National Baseball League

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BOB CARPENTER & KEVIN FRANDSEN ON MASN
Nationals 12, Brewers 11 — NLDS Game 2, October 8, 1928
Series tied 1–1
BOB CARPENTER (opening calmly but excited):
Well folks… what a ballgame we just watched here in Milwaukee. The Nationals and Brewers combined for 23 runs, 31 hits, and about 12 different emotional swings, but Washington hangs on for a 12–11 win and this NLDS is all tied up heading back to D.C.
And Kevin — if you’re talking about players who show up in October, if you’re talking about guys who take over a postseason game…
Eddie Quizhpe just authored one of the great playoff performances in Nationals history.
Five hits.
Two homers.
Six runs batted in.
And the go-ahead blast in the ninth.
KEVIN FRANDSEN (amped, fast, smiling through the headset):
BOBBY — that’s a JOKE. That is an absolute JOKE. You don’t do that in the postseason unless you’re seeing the baseball like it’s a beachball.
He’s attacking hittable pitches, he’s staying in the zone, he’s not missing anything, and then in the ninth… he gets a hanging slider from Lupe Garcia and hits it to straightaway left like he KNEW it was coming.
That’s a superstar swing right there.
BOB CARPENTER:
Nationals trailed early, fell behind 2–0, then answered with three in the third — including a leadoff homer from Alfredo Garcia, who had himself a big day too.
Then, after Milwaukee kept punching back — as the Brewers always do in this ballpark — Washington hangs a six-spot in the fifth, highlighted by Quizhpe’s first homer of the afternoon.
But Kevin, this was a game where no lead was safe.
KEVIN FRANDSEN:
Yeah, and it starts with the Brewers’ lineup. Look, Manny Escobar is one of the most dangerous hitters in the league when he gets going, and today he was running like crazy, hitting a homer, driving in runs — he was everywhere.
J. Flores? Two doubles.
T. Dominguez? Missile homer in the first.
Every time the Nats scored, Milwaukee said, “All right, we’ll take a few back.” That’s what makes this ballpark so tough — the wind’s blowing out, the gaps are huge, and that Brewers lineup can run.
BOB CARPENTER:
And then we get to the ninth inning.
Tie game.
Crowd on its feet.
Lupe Garcia on the mound.
And Kevin, it took one pitch for Eddie Quizhpe to change everything.
KEVIN FRANDSEN (laughing in disbelief):
ONE. PITCH.
Slider that just spun, stayed right over the middle. And Eddie… did not miss. That ball was loud off the bat — the kind where you don’t even need to see where it lands. You just walk it off in your mind.
Nats go up 12–10, and that’s the separator.
BOB CARPENTER:
Milwaukee did scratch one across in the bottom half, but B. Barnard came in with the tying run on deck and slammed the door — one pitch, one out, save number one for him this postseason.
Final line: Nationals 12, Brewers 11, and this series — this thriller of a series — is now knotted at one game apiece.
KEVIN FRANDSEN:
And now you take it home, Bobby. You take it back to Nationals Park, where that crowd’s gonna be crazy Wednesday night. You’ve got momentum, you’ve got your offense rolling, and most important —
You’ve got Eddie Quizhpe hitting like the best player on the planet.
If he stays this hot?
Washington can beat anybody.
BOB CARPENTER (wrap-up):
That’s all from Milwaukee — one of the wildest October games we’ve seen in this universe.
Game 3 comes your way Wednesday from Nationals Park.
With Kevin Frandsen, I’m Bob Carpenter…
So long from American Family Field — the Nationals win it, 12–11.
And folks…
This series is just getting started.

