National Baseball League

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On a gray, damp afternoon in Pittsburgh, with a steady wind drifting in from center field and rain tapping lightly across the roofline of PNC Park, the Arizona Diamondbacks brought thunder of their own. A 14–6 victory in Game 4 of the League Championship Series — a game that began with a burst of offense so sudden, so overwhelming, it seemed to echo into the Allegheny Valley.
And at the center of it all was Jose Chapa — the right fielder from Mene Grande, Venezuela — whose afternoon was nothing short of extraordinary. Four hits, two home runs, five runs batted in, and two runs scored. A performance that would have felt right at home in October lore across the generations of the game.
Just five pitches into the bottom of the first inning, Tony Ramirez found himself in trouble. Moments later, Chapa delivered the defining swing: a three-run home run on a slider left too high, too hittable. In an instant, Arizona had a 5–0 lead, and the Pirates — a team that had been flying high earlier in the series — spent the rest of the afternoon playing from behind.
But the Diamondbacks weren’t finished. Chapa homered again in the fifth. Jason Gonzalez added a towering blast of his own in the sixth. The lineup, top to bottom, recorded sixteen hits — a testament to depth, discipline, and patience.
For Pittsburgh, there were glimmers. Matt Croke continued his remarkable postseason with three more hits, two RBIs, and some daring on the basepaths. R. Ortega contributed a pair of hits. D. Verni drove in two. But with pitching struggles from the outset — Ramirez allowing five runs before recording an out — the Pirates simply couldn’t close the gap.
The rain fell. The Diamondbacks pressed on. And by the time the final out settled into the glove, Arizona had evened the series, 2–2, setting up a pivotal Game 5 tomorrow at PNC Park.
On a day when the weather made everything feel a little heavier, a little slower, Jose Chapa played with a brightness that cut through the gloom. A remarkable performance from a remarkable player, in a postseason that continues to remind us why October baseball has its own poetry.

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“Well folks, the defending champion Indians are now one measly win away from heading back to the World Series. And if you weren’t watching from the start — and judging by the attendance some of you weren’t — all right, maybe you were home watching on tv - you missed the Tribe jump on the Yankees early and often here at Jacobs Field.
Bottom of the first… BOOM. Alfonso parks a two-run homer into the cheap seats. Indians up 2–0 faster than you can say ‘buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack.’ Yankees wander back to the dugout wondering what just hit them.
New York scraped together a pair in the second, just enough to look competitive before Cleveland remembered they’re, well… better. Galvan on the mound for the Tribe today — not exactly Cy Young out there, but he scattered seven hits and did just enough to keep the pinstripes from getting any ideas.
Fourth inning: Phipps from Provo, Utah — yeah, Provo — ropes a double to lead off the inning. Guy looks like he should be teaching Sunday school, not ripping extra-base hits in an LCS game.
And then came the big blow. Sixth inning. Two on, one out, and here comes Zakaio Eneki, the man from Aua, American Samoa. He digs in, Abdul-Ra’uf throws one right down Broadway, and Eneki sends it straight into orbit. Three-run dinger. The stadium shook, the Yankees fans groaned, and I swear I heard a car alarm go off somewhere on Ontario Street.
That made it 7–2, and honestly, folks, that was all she wrote. Indians fans are celebrating, Yankees fans are filing complaints with the umpire’s union, and tomorrow this place could be hosting the pennant-clinching party.
Final line: Indians 8, Yankees 2. Cleveland one win away from the Fall Classic. Eneki the star of the game — homer, three RBIs, and he even pretended to be humble afterward, saying it was all ‘focus and intensity.’ Sure. Whatever works.
Same time tomorrow. Maybe the Yankees show up, maybe they don’t. Either way, we’ll be here. Probably with something stronger than Pepsi.”

