National Baseball League

[jg2977]

On a gray October afternoon in Detroit… where the wind swirled in from centerfield and the chill felt more like late November than mid-Autumn… the Seattle Mariners, reigning American League champions in this alternate tapestry of 1928, began their quest for a second straight pennant with the kind of measured, resilient performance that suggests their run is far from finished.
Game 1 of the American League Championship Series belonged to Seattle—a 7–4 victory that wasn’t about overwhelming force, but about persistent pressure. The kind of inning-to-inning insistence that slowly wears down even the stoutest opponent.
At the center of it was Jonathan Chavez, a pitcher whose postseason résumé has been uneven, but who today delivered precisely what the moment demanded. For 6 and 2/3 innings, he held Detroit to four runs, bending at times but refusing to break—ensuring that the Tigers never quite found the steady pulse that October baseball so often requires.
And then came the swing that changed the shape and sound of the afternoon.
Two outs. Top of the sixth.
Tyler Wesley, Detroit’s workhorse, searching for a pitch to escape the inning, offered a changeup on the outer half. Talmai Horowitz, who has spent these playoffs announcing himself with an air of inevitability, sent it soaring into the Detroit sky—a solo home run that gave Seattle a 5–3 lead and shifted the balance unmistakably.
From there, the Mariners added on in layers.
Yáñez with his sixth postseason home run.
Moreno with his driving power to left.
Johnston turning singles into doubles, doubles into triples—pressure into production.
If Detroit struck, Seattle countered.
If Detroit threatened, Seattle absorbed and answered.
The Tigers had their moments: Fleming’s late home run, Pedraza’s grinding at-bats, Carbigos’ early double. But each rally was met by Seattle’s composure—never panicked, never hurried, always somehow in control of the broader arc of the game.
And when the final outs loomed, José Morales closed the door with two innings of unshakable calm. No walks. No drama. Just the quiet, efficient command that October heroes are often built upon.
And so, in this imagined 1928—where modern stars inhabit old ballparks, and new legends rise against steel and smoke—the Mariners take a 1–0 lead, beginning their pursuit of a second consecutive American League crown.
For Detroit, the road is still open.
For Seattle, the momentum carries.
And for the rest of us, October once more delivers its timeless promise:
Whatever happens next…
it will linger in memory.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

JACK BUCK:
“Well, friends… this was not your typical October ballgame in Washington. Not by a long shot. The Pittsburgh Pirates… they didn’t just win Game 1 of the National League Championship Series. They steamrolled their way through it. A 21–11 final—a score more suited for a Big Ten football Saturday than playoff baseball.”
TIM McCARVER:
“Jack, you look at a game like this… you almost run out of ways to describe it. Twenty-one runs, twenty-four hits, ten home runs for Pittsburgh… I mean, this wasn’t an offensive outburst so much as it was a full-scale occupation of Nationals Park. The Pirates didn’t just find Washington’s pitching staff… they moved in, took the keys, and started rearranging the furniture.”
BUCK:
“And the ringleader—Bill Reyes. Three hits, two of them leaving the ballpark, and the big one… the grand slam in that seven-run seventh inning. That broke the game open, and it broke open the spirits of 47,000 fans who had packed in hoping to see their Nationals strike the first blow in the series.”
McCARVER:
“You know, Jack, the thing about a grand slam—people think it’s just one swing. But a grand slam is four swings rolled into one… it’s the hitter, it’s the three men on base, and it’s the pitcher who suddenly realizes he’s the unwilling participant in a very unfortunate arithmetic lesson.”
BUCK:
“Tim, the arithmetic says Washington was tied 8–8… and left that inning trailing 18–7. And it’s hard—no matter how well this Nationals team can hit—to climb back from that.”
McCARVER:
“And they did hit. Eleven runs, fourteen hits, Quizhpe with two home runs, Flores with a triple and a double, Celauro launching one in the ninth. But this was one of those games where, if you didn’t score in bunches—and by ‘bunches’ I mean touchdowns—you were in trouble.”
BUCK:
“Two teams combining for 32 runs, 38 hits, 11 home runs… and this series, mind you, is only one game old.”
McCARVER:
“And Jack, you have to wonder how both bullpens feel after this one. It’s only Game 1, and I think we saw half the pitchers in the District of Columbia. Pirates manager Rickey Arnette goes to Diaz, then Soto… Washington used five different arms, none of whom will want to look at a box score tomorrow.”
BUCK:
“Still, the message is unmistakable.
Pittsburgh leads the series, one game to none.
And if the Nationals didn’t know before, they know now:
The Pirates can score… and they can score fast.”
McCARVER:
“And often, Jack. Don’t forget often.”
BUCK:
“We’ll be back here tomorrow. The wind will be blowing out to right again, the ball will be lively again… and after today, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone puts up a crooked number before fans even find their seats.”
McCARVER:
“That’s right, Jack. If you’re late tomorrow, you might miss a three-run inning.”
BUCK:
“For Tim McCarver, I’m Jack Buck.
Pittsburgh takes Game 1, 21–11.
Good afternoon from Nationals Park.”

