying on the long ball. This is October baseball.
MAD DOG: Yeah, yeah, yeah, but let’s not go nuts, Mike. They still almost blew it! The bullpen, they give up a two-run shot in the bottom of the eleventh to Jason Gonzalez — same guy who’s killin’ ‘em — and now it’s 7–6, tying run on, and you’re sweatin’ it out!
MIKE: Well, that’s Mets baseball, Dog. They never make it easy.
MAD DOG: NEVER! They could be up ten runs and still make you reach for the Maalox!
MIKE: (chuckling) That’s right. But listen, you’ll take it. You win two on the road in Arizona — you’re up 2–0 — you go back to Citi Field with a chance to finish the series. That’s the goal.
MAD DOG: And lemme tell ya, Mikey, that ballpark in Queens on Tuesday? It’s gonna be ROCKIN’. 40,000 people, towels flyin’, the whole deal. You win that game, you’re movin’ on.
MIKE: The Mets have put themselves in a terrific position. And you can tell — this team’s got a little something special.
MAD DOG: Oh, they got that “it” factor, Mike! You can smell it! Like the ’86 team — well, maybe not that crazy — but it’s there!
MIKE: (dryly) Let’s slow down, Dog. We’re not talkin’ Mookie and Buckner here. But right now, the Mets are playin’ terrific baseball.
MAD DOG: Ohhh, Mikey, it’s fun again! It’s October, it’s the Mets, and they’re drivin’ us crazy!
MIKE: That’s baseball, Dog. That’s why we watch.

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MIKE: Alright, Dog, big one in the Bronx last night — Yankees finally show up. Ten-four over the Astros. Series tied at one. Andy Miller — three hits, three RBIs, hits a bomb. They needed that in the worst way.
MAD DOG: Oh, MILL-AH, Mikey, MILL-AH! You talk about comin’ up BIG in a playoff game! This guy was rakin’! Three hits, a homer, drives in three, the place is goin’ CRAZY! And lemme tell ya — they needed this, Mike, ‘cause if they go down 0-2 at home? The city’s in PANIC mode!
MIKE: Oh, absolutely, Dog. You go down 0-2 goin’ to Houston, that’s a death sentence. But instead, they come out, they pound the baseball, they get production all through the lineup. Centeno — couple of big knocks, the homer, five RBIs. Kim hits one out early to set the tone. And let’s give some love to the pitcher — Janczak goes the distance!
MAD DOG: COMPLETE game, Mikey! You don’t see that anymore! Nine innings, 122 pitches, eleven hits, but he battled! Didn’t walk anybody late, made big pitches when he had to! You love that, old-school toughness!
MIKE: Right, Dog. He wasn’t perfect, but he competed. You could tell — he said, “This is my game, I’m finishing it.” And that’s what the Yankees needed. After gettin’ punched in the mouth in Game 1, they respond like a championship team.
MAD DOG: Yeah, but, Mikey — and I know you’re gonna disagree — I’m still worried about that bullpen. They didn’t need it last night, sure, but you can’t throw Janczak out there for nine every game!
MIKE: (laughing) Dog, you’re worried about everything! They win by six runs, and you’re worried about the bullpen!
MAD DOG: ‘Cause it’s the Yankees, Mike! You KNOW somethin’s gonna go wrong when you go to Houston! You’re in that bandbox, the roof’s closed, you got Altuve and Bregman — they’ll be bangin’ trash cans in the rafters!
MIKE: (deadpan) Easy, Dog. It’s 1925, there’s no trash cans.
MAD DOG: (laughing) Alright, alright, fair point! But ya know what I mean, Mikey! Houston plays different down there!
MIKE: Listen — the key is, the Yankees got their swagger back. Miller, Centeno, Kim — that lineup looked alive. And they did it without hittin’ into dumb double plays, without chasin’ pitches. That’s playoff baseball.
MAD DOG: Yup! You go down there tied 1-1, you’re fine. You split on the road, you come back to the Bronx — that’s the formula. And now they got momentum, Mikey. I like their chances!
MIKE: We’ll see, Dog. You gotta win down there, though. You can’t just be satisfied with a split. They need one in Houston.
MAD DOG: Oh, no question! But for now, Yanks fans — breathe a little! They finally looked like the team that won 107 games!
MIKE: (nodding) Yankees 10, Astros 4. Miller, Centeno, Janczak — the stars of the night. Series tied. We’ll take a break, come back — your calls on the Yankees, and a little Mets talk later on. Stay with us.