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“Welcome to Major League Baseball, folks — where the games are long, the rules are outdated, and somehow 48,000 people willingly paid money to sit outside in 51-degree weather to watch millionaires run around in pajamas. America!
Arizona vs. Pittsburgh. Huge playoff implications. One team’s going to the World Series. The other’s going home to listen to sports radio callers explain why they personally could’ve done a better job.
Arizona wins it 7-6 in a game that featured enough errors, blown saves, and questionable decisions to fill a congressional hearing.
The Pirates jump ahead early — three runs in the first. Great! You think they’re rolling. The crowd’s cheering, the Primanti sandwiches taste better, the beer’s colder… then the Pirates do what the Pirates do: stop playing baseball.
Arizona chips away — a run here, two runs there, nothing fancy, just the slow, methodical torture of watching your own team unravel.
And let’s talk about Darrell Verni. Three hits, a walk, double, single, single… beautiful. The man practically begged the rest of the team to help him out. They said no. Politely. Firmly.
By the ninth inning it’s 6–3 Pirates. Gates comes in for Pittsburgh, and judging by the result, he must’ve left his talent in the bullpen. Arizona takes the lead on a groundout. Not a homer, not a triple, not some majestic blast into the Allegheny River. A groundout. A sad little dribbler that scores the go-ahead run because the Pirates forgot how to prevent that from happening.
And Arizona manager Alonzo Hernandez says after the game, quote: ‘In the playoffs, you just gotta get in and get hot.’
Get in and get hot.
Yeah. Just like a microwave burrito. Real inspiring, coach.
Meanwhile, the stats sheet looks like a crime scene. Errors? Three for Arizona, one for Pittsburgh. More mistakes than a politician’s Twitter feed.
But hey — the Diamondbacks now lead the series 3–2. They’re one win away from the World Series, and the Pirates… well, they’re one loss away from giving a postgame interview full of phrases like ‘proud of the guys,’ ‘left it all out there,’ and ‘we’ll come back stronger.’
Next game’s Sunday in Arizona, where the roof will be closed, the air conditioning will be blasting, and the fans will still complain about the heat because that’s what we do as a species.
I’m George Carlin.
And remember: it’s just a game.
A weird, overpaid, occasionally entertaining game we keep watching anyway.”

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Cleveland Indians: 5th AL Pennant
1919 1920 1923 1924 1925

“Well folks, it’s all over in Cleveland — the Indians have punched their ticket to the World Series for the third straight year. That’s right, three in a row. Hat trick. Trifecta. Call it what you want, they’ve done it again. And it wasn’t even hard! They breezed through the Yankees like they were a warm summer wind whistling through a screen door.
Final today: Indians 10, Yankees 1.
And honestly, it felt even worse than that.
The Tribe wasted no time — three runs in the first, four in the second. By the time the Yankees knew what zip code they were in, it was 7–0, and half the crowd thought they accidentally wandered into batting practice.
The series MVP? None other than Zakaio Eneki. And boy did he earn it. Hit .522 in the series with 14 RBIs. Fourteen! Some teams don’t score that many in a week! Eneki knocked in enough runs to feed a small village.
But let’s not forget the man of the hour today — Mike Niccolai, complete-game gem, gave up just six hits, no earned runs, threw 118 pitches and walked off the mound like he was going to order a sandwich.
Meanwhile for New York… well… the Yankees didn’t exactly bring their A-game. Or their B-game. Or any game. Six hits, one run — and even that wasn’t earned! Jenkins got the start, gave up seven runs in an inning and a third. At that point the Yankees dugout was less a baseball team and more a support group.
‘Hi, my name is Sean, and I just gave up a three-run homer.’
‘Hi Sean.’
Cleveland’s bats, though? They were everywhere. Alfonso collected three hits, Santiago drove in four, Kresse scored three times, Watt swiped a bag and threw out Romero at home just for fun.
Indians fans are partying, Yankees fans are filing out of the building like they heard someone pulled the fire alarm.
And let’s not forget — this is Cleveland’s fifth trip to the World Series in the last seven years. That’s dominance you can set your watch to. Three straight pennants. The empire is alive and well on the shores of Lake Erie.
Who do they face next? Well, flip a coin — Pirates or Diamondbacks. Arizona’s up 3–2, but whoever it is… good luck, boys. You’re walking into a buzzsaw.
This is Harry Doyle saying:
‘The Indians win it. The Indians win it. The Indians… win it.’
And they didn’t even break a sweat.”