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

VIN SCULLY-STYLE CALL / RECAP OF GAME 2 — SEATTLE AT DETROIT
You could almost feel it before the first pitch… a cool October afternoon in Detroit, the kind that makes the shadows stretch a little longer across the infield, and makes every fan in the old ballpark feel just a bit more alive. And on this day, the Tigers and Mariners treated those 48,664 souls to a ballgame that rose and fell like a roller coaster on the shores of Lake Michigan.
And a very pleasant good afternoon to you wherever you may be…
This was Game 2 of the American League Championship Series, Seattle trying to seize control, Detroit trying to square things up before heading west. And oh, my, did we get a dandy.
Seattle came out swinging, as they so often do. A run in the first… another in the second… and by the time the fourth inning ended, the Mariners had built a 7–2 lead, built on the backs of triples, doubles, and a home run that barely stayed fair down the right-field line. It looked — for just a moment — like the Mariners were ready to take command of the series.
But baseball, that old unpredictable friend, has a funny way of turning around when you least expect it.
As we moved to the bottom of the sixth, the Tigers trailing 7–4, the crowd restless… Philippe Carbigos stepped in. A left fielder with a short, compact swing and a seemingly permanent smear of dirt on his jersey. He worked the count, as he always does, and on the sixth pitch, he turned on a fastball and punched it into the gap in right-center. A run scored… the crowd roared… and the little ember that had been buzzing beneath Comerica Park suddenly flared into a full blaze.
And then came the seventh inning, the inning that Detroit fans will remember if this series swings their way. Seven Tigers batters came to the plate before Seattle even recorded an out, and the big blow… a bases-loaded double from M. Pedraza that brought them all home and sent the ballpark into bedlam.
From that point, the Tigers never looked back. Eleven runs on sixteen hits… and every single one seeming louder than the last. Seattle had their chances — oh, did they ever — stranding a small village on the bases. But Detroit’s bullpen, shaky as it had been at times, rose to the occasion like seasoned veterans.
And so, after three hours and four minutes of twists and turns, the Tigers won it, 11–7, evening this best-of-seven series at one game apiece.
You could almost hear the sigh of relief from the Motor City…
“We’re back in it.”
Philippe Carbigos, the catalyst all day long — three hits, two runs, two batted in… and a double that may have turned the tide of the entire series. He was, without question, the Player of the Game.
As we look ahead, the scene shifts to Seattle, where the wind will howl in from Elliott Bay, and where the Mariners — chasing their second straight American League pennant — will try to regain the momentum they lost on this crisp Detroit afternoon.
For now, though… the Tigers celebrate, the fans file out into the chilly October air, and baseball once again reminds us why we watch.
One pitch, one swing, one moment… and everything can change.
Good night from Detroit.

[jg2977]

COLIN COWHERD ON THE NATIONALS’ GAME 2 MELTDOWN VS. PITTSBURGH
You know, every October we get a game that isn’t just a loss… it’s a revelation.
And folks, Game 2 of the 1928 NLCS — Nationals, Pirates — that wasn’t a loss.
That was a loud, blinking neon sign saying:
“Washington isn’t ready. Pittsburgh is.”
“Let’s start with this…”
Some teams just have a playoff identity. Pittsburgh does.
They’re the bar fight team. They’re the alley brawler. You don’t want to get into four-hour, fifteen-run chaos with them — because they love that. They thrive in that.
And Washington?
This is the country club team. The well-manicured roster. The curated, polished Nationals brand — ‘We win with efficiency, precision, pitching depth.’
Well guess what?
Efficiency doesn’t help you when you give up 15 runs at home in October.
Juan Rivera. Oh my.
Three home runs.
Twelve total bases.
Four runs scored.
And the swagger of a guy who walked into Nationals Park like it was his Airbnb for the day.
This was a superstar saying:
“I’m the best player in this series, and it’s not close.”
Washington had no answer.
They kept pitching to him like they hadn’t seen the scouting report.
Like he was some September call-up and not the most dangerous hitter in the National League this month.
And then came the turning point…
Top of the seventh.
Nationals still kind of, sort of in it.
Crowd’s hanging on…
And Darrell Verni — a guy who’s been a contact hitter most of his career — barrels one up and hits a grand slam that basically sent the whole stadium to early dinner.
That wasn’t a dagger.
That was a harpoon.
13–2. Game over. Series? Pretty much leaning that way.
“Where Cowherd was right…”
I TOLD you Pittsburgh’s depth matters in October.
Nine different guys with hits.
Everybody contributing.
They’re the opposite of top-heavy.
Washington?
Dependence on stars.
When the stars don’t carry?
This is what happens — you get boat-raced in your own ballpark.
“Where I was wrong…”
I thought the Nationals’ bullpen was at least serviceable.
Nope. That was a horror film.
Barnard, Garcia, Julia — it didn’t matter.
Everybody who took the mound looked like they were throwing a wiffle ball in the backyard.
Identity. Identity. Identity.
Pittsburgh has one.
Washington still doesn’t.
Pittsburgh plays fast, aggressive, pressure-filled baseball.
Steals bases.
Takes big swings.
Punishes mistakes.
Washington plays cautious, careful, “let’s-keep-it-close” baseball.
But this is October.
You don’t survive October playing not to lose.
You survive by overwhelming teams.
Pittsburgh overwhelmed them — in their ballpark — for 3 hours and 22 minutes.
Bottom line?
This series is 2–0, and it feels like 4–0.
Washington now has to go to Pittsburgh — one of the toughest places to win — down two games, out-hit, out-pitched, out-hustled, and frankly… out-toughed.
The Pirates aren’t just winning.
They’re imposing their will.
Game 3 is Tuesday.
And if Washington doesn’t discover some urgency, some fire, some something…
This thing might not make it back to D.C.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