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MIKE AND THE MAD DOG — GAME 3 RECAP (TIGERS 22, YANKEES 12)
MIKE: “DOG, WHAT. WAS. THAT.” Yankees Stadium today, ALDS Game 3, and the Yankees give up TWENTY-TWO RUNS. You can’t make it up. This wasn’t a baseball game — this was a 1920s beer-league softball doubleheader jammed into nine innings. Absolute disaster for the Yankees’ pitching staff. Total embarrassment.
DOG: “OH MIKE, PLEASE! 22-12! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDIN’ ME! THAT IS A DISGRACE! AN UTTER DISGRACE! THE NEW YORK YANKEES — TWENTY-SEVEN HITS ALLOWED?! YOU CAN’T GIVE UP TEN RUNS IN THE FIFTH INNING, MIKEY! TEN RUNS! THAT’S A WEEK’S WORTH OF RUNS FOR A DECENT TEAM!”
MIKE: Vadala had nothing. Capriotti for Detroit had nothing. It was just batting practice for four hours. But the Yankees are the ones facing elimination tomorrow, and Dog, there is no sugar-coating it — that was one of the worst postseason pitching performances the franchise has ever put on.
DOG: “VADALA, VADALA, VADALA — AWFUL! THEN YOU BRING IN RAMIREZ? HE DOESN’T RECORD A SINGLE OUT! FIVE HITS, FIVE RUNS, GONE! WHALEY? HODGSON? MIKE, THIS WAS A PARADE OF NONSENSE! YOU CAN’T WIN POSTSEASON GAMES WITH THAT!”
MIKE: Credit to Detroit. Carbigos? Outstanding. Pedraza? Tremendous. Galindo? Big game player. Every single one of them hit the ball hard all afternoon. That’s a locked-in lineup.
DOG: “FIVE RUNS FOR PEDRAZA! FOUR HITS FOR CARBIGOS! CISNEROS WITH A HOMER! THEY WERE SMOKIN’ EVERYTHING IN SIGHT! THEY MADE THAT SHORT PORCH LOOK LIKE A LITTLE LEAGUE FIELD!”
MIKE: Yankees offense did what they could — 12 runs is usually enough to win a playoff game. But you give up crooked number after crooked number, the whole afternoon becomes survival mode.
DOG: “NO EXCUSES, MIKE! NONE! YOU SCORE TWELVE AT HOME IN OCTOBER, YOU WIN THE BALLGAME! PERIOD! END OF STORY! YOU DON’T GIVE UP TRIPLES ALL OVER THE PLACE — WANG WITH TWO TRIPLES, PEDRAZA WITH TWO TRIPLES — WHAT IS THIS, A TRACK MEET?”
MIKE: Yankees now trail the series 2–1. Season on the line tomorrow. Questions everywhere. Pitching is a disaster. Bullpen looks fried. And Dog… if they don’t win Game 4, it’s gonna be a long winter in the Bronx.
DOG: “BIGGEST GAME OF THE SEASON TOMORROW, MIKE! THEY’D BETTER SHOW SOME HEART! BECAUSE TODAY? TODAY WAS AN EMBARRASSMENT TO THE PINSTRIPES! TERRIBLE! JUST AWFUL!”
MIKE: Tigers 22, Yankees 12. We move on. Tomorrow decides everything.

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COLIN COWHERD ON RANGERS–MARINERS GAME 3 (1928 ALDS):
You know, there are certain games in sports where the universe just kind of taps you on the shoulder and says, “Hey… this isn’t normal.” And what we saw in Seattle — Rangers 25, Mariners 11 — that wasn’t baseball. That was a fever dream. That was a rec-league game played after everybody had three chili dogs.
This wasn’t a win.
This was a brand statement from Texas.
Let’s start here: momentum is real. I say it all the time. The analytics people roll their eyes, but this series was basically over after Game 2. Seattle had the juice, the crowd, the pitching edge, the whole emotional arc. And then… Texas walks in and puts up twenty-five. Twenty-five in October. That’s not a baseball score — that’s the score of a Big 12 rivalry when nobody plays defense.
And Justin Woodfin?
Folks… that’s what a superstar looks like.
Three home runs, five hits, five RBI. Five total bases just in the time it took you to read this sentence. Woodfin’s not just hot — he’s “NBA star who decides in April he wants the 3-seed” hot. He’s doing whatever he wants.
Ryan Merritt? Five runs.
Nate Moser? Three bombs.
Dan Johns? Five hits and a triple.
This wasn't an offense — this was a meteor shower.
And let’s be honest — Seattle’s pitching? It was a mess. Borderline unwatchable. You can’t give up six in the second, six in the fourth, five in the ninth, and tell me you’re a championship-level staff. You can’t bring in five different arms and all five give up multiple runs and convince me it’s bad luck. That’s not unlucky — that’s systemic.
I always say this: in the postseason, you can hide a weak bench, you can hide a shaky third baseman…
You can’t hide pitching.
Texas smelled blood and they went full shark mode.
This was the baseball equivalent of breaking serve three straight times in tennis. It flipped the entire vibe of the series.
And Seattle — look, they’re still up 2–1. They’re still the better team on paper. But this is the kind of loss that lingers. This is the kind of game where your clubhouse gets quiet, your manager starts staring at the lineup card a little too long, and the crowd tomorrow? They’re nervous. They should be.
Momentum has shifted.
Texas found their swagger.
And Seattle? They better respond early in Game 4, or we’re heading back to Arlington with the Rangers feeling like they’re running downhill.
This series just got real.