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“On an autumn afternoon in the desert, where the fading October sun slipped through the half-open roof of Chase Field, the Pittsburgh Pirates did what all resilient teams must do in October… they lived to fight another day.”
Game 6 of the 1925 National League Championship Series was not merely a baseball contest, but a test of resolve — the kind of drama this sport has always promised, from the days of Ebbetts Field to the modern steel-and-glass cathedrals of the present era. And on this Sunday, the Pittsburgh Pirates responded with the urgency of a team that understood the stakes.
A 9–2 victory over the Diamondbacks, evening the series at three games apiece, assures us all of the greatest gift October baseball offers — a decisive seventh game.
And it was Jonathan Gonzales who led the way.
A perfect postseason blend of poise and presence, Gonzales delivered three hits, including two ringing doubles, and scored twice. On a day when Pittsburgh needed clarity and confidence at the plate, Gonzales supplied both.
But perhaps the defining moment came in the seventh inning. The score was tight, tension thick as the desert air. One out. A man at second. David Herrera on the mound — working deep into the game, carrying Arizona’s hopes on his shoulders. Batu Baykurt stepped in for Pittsburgh and lined a sharp single to right. It was not a majestic home run, not a soaring triple. Just a clean, timely swing — the kind that echoes through postseason lore. The Pirates took a 3–1 lead, and from that moment on, the momentum belonged solely to the men in black and gold.
“This was a team victory,” said Pirates manager Rickey Arnette afterward.
And indeed, the numbers bear that out — fourteen hits, steady defense, strong pitching from Manuel Rueda, who found his rhythm at last. Seven solid innings. One earned run. Just enough for the Pirates to exhale and smile for a moment before shifting their focus to the challenge ahead.
Arizona, valiantly fighting, had ten hits but only two runs to show for it. Three errors proved costly. Opportunities faded. Runners stranded. The Diamondbacks will return tomorrow with the knowledge that Game 7s are baseball’s great equalizer — where heroes are made, legends written, and memories preserved long after the final out.
For now, though, the Pirates walk back to their clubhouse knowing they’ve extended their season one more day — knowing the baseball gods, as whimsical as they can be, have granted them a final chance.
Game 7 awaits.
Tomorrow. Same ballpark. Same stakes.
A winner-take-all battle for a trip to the World Series.
And as always… baseball gives us what only baseball can — drama shaped by history, colored by uncertainty, and made unforgettable by moments like these.
This is October. This is baseball. And this… is why we watch.”

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Arizona Diamondbacks: 3rd NL Pennant
1905 1907 1925