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CLEVELAND INDIANS BASEBALL NETWORK — YOUR HOST, HARRY DOYLE, REPORTING FROM BEAUTIFUL T-MOBILE PARK IN SEATTLE!
October 12th, 1925 — Division Series, Game 2
HARRY DOYLE:
“Hello again, everybody! Harry Doyle here, where the Cleveland Indians have just pulled one out of the fire, winning this barnburner 8 to 7 over the Seattle Mariners!
And lemme tell ya, folks — this one had more twists than a pretzel at Oktoberfest.”
Top of the 1st:
“Well, the Indians waste no time. E. Watt bangs a double, P. Kresse triples him home — it’s 1-0 before some of the fans even found their seats… or their flasks.”
Bottom of the 1st:
“Seattle answers right back. A couple of well-placed knocks, and just like that, we’re tied. 1–1 after one. We’re off and stumbling!”
3rd Inning:
“Uh oh. G. Rupp steps in with two on… and there it goes! High, deep, and kiss it goodbye! That’s a three-run blast, and Seattle jumps ahead 4–1. That ball got outta here faster than the bartender at last call.”
5th Inning:
“Indians down three, and here comes R. Phipps — and BAM! Right on cue! A solo shot off E. Garcia makes it 4–2. The Tribe showing signs of life! Or maybe that’s just caffeine from the clubhouse coffee.”
6th Inning:
“Seattle tacks one more on. They lead 5–2. Manager Mike McGill looking confident in that dugout — which, if you’ve seen his bullpen, is pretty bold.”
7th Inning:
“Here’s where it all unravels, folks. Cleveland loads the bases… Alfonso doubles — clears the bags! We’re tied at five!
And then — oh boy — up comes Willie Cobos. Two on, two out, full count, tension thicker than Cleveland chili… SWING AND A DRIVE! Deep to left, gone! A two-run homer! Indians lead 7–5, and somewhere up there, Bob Feller just smiled.”
McGill after the game:
“We had the game right there for the taking… but we decided not to take it.”
(Thank you for that managerial insight, Mike.)
9th Inning:
“Seattle’s not dead yet! Couple of hits, a run in, tying run aboard… and Grondin says, ‘Not today!’ He slams the door, and that’s your ballgame! Cleveland hangs on, 8–7.
If you had the under tonight, my condolences.”
FINAL LINE:
Cleveland — 8 runs, 12 hits, no errors.
Seattle — 7 runs, 15 hits, and one lonely error.
Winning pitcher: B. Fields (1–0)
Save: M. Grondin (2)
Losing pitcher: E. Garcia (0–1)
Player of the Game: Willie Cobos — 3-for-4, a homer, 2 RBI, 1 walk, and probably free drinks all week.
Postgame wrap-up:
“Well, folks, the series heads to Cleveland tied at one apiece. Game 3 Wednesday at Jacobs Field — or as the locals call it, ‘the place where hope occasionally goes to die.’
From Seattle, where the weather’s chilly and the bats were hot, this is Harry Doyle saying… ‘So long everybody — and remember, they’re called hits because you’re supposed to hit the ball!’”

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DA SUPERFANS POSTGAME SHOW — LIVE FROM WAVELAND AVENUE, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS!
Sponsored by Ditka’s Polish Sausage Emporium — “When you’re losin’ by 9, at least ya got sausage.”
BOB:
Alright, welcome back, folks. We’re talkin’ Cubs baseball, and lemme tell ya — woof! What a doozy at da Friendly Confines today.
DA BEARSSS GUY:
Da Cubbies go down to da Pirates, thirteen to eleven! Thirteen to eleven! That’s not a baseball score, that’s a Bears-Packers halftime!
BOB:
Yeah, yeah, da game starts off, Pirates up four-nothin’. I’m thinkin’, “Here we go, same ol’ Cubs.” Then BAM! Cubbies explode like Ditka after a parking ticket — eleven runs! ELEVEN!
DA BEARSSS GUY:
Yeah, dey put up eleven runs faster than I can eat eleven brats. You’d think that’d be enough, right? WRONG.
BOB:
Wrong! Da bullpen comes in — and folks, I say this with love — they blow it like da ’85 Patriots defense.
DA BEARSSS GUY:
Seven runs! Seven runs in da eighth inning! I seen better containment from a deep-dish pizza box.
BOB:
I tell ya, da Cubs bullpen — it’s like da heart of a Bears fan in January. Fulla hope… then shattered.
DA BEARSSS GUY:
What went wrong? Everything! Da pitchers couldn’t find da plate, da fielders looked like they were allergic to ground balls, and da manager — I dunno what he was doin’, maybe orderin’ Giordano’s.
BOB:
And credit where it’s due — dat Isidro Pruneda guy from da Pirates? Big three-run bomb in da eighth. Ball’s still travelin’. I think it landed somewhere near Sheboygan.
DA BEARSSS GUY:
Oh yeah, that guy’s killin’ us! He’s like da Reggie Jackson of da Allegheny. And Justin Woodfin — four hits, three runs, two RBI — guy’s hittin’ like he just saw Ditka in da on-deck circle.
BOB:
Meanwhile, our boy D. Quiroz? Tripled, homered, drove in two — good effort! But da rest o’ da pen, fuhgeddaboudit.
DA BEARSSS GUY:
Lemme put it this way: if da Cubs bullpen was runnin’ da sausage grill, we’d all have salmonella.
BOB:
Now da series is two games to one in favor of Pittsburgh. Tomorrow’s do-or-die at Wrigley.
DA BEARSSS GUY:
And I got faith, Bob. Cubbies come back tomorrow, win it big. I’m callin’ it right now: Cubs 23, Pirates 2.
BOB:
Dat’s bold. Who ya got startin’?
DA BEARSSS GUY:
Doesn’t matter. Could be Fergie Jenkins, could be Ditka, could be a guy grillin’ kielbasa behind home plate — Cubs in five!
BOB:
Cubs in five!
BOTH:
DA CUBSSSS!!!
(Cue polka music and a slow zoom on a half-eaten sausage as they chant “Cubbies, Cubbies, Cubbies”)