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On a cool, gray October afternoon in the nation’s capital—temperature 55 degrees, the wind nudging its way out to center field—the Washington Nationals and the mighty Milwaukee Brewers met again. And baseball, that old magician, reached into its hat and pulled out something unexpected.
The Brewers… they came into this postseason like a locomotive with no interest in stopping. One hundred and fourteen wins. One of the best seasons in the modern era of this league. And yet, here they are, suddenly teetering. As fragile as a porcelain vase on the edge of a mantle.
Milwaukee got three home runs—three!—from their shortstop, Cesar Malagon. It was a performance worthy of legends. He hit them to left, to right, and possibly, if the day had lasted any longer, he would have tried one straight through the scoreboard. But baseball, forever quirky and wonderfully stubborn, doesn’t always reward the loudest thunder.
Because Washington… well, Washington had a thunderstorm of their own.
In the bottom of the third, Alex Mejia stepped in. A light tap on the plate, a small adjustment of the helmet, and on the very next pitch he sent the ball sailing high and deep into the D.C. sky. A two-run homer. Just like that, the Nationals were ahead 3–1. Little did we know, the moment would echo throughout the afternoon.
And then came the fifth inning—an inning that will be talked about in this old ballpark for years. Washington hung six runs on Milwaukee. A rally built not on one star, but on a chorus line of contributors: A. Garcia swatting his second homer of the day… Randy Lopez delivering a blow with two outs… the crowd roaring, believing, hoping that perhaps this year might be different.
The Brewers kept fighting, as great teams do, scoring runs late, swinging desperately to stay alive. But in the ninth, with the tying run in the on-deck circle, Washington handed the ball to Z. Hutchins. Calm as a man tying a bow tie, he ended the inning—and the game.
And so, the Nationals win it, 12–10. They take a 2–1 lead in the series. And tomorrow, for a Brewers team that dominated from spring to fall, the season comes down to a single game. One more loss, and the giants of the National League… fall.
Meanwhile, for Washington… this city remembers 1901. The very first season of this league. The year the Nationals won it all. Twenty-six years have passed since they last reached an NLCS. Now, suddenly, astonishingly, they stand just one victory away.
In baseball, as always, the past is never far away—and the future can arrive in a single swing.
Tomorrow, the Brewers fight for survival. The Nationals fight for history. And we will all be watching.