“On a cool October evening in the Arizona desert — beneath a sky painted with fading daylight and the anticipation of a city that has waited nearly two decades — the Diamondbacks have done it. They have won the National League pennant.”
Tonight, Arizona claims its third trip to the Fall Classic. Their first in eighteen years. A drought measured not only in seasons but in eras — in the aging of players, the turnover of rosters, and the evolving heartbeat of a franchise that once stunned the baseball world in 1905 with a championship, and has been chasing a return to that summit ever since.
And on this night, in this decisive Game 7, the Diamondbacks left little doubt.
A 14–5 victory.
Twenty-one hits.
A relentless, unyielding display of offense.
The fourth inning alone — six runs, a storm of timely hitting — reshaped the landscape of the game. From there, the Diamondbacks added to their total with the casual ferocity of a team sensing history within reach. And when they struck for six more in the eighth, the celebration had already begun in the stands.
At the center of it all was Jason Gonzalez of Cornwall, NY — whose sweet, compact swing carried him through the series and lifted his team. He is the MVP, and deservedly so.
A .452 average.
A .528 on-base percentage.
Four home runs.
Nine runs batted in.
Eleven runs scored.
In any era, in any ballpark, those numbers are extraordinary. In a postseason series — transcendent.
“It feels good. I’m seeing the ball well,” said Gonzalez afterward with the understated tone of a man who knows the work is not yet complete. “I hope it continues.”
And so do the Diamondbacks.
Because now, they move on to face the Cleveland Indians — the defending champions, battle-tested, and on the cusp of a dynasty. Cleveland dispatched the Yankees in five games and arrives at the World Series with confidence and purpose.
Arizona arrives with history and hunger.
It has been twenty long years since the Diamondbacks last stood on the doorstep of October immortality. And they now seek only the second World Series title in franchise history, a journey that will unfold over the next week, one pitch at a time.
This is the beauty of baseball.
A game that can swing on inches and instincts.
A season that can hinge on a single night.
And tonight, that night belonged to Arizona.
The Diamondbacks—pennant winners once more.

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1925 World Series

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“On a chilly October afternoon in Cleveland — gray skies above, a steady breeze blowing out toward left — the Arizona Diamondbacks, a team built on quiet resolve and balance, struck the first note in what promises to be a compelling World Series symphony.”
Final score: Arizona 2, Cleveland 0.
The Diamondbacks lead the series, one game to none.
And at the heart of it all was Gustavo Bojorquez, a right-hander with the demeanor of a craftsman and the precision of an artist. Nine innings. Three hits. No runs. No walks. Just the calm, steady rhythm of a man who seemed utterly in tune with both his catcher and the October moment.
This was not dominance in the Nolan Ryan sense — no thunder, no flailing bats — but rather command by composition. He mixed pitches, painted corners, and let Cleveland’s hitters supply the tension. They swung. They waited. They hoped. But the moment never came.
“It was just a matter of executing,” said Arizona manager Alonzo Hernandez afterward — a phrase simple in sound, but profound in context. Because on nights like this, when the temperature dips and every pitch carries meaning, execution is everything.
The game turned in the second inning, when Jason Gonzalez, the Diamondbacks’ breakout postseason star, launched a solo home run into the left-field bleachers — his sixth of this magical October run. It was the only jolt of offense Arizona would truly need, though Oscar Arispe would later add an insurance run with a clutch RBI single in the fifth.
From there, the rest belonged to Bojorquez — and to the quiet soundtrack of postseason baseball: the murmuring crowd, the sound of leather, the crack of contact that never quite finds grass.
Across the diamond, Cleveland’s M. Philippon deserved a kinder fate. A complete game of his own. Nine innings. Eight hits. Two runs. Five walks, three strikeouts. He kept the Indians close, and yet, against Bojorquez, “close” never quite felt within reach.
This was Arizona baseball at its purest: efficient, unflashy, quietly ruthless. The defense turned every chance cleanly. The basepaths were navigated with discipline. The heartbeat of a veteran team, not rattled by the setting or the crowd.
For Cleveland, the defending champions, it was a reminder that in baseball’s grand theater, there are no easy acts. You can hit .300 all summer, win 99 games, dominate your league — and still, on a cold October afternoon, find yourself three hits from silence.
Tomorrow, they’ll do it again — same ballpark, same crisp air, same stakes, only now with the sense of urgency that comes when the reigning kings find themselves one game down.
For tonight, though, in the quiet of a contented visiting clubhouse, one man — Gustavo Bojorquez — stands tall.
A complete game shutout in the Fall Classic.
A masterpiece of control and composure.
And so, as the lights dim at Jacobs Field, baseball once again reminds us: the beauty of October lies not in power or spectacle, but in the elegance of performance — in the grace of a man, a ball, and a moment perfectly aligned.
Diamondbacks 2, Indians 0.
Arizona leads the World Series, one game to none.