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“A very pleasant good afternoon to you wherever you may be.”
We come to you from Citi Field in New York, on a damp and breezy day in October. The kind of day when the wind doesn’t so much whistle through the grandstand as it sighs, as though it knows autumn baseball brings both triumph and heartbreak.
And today, it brought a little bit of both.
The Arizona Diamondbacks, backs to the wall and trailing two games to none in the Division Series, found their spark in a young man from Mene Grande, Venezuela — José Chapa, the right fielder with a swing as smooth as desert twilight.
In the very first inning, with two men out and a runner aboard, Chapa turned on a cutter from the Mets’ Alex Miranda — a pitch that hung just a heartbeat too long — and launched it high and deep into the New York sky. It was one of those majestic arcs that seems to defy gravity, a ball that every eye in the ballpark follows until it disappears beyond the wall. And just like that, the Diamondbacks led 3–0.
You could almost hear the sigh of the wind change direction.
Chapa wasn’t finished. He added a triple in the third, three singles to follow, and when the day was done, he had tied a National League playoff record with five hits. A performance so good it felt almost effortless — the kind of day you don’t plan for, you just find yourself in, like catching lightning in a glove.
Across the diamond, the Mets fought hard. They clawed their way back behind the bat of Alan Sloan, who doubled home two in the third, then added a couple more with another timely hit in the fifth. But for every glimmer of momentum, Arizona had an answer.
There was Oscar Arispe, driving in four runs on three hits, including a pair of doubles that rattled the wall so hard, you’d think the ball wanted to stay in play. There was Javier Ramos, who chipped in with a home run of his own. And D. Herrera, the Diamondbacks’ starter — not overpowering, but steady. The kind of pitcher who bends but doesn’t break.
By the time the dust — or in this case, the rain — had settled, the Diamondbacks had pounded out twenty-one hits, twelve runs, and one much-needed victory. A final score of 12–6, and a series now alive at two games to one.
Tomorrow, they’ll do it again, right here at Citi Field. Same chill in the air, same crack of the bat echoing through the borough.
And maybe, just maybe, one more story waiting to be written.
For now, this is Vin Scully, saying good afternoon — and wishing you wherever you may be, a very pleasant evening.”

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Harry Doyle:
“Well folks, grab your scorecards and your aspirin, because the defending World Champion Cleveland Indians are one win away from punching their ticket back to the American League Championship Series. Final from a brisk afternoon at Jacobs Field — Indians 5, Mariners 3.
And if you like good pitching, timely hitting, and a little late-inning drama, this one had just enough of all three to keep you from nodding off between innings.”
(pause for a sip of something that’s probably not coffee)
“Mike Niccolai — the man they call ‘Steady Mike’ — went seven strong innings, gave up three runs, none of ‘em cheap, and still found a way to leave the mound with that same calm look like he just finished mowing his lawn. Kid’s got ice water in his veins… or possibly antifreeze. Hard to tell in this weather.”
“Seattle got a brief spark in the fifth — a double from A. Brown that started some trouble, then a couple of runs to make it 3–2. But then… here came Jesús Satiago. Leading off the sixth, Cleveland down by a run, and—boom!—he turns on a fastball and sends it into the left-field seats faster than you can say ‘It’s long gone!’ That’s a two-run homer, and just like that, the Tribe’s got the lead, 4–3. Fans on their feet, cowbells ringing, seagulls scattering… chaos, Cleveland-style.”
“After that, the bullpen shut the door tighter than my ex-wife’s lawyer. Matt Grondin came in for the final two innings, picked up his third save of the postseason, and sent 36,697 fans home to defrost with smiles on their faces.”
“Offensively, Cleveland spread it around — nine hits from nine different guys. Rookie second baseman M. Saldana added a little insurance with a two-run shot in the fifth, and from there it was smooth sailing on the good ship Wahoo.”
“On the other side, poor I. Dickey of the Mariners — seven innings, five earned runs, a couple of souvenirs for the cheap seats. Not his day. Not really anybody’s day from Seattle, unless you’re counting hits that didn’t matter.”
“So here we are, folks. The Indians take a 2–1 lead in the Division Series. One more win, and it’s back to the ALCS — the land of champagne baths and bad celebratory goggles.”
(slight pause, mock serious)
“And if they can pull it off tomorrow, we may have to start calling this ‘The Reign of Cleveland.’ That’s right, the reigning champs still reign… at least for one more night.”
Harry Doyle, signing off:
“Final again from the Jake — Cleveland 5, Seattle 3.
And remember, folks, don’t drink and bunt.”