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Bob Costas-style recap of Braves–Pirates, October 10, 1928
On a gray, wind-brushed afternoon in Pittsburgh—49 degrees, the breeze curling in from center field as if the Allegheny itself were exhaling—baseball offered one of those games that reminds you why this sport, in all its glorious irrationality, endures.
The Atlanta Braves and Pittsburgh Pirates played three hours and thirty-one minutes of something that looked, at times, like a track meet disguised as a ballgame. Twenty-two hits for Atlanta. Fifteen for Pittsburgh. Thirty-two runs in all. And yet, when the dust finally settled on PNC Park’s chilly October grass, the day belonged to one man.
Alex Fernandez.
In a game, in a postseason, in a league that has celebrated sluggers for generations, Fernandez authored something beyond even the boldface names of lore. Four home runs. Eight runs batted in. Five runs scored. Seventeen total bases. It is the kind of stat line that reads like a typographical error… except that it happened, in real time, under postseason pressure, against a team that led this series 2–0 just a few days ago.
Fernandez didn’t just carry the Braves—he dragged them forward, inning by inning. A two-run shot in the third. Another in the fourth. A solo blast in the eighth. And, almost casually, a two-run homer in the ninth. Each swing felt like an exclamation point in a game where Atlanta could never quite shake Pittsburgh… until, finally, they did.
And yet, as remarkable as Fernandez was, this game was more than a one-man show. Atlanta kept piling on—Mel Villalobos launched two home runs of his own, including the towering three-run drive in the sixth that gave the Braves an 11–8 lead they would never surrender. L. Enriquez doubled twice. T. McKnight tripled in the ninth. Every time Pittsburgh clawed back, Atlanta answered. And answered. And answered again.
The Pirates’ offense—fearless all year—did not go quietly. I. Pruneda hit two home runs, giving him six already this postseason. R. Ortega and M. Croke homered as well. By the end of the afternoon, even the most seasoned scorer in the press box had to double-check that they hadn’t flipped to a different era by mistake.
But baseball, ultimately, rewards the team that finds just one more big moment. On this day, the Braves had several—and they all seemed to come off the bat of Alex Fernandez.
Atlanta wins it, 18–14, and the series takes on a new shape. What was once a Pirates stranglehold is now a 2–1 matchup heading into Game 4 tomorrow, right back here at PNC Park. Suddenly, momentum—which for the first two games never left Pittsburgh—has shifted. And it has shifted with force.
In October, baseball often turns on the smallest hinge: a mislocated fastball, a gust of wind, a batter locked in at precisely the right moment. Today, the hinge was Alex Fernandez. And if the Braves come all the way back in this Division Series, this will be the day we remember.
One of those afternoons where the score alone doesn’t tell the story—because the story, really, was history.

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Detroit Tigers: 3rd ALCS berth
1905 1906 1928

MIKE AND THE MAD DOG — OCTOBER 1928 — YANKEES ELIMINATED
MIKE: Alright, ah-right, we’re back! Mike and the Mad Dog on a Thursday, Yankees season is OVER, folks. O-V-E-R. And I gotta tell ya, Dog, this one… this is as early as we’ve wrapped up a Yankee season since 1919. Unbelievable.
DOG: MIKEY, I MEAN—YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS UP! THIS TEAM! THEY HAVEN’T WON A WORLD SERIES SINCE 1912! NINETEEN-TWELVE! THAT'S WILLIAM TAFT ERA BASEBALL! WHAT ARE WE DOIN’ HERE?!
MIKE: And listen, this is not one of those years where you lose in the ALCS in October and say “hey, tough break, but they’ll be back.” No, no, no. The Yankees didn’t even GET to the ALCS. That 8-year streak is over. For the Yankees? The “flagship franchise?” That’s a disaster.
DOG: THEEEEY LOST TO THE TIGERS, MIKE! THE TIGERS!! Third ALCS in team HISTORY for Detroit! First time since 1906! You can’t let DETROIT beat you in your own building, put up ELEVEN RUNS on ya, and then say, “Welp! Great season, boys!” Nonsense!
MIKE: Detroit came into Yankee Stadium like they OWNED the place. Seven runs in the first inning. Seven! By the time half the crowd found their seats, it was 7-0 Tigers. Pedraza? Guy looked like Ty Cobb crossed with Babe Ruth. .526 average for the series, nine RBIs, eight runs…
DOG: AND A TRIPLE IN THE FIRST! TWO-RUN HOMER! MACARIO HOMERS! THEY’RE RUNNING A TRACK MEET AROUND THE BASES! AND THE YANKEE PITCHING—WOOF! MIKEY IT WAS BRUTAL!
MIKE: Walker doesn’t get a SINGLE out. Gives up five hits, six runs, two homers, walks a guy, all in zero innings. ERA goes from high to stratospheric. And then Ramirez wasn't much better. At that point, the Tigers were basically batting practice in pinstripes.
DOG: AND THE YANKEES STILL ALMOST GOT BACK IN IT! FIVE RUNS IN THE FIRST! TWO MORE IN THE SECOND! THEY HAD TIGERS SWEATING A LITTLE BIT! KAWAZU HITS THE GRAND SLAM!
MIKE: But after the second inning? Nothing. NOTHING. One run the rest of the way. That’s where the Yankees showed you who they are right now: a team that folds. A team that runs out of juice. The Tigers bullpen shuts 'em down, Childress finishes the final two innings like he’s Mariano Rivera from the future.
DOG: AND MIKE—THE ENTIRE SEASON—WHAT DID WE SAY? DEFENSE SPOTTY. BULLPEN INCONSISTENT. LINEUP TOO TOP-HEAVY. AND WHAT HAPPENS? THEY GET EXPOSED! ABSOLUTELY EXPOSED!
MIKE: Dog, listen—this is the worst part. You can talk about the injuries, you can talk about the pitching staff, you can talk about inconsistency, but at the end of the day? It’s been sixteen years without a title. SIXTEEN. For the New York Yankees, that is not just a drought, that’s a CANYON.
DOG: IT’S A CATASTROPHE, MIKE! THE YANKEES ARE THE KNICKS OF BASEBALL RIGHT NOW! A LOT OF TALK, LOT OF GLITZ, LOT OF GLAMOUR—AND NO CHAMPIONSHIPS! NONE!
MIKE: And now we watch Detroit move on. A Cinderella team? Maybe. Maybe they’re just tougher. Maybe they’re better coached. Maybe—Dog, maybe they just wanted it more.
DOG: THEY DID WANT IT MORE! THEY OUT-HUSTLED! THEY OUT-RAN! THEY OUT-PITCHED! THEY OUT-HIT! THEY OUT EVERYTHING’D!
MIKE: The Yankees, Dog… they’re home. They’ll be watching the ALCS like everyone else. No confetti, no parade, no Fall Classic, not even a pennant chance.
DOG: AND WE’LL BE HERE TO TALK ABOUT IT ALL WINTER LONG, BABY! YANKEES OUT! TIGERS IN! 1928—WHAT A YEAR!