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“On a crisp October afternoon in Cleveland — the kind that makes the breath visible and the gloves a little stiffer — the Arizona Diamondbacks turned back the clock and leaned on experience. And in doing so, they inched two steps closer to a title.”
Final score: Arizona 9, Cleveland 2.
The Diamondbacks lead the World Series, two games to none.
And fittingly, it was the old man — 43-year-old right-hander Eric Hoelzle, from Hanford, California — who set the tone.
In an age when so many rely on velocity, Hoelzle offered something more timeless: command, guile, and an unflappable sense of calm.
Nine innings. Eight hits. Two runs, only one earned. No walks.
A complete game, the kind you don’t often see anymore — particularly on a World Series stage.
“It’s about execution,” Hoelzle said quietly afterward. “I just wanted to give us a chance.”
He gave them far more than that.
In truth, this was a night that belonged to both the veteran’s poise and the relentless Diamondbacks offense, which continues to write its own October story.
They struck first in the opening inning, traded runs early, then broke the game open with a four-run fifth that silenced a crowd of more than 36,000 at Jacobs Field.
That decisive rally was capped by Tony Flores, the steady third baseman from San Antonio, who launched a towering three-run homer deep into the left-field seats.
It wasn’t just a home run — it was a punctuation mark.
Flores circled the bases with quiet purpose, as if aware of the history he was inching toward.
And in the same inning, Jason Gonzalez — Arizona’s breakout star of this postseason — added yet another home run, his seventh of October.
In the span of minutes, a 2–2 game had become 5–2, and the defending champion Indians never recovered.
Behind the Diamondbacks’ offense was the unrelenting G. Orlando, who collected four hits and drove in a run, and C. Grissett, whose two-out triple in the eighth plated two more. Arizona simply kept the line moving, applying pressure inning after inning.
For Cleveland, it was an uncharacteristic night — not of collapse, but of fatigue.
Their pitching faltered, their bats quieted, and the sharpness that carried them through a year of dominance was dulled by a team playing with rhythm and purpose.
Still, the Indians are not strangers to adversity.
They were down early in last year’s World Series, too — and rallied to claim the championship.
But now, as the series shifts west to the desert, the challenge has grown steeper.
Arizona returns home with a commanding 2–0 series lead, its confidence rising, its veterans steady, and its stars performing on cue.
And somewhere beneath the desert sky that awaits, perhaps Eric Hoelzle — the 43-year-old journeyman who once might have wondered if this moment would ever come again — will sit quietly and appreciate it all.
Because this, after all, is what baseball offers like no other game:
A second act. A final chapter.
And sometimes, on a clear October afternoon, the perfect story told by an old right arm.
Diamondbacks 9, Indians 2.
Arizona leads the World Series, two games to none.

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From Chase Field in downtown Phoenix, on a crisp Halloween night in 1925… Game 3 of the World Series delivered the kind of taut, quietly dramatic baseball that has defined October for generations.
The defending champion Cleveland Indians, down two games to none and desperate for a spark, turned to right-hander Mike Niccolai of San Diego, CA — and he delivered a performance worthy of the moment. Seven innings, five hits, no runs, and the kind of poise under pressure that turns a pitcher into a postseason legend.
He didn’t overpower Arizona’s lineup — he out-thought them. Mixing location, tempo, and a biting curveball that kept the Diamondbacks guessing all evening, Niccolai guided Cleveland to a 1–0 victory that keeps their hopes alive in this best-of-seven series.
The lone run came, fittingly, from the bat of E. Watt — a quiet, steady center fielder who’s been one of the unsung heroes of this Cleveland club. His two-out single in the fifth plated R. Lopez and gave the Indians the only tally they’d need.
And when it came time to seal it, closer M. Grondin was as reliable as ever. Two innings, one hit, and not a whisper of doubt.
For Arizona, it was a night of frustration. Starter A. Mendoza pitched brilliantly in defeat — eight innings, one run, but no support from a lineup that had carried the D-backs through the first two games.
And so, as the series resumes tomorrow night, Cleveland breathes new life into their title defense. The Diamondbacks still lead, two games to one — but this was the kind of game that can shift the tone, the confidence, and perhaps the course of a championship.
Final score again, from Phoenix: Cleveland 1, Arizona nothing. The Indians take Game 3, and baseball — as it so often does in October — reminds us that even in an era of power and spectacle, there’s still something timeless about a crisp, 1–0 ballgame.