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Seattle Mariners: 5th ALCS berth
1907 1914 1917 1927 1928

BOB COSTAS–STYLE NARRATION
SEATTLE MARINERS VS. TEXAS RANGERS
OCTOBER 10, 1928
In a season where the Seattle Mariners often appeared to teeter between possibility and frustration, October has once again revealed something essential about them. When the lights burn brightest… when the stage expands… the Mariners, somehow, find their finest selves.
Tonight, in front of a chilled but electric crowd at T-Mobile Park, Seattle didn’t just win a ballgame. They reaffirmed the identity that has carried them through the peaks and valleys of this alternate baseball history: resilience, power, and the unshakable belief that when the postseason arrives, they belong among the elite.
They defeated the top-seeded, 100-win Texas Rangers—one of the most feared clubs in the American League—three games to one. And they did it with an offensive display that was nothing short of breathtaking. A 17–12 victory, a score that reads more like a prizefight than a playoff game. Twenty-three hits. Five home runs. A barrage that began early and reverberated throughout the afternoon.
Talmai Horowitz, the MVP of the series, was the embodiment of Seattle’s spirit—disciplined, dynamic, unyielding. A .688 average, reaching base three out of every four times, homers, runs scored, runs driven in. The kind of performance that echoes through postseason history.
And then, there was Enrique Moreno. Five hits. Seven runs batted in. Records matched, records broken. Moments that, long after this season ends, will live in the scrapbook of Mariners lore.
For Texas, this was a night of acceptance. Joe Hayes, their manager, spoke with the candor of a man who understands baseball’s cyclical nature: “They were the better team.” On this night, few could argue otherwise.
Because for all their regular-season inconsistency, these Mariners have once again found their cadence. This will be their fifth trip to the American League Championship Series, and their second straight appearance there as defending AL champions—a testament to a team that, when October arrives, always seems to find its footing.
Ahead now waits the Detroit Tigers—fresh off their own emphatic victory over the New York Yankees. Two franchises, two cities, two teams with different histories but parallel momentum, converging for the right to play for the pennant.
But tonight is Seattle’s night. A night when power met poise, and when the Mariners reminded the baseball world—this one from 1928, reshaped and reimagined—that despite their stumbles, despite their skeptics, they remain a force to be reckoned with.
A club built for the moment.
A club that is, once more… four wins from the World Series.