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From a sun-splashed Sunday afternoon at Chase Field in downtown Phoenix, the Arizona Diamondbacks took one enormous step toward their second World Series championship — and they did it in emphatic fashion.
Behind a masterful performance from David Herrera, the 25-year-old right-hander from Princess Quarter, Saint Maarten, the Diamondbacks overwhelmed the defending champion Cleveland Indians, 13–3, and now stand just one win away from baseball’s ultimate prize.
Herrera was magnificent — a complete game, two-hitter, efficient and composed, with the poise of a man who understood the gravity of the moment. Over nine innings, he allowed just three runs, striking out four, and never once appeared rattled, even as the Arizona offense piled on run after run behind him.
And that offense was relentless. O. Arispe set the tone early, doubling in the first, homering in the fifth, and driving in three on the afternoon. T. Flores continued his torrid October with a pair of doubles and three runs scored. J. Chapa added three hits and two runs batted in, while the entire Arizona lineup seemed to sense that this was their night — their statement game.
For Cleveland, it was a long, humbling afternoon. Starter A. Galvan was tagged for eight runs in less than five innings, and the bullpen fared no better. The Indians managed just two hits — one of them a two-run home run from Z. Eneki in the seventh, far too late to matter.
And so, as the crowd of more than forty-four thousand roared under the desert sky, the Diamondbacks — a franchise still writing its own history — moved to the brink. They now lead the series, three games to one, with a chance to clinch the championship here at home tomorrow night.
If Game 3 reminded us of baseball’s subtle grace, Game 4 was a reminder of its cruelty — and its capacity for dominance. One team fighting to survive, another team discovering its destiny.
Final score again from Phoenix: Arizona 13, Cleveland 3. The Diamondbacks, one win away from a World Series crown.

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On a cool desert evening in Phoenix, with the weight of a championship pressing against them, the defending World Champion Cleveland Indians refused to yield.
Behind seven steady innings from left-hander Marquos Philippon, the Indians staved off elimination, defeating the Arizona Diamondbacks 7–3 to send the World Series back to Cleveland — and in doing so, reminded everyone that this resilient club is not yet ready to surrender its crown.
Philippon, the 29-year-old from San Carlos del Zulia, Venezuela, was composed and efficient. He scattered eight hits, allowing only one earned run while inducing a stream of weak contact. It wasn’t overpowering — it was resourceful. The kind of performance you see from a pitcher who understands not just how to throw, but how to win.
And in the seventh inning, with the game hanging in the balance in a tie game, it was shortstop Chris Alfonso who came through. A single up the middle — not a majestic home run, not a highlight-reel drive, but a simple, timely base hit — that put Cleveland ahead for good. It was the kind of hit that echoes through the dugout, that reminds a team that sometimes one swing, one moment, can change everything.
Catcher Willie Cobos added a triple and two runs batted in, while M. Saldana’s two-run single provided breathing room in the fourth inning as Cleveland put up four in that decisive seventh inning. On the other side, Arizona’s bats — so potent just 24 hours earlier — were quieted. After a strong start by O. Arispe and T. Flores, the Diamondbacks simply couldn’t solve Philippon, or closer M. Grondin, who worked the final two innings with typical precision.
So the series shifts now to Jacobs Field — the lakefront ballpark in Cleveland where the Indians have thrived all season — for Game 6 on Wednesday. Arizona still leads three games to two, but momentum, as it so often does in October, has begun to drift.
Final score again from Phoenix: Cleveland 7, Arizona 3. The champions are still alive.
And as we’ve seen so many times across the generations — from the ’75 Reds to the ’86 Mets to the 2011 Cardinals — baseball’s most enduring truth holds firm: in this game, it’s never over until that 27th out.