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Washington Nationals: 2nd NLCS berth
1901 1928

BOB COSTAS–STYLE NARRATION
MILWAUKEE BREWERS VS. WASHINGTON NATIONALS
OCTOBER 11, 1928
On a gray, rain-spattered afternoon in the nation’s capital—a day when the sky itself seemed to lean in with anticipation—the Washington Nationals authored one of the most stunning upsets in the recent tapestry of postseason baseball.
The Milwaukee Brewers arrived here as the colossus of the 1928 season: 114 wins, a lineup that battered pitching staffs into submission, a rotation built on precision and power, the top seed in all of Major League Baseball. They were, by any measure, the odds-on favorite not just to reach the World Series, but to win it.
And yet… baseball, in all its timeless unpredictability, had other plans.
Washington defeated Milwaukee 8–2, taking the series three games to one and advancing to the National League Championship Series for the first time since 1901—when the franchise, in its earliest incarnation, captured its only championship of this alternate timeline. That’s 27 years without so much as a pennant chase. A generation has passed, a city has transformed, the game itself has grown and evolved. But today, echoes of that distant triumph reverberated once more through Nationals Park.
At the center of it all was Eddie Quizhpe—whose name, after this postseason, may never again be spoken without reverence. Quizhpe didn’t just play well; he crafted a series worthy of folklore. A .588 average, a .650 on-base percentage, four home runs, nine runs batted in, eight runs scored. When the Nationals needed a big moment, it seemed only natural that he would be the one striding toward it.
Luis Perez added to the fireworks. O. Flores delivered timely blows. And J. Smith—never intimidated, never rushed—gave Washington seven steady innings, weathering threats and occasional hard contact but keeping Milwaukee muted when it mattered most.
For the Brewers, this was the abrupt end to what had felt like a coronation march. Twelve hits yielded only two runs. Opportunities dissolved. Double plays snuffed out rallies. And across four games, the sport reminded them of a lesson as old as its earliest box scores: excellence in the regular season grants you nothing in October. You must earn everything again.
And so, on this damp Thursday afternoon, Washington earned everything. Earned the cheers that rained down through the drizzle. Earned the right to keep playing into the middle of October. Earned the honor of standing on the precipice of a pennant.
They will now await the winner of Pittsburgh and Atlanta. Whether it is the upstart Pirates or the reigning world champion Braves, the Nationals will enter the NLCS as something they have not been in nearly three decades:
A team with destiny in its hands.
And for the faithful of Washington… for a baseball story that has lived in shadows far too long… this October has become something extraordinary.

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Pittsburgh Pirates: 5th NLCS berth
1902 1916 1921 1925 1928

In Pittsburgh tonight… in a game that felt less like October baseball and more like the roaring chaos of a summer street carnival… the Pirates have at long last slain the reigning giants of the sport.
The World Champion Atlanta Braves, a club whose power and pedigree seemed destined for another deep run, have been eliminated in a contest that will be talked about—laughed about, marveled at—for years to come.
18 to 15.
A score more fitting for a Steelers–Falcons preseason matchup than a decisive postseason baseball game. But such is life in this surreal, exuberant alternate 1928, where the bats are lively, the alleys spacious, and the pitchers… well, let’s just say they earn their paychecks in character building as much as results.
And so, with that wild tableau as the backdrop, the Pittsburgh Pirates advance—for the fifth time in this universe—to the National League Championship Series.
Five times to the doorstep.
Five times to the brink.
And yet… they still wait. Still yearn. Still chase that elusive first National League Pennant.
But tonight, for a few hours, the ghosts and the heartbreaks are pushed aside by the brilliance of Isidro Pruneda, who didn’t just play baseball; he authored his own chapter of franchise lore. Five runs scored. Two home runs. A triple. A performance so radiant it felt scripted, as if delivered from some baseball muse in the Pittsburgh sky.
Around him, Juan Rivera drove in seven—seven!—RBI, another club record. The crowd of 48,000 rose and fell with every twist, until finally, mercifully, jubilantly, the last out settled into a Pirate glove.
And with that, the Bucs move on.
Ahead lies the Washington Nationals, a club newly awakened after more than two decades wandering the wilderness.
History tells us that Pittsburgh’s journeys to this stage often end with wistful sighs and unresolved longing. But baseball—especially this strange, wonderful, alternate-world baseball—has a way of surprising us.
So on to the NLCS they go.
Chasing not just a pennant…
but redemption, legacy, and perhaps, at long last, their moment.
As the sun sets on the champions from Atlanta, a new stage rises for Pittsburgh.
And October, as always, has saved its sweetest, wildest drama for the last.

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1927 lcs