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There are moments in October baseball — and in this case, early November — when the air seems electric, when the tension in the stands, the dugouts, even the bullpens, feels almost tangible. That was exactly the atmosphere at Jacobs Field on Wednesday, where the Cleveland Indians pulled off a walk-off 4–3 victory over the Arizona Diamondbacks, forcing a decisive Game 7 in this enthralling World Series.
For the Indians, the story of the day was second baseman Miguel Saldana. The 29-year-old from Yauco, Puerto Rico, was an offensive dynamo: three hits in three at-bats, a double, a walk, and the kind of solo home run in the bottom of the ninth that every player dreams about but few ever deliver. With one out, Saldana, who hit only 2 home runs all regular season, swung and sent a fastball from Greg Felipe into the stands, turning a must-win situation into a moment of pure joy for the home crowd.
The game itself was a microcosm of this series: tightly contested, with Arizona taking early leads through O. Arispe and T. Flores, only to have Cleveland answer back, inch by inch, hit by hit. The Indians’ pitching — seven strong innings from right-hander David Girard and two scoreless frames from Mike Grondin — held Arizona at bay when it mattered most.
Cleveland now has tied the series at three games apiece. Game 7, tomorrow, promises to be the kind of contest that will be remembered not just for the scoreboard, but for the drama, the tension, and the sheer unpredictability that makes this game so compelling. In the end, baseball — especially in a one-game finale — is a game of inches, and on this Wednesday, Miguel Saldana provided the decisive one.
Final score at Jacobs Field: Cleveland 4, Arizona 3. A series once seemingly on the brink has swung back to even, with everything to play for.

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Arizona Diamondbacks: 1925 World Series Champions (2nd title)
1905 1925

From the shores of Lake Erie to the deserts of the Southwest, this was baseball at its most unpredictable, its most poetic. On a gray November afternoon in Cleveland, the Arizona Diamondbacks—left for dead just two years ago during a painful rebuild—rose again. With a 10–9 win over the Indians in Game 7, they have captured their first World Series championship in 20 years.
It was not a masterpiece of precision—far from it. There were errors, lead changes, and tense moments that kept 36,000 fans at Jacobs Field teetering between hope and heartbreak. But at its core, this was the game at its best: relentless, emotional, and gloriously human.
The Diamondbacks trailed 3–0 before their bats came alive. Jose Chapa, the right fielder from Mene Grande, Venezuela, was the hero of the night, driving in two runs and setting the tone for an Arizona offense that refused to yield. In the seventh, with two outs and two on, first baseman Sean Nicholson delivered the swing that will live forever in franchise lore—a towering three-run homer that turned the game on its head, tying it at 6, and sent the visiting dugout into delirium.
But Cleveland, as they’ve done all series, would not go quietly. Down by three in the ninth, they clawed back, scoring twice and putting the tying run aboard before Greg Felipe—who had been saddled with a bone-crushing loss just 24 hours earlier—found redemption. A soft line drive to second base ended it, and with that, Arizona stood atop the baseball world once again.
The Diamondbacks, 99–63 during the regular season, are champions for just the second time in franchise history—their first since that unforgettable triumph two decades ago. For Arizona manager Alonzo Hernández, for Chapa, Nicholson, and the resilient cast that weathered every storm, this was the reward for perseverance. For Cleveland, it was heartbreak on their home field, being denied the satisfaction of being repeat champions yet again, but also a season of revival and pride.
In baseball, as in life, triumph and tragedy are often separated by inches. Tonight, the inches belonged to Arizona. And somewhere, beneath the desert stars, a long-awaited celebration begins.
Final score from Cleveland: the Diamondbacks 10, the Indians 9. Arizona—champions of the baseball world.

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1925 World Series champions