**COLIN COWHERD–STYLE RECAP
Game 3, 1928 ALCS — Tigers at Mariners**
You know, every October we get these games — these moments — that remind us why baseball is the most emotionally chaotic sport in America. And Game 3 in Seattle? Ohhh, buddy… this was classic October baseball: loud, messy, dramatic, and a little bit unhinged.
Detroit beats Seattle 11–10, and it wasn’t a baseball game — it was a traffic accident with box scores. It was a 3-hour reminder that the Mariners, for all their charm, talent, and “cute story going for their second straight pennant,” still have this identity crisis: are they the heavyweight contender… or the fun startup that just isn’t quite ready to scale?
Because here’s what Detroit did: they walked into T-Mobile Park — loudest place in the league when things are rolling — and they said, “Yeah, we’re not intimidated. We’re the adults here.” And they proved it for nine innings.
Philippe Carbigos?
Folks… he wasn’t a player today. He was a Tesla Roadster with the pedal taped to the floor. 4-for-4, two triples, reaches base five times, drives in three, scores three… That’s not a stat line — that’s a résumé. That’s a LinkedIn page with endorsements from Warren Buffett, Steve Jobs, and the Pope.
Seattle had no answer.
And then there’s Antonio Galindo, who basically said, “Enough of this nonsense,” and dropped two home runs — including the go-ahead nuke in the ninth. That’s what stars do: when the room gets tense, they don’t leave — they stand up and fix the thermostat.
Seattle? Listen… I love what they do offensively. They’re dynamic, they’re explosive, they’re the team your analytics buddy won’t stop talking about. But you can’t cough up 11 runs at home in a playoff game you led multiple times and expect to be taken seriously. That’s not contender behavior — that’s a summer road trip where Dad forgot to check the oil.
And the pitching… oof. I mean, Mariners pitchers were out there like DoorDash drivers: everything coming right to the plate, on time, no questions asked. Simonson, Garrett, Morales — Detroit just kept ordering extra-base hits like they had a coupon code.
Seattle’s defense?
Three errors. That’s not playoff baseball. That’s preseason baseball. That’s “we played a night game in Albuquerque and the bus broke down” baseball.
So now?
Detroit leads the series 2–1, and they’ve completely flipped the vibe. The Mariners had this thing, this momentum — the whole city was buying in — and now suddenly the Tigers look like the team with the experience, the poise, the big-boy energy.
Seattle’s talented. Seattle’s fun. Seattle’s the team we want to see take that next step.
But today?
Today reminded us: in the postseason, talent is nice… but toughness wins. And Detroit was the tougher, smarter, more composed team.
Mariners better respond tomorrow. Because if they don’t?
This series might be over before the fish tacos in Pike Place hit the grill.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

“You ever watch one of those games where you go… yeah, this is exactly who these two teams are? That was Game 3.”
“Let’s start with Pittsburgh.”
This is what I always say: stars win in October, but adults close. And right now, Pittsburgh — a franchise that’s been wandering the desert for, what, a century? — is suddenly the most emotionally mature team in the National League.
They don’t panic. They don’t flinch. They don’t get tight. They just hit. They’ve been doing it all postseason, and Tuesday was the full résumé.
Aníbal Toledano — folks, that’s a grown-up plate approach.
Four hits, a bomb, a walk, and then the walk-off double?
That’s not lucky. That’s not cute.
That’s a guy who looks at pressure and says: “Yeah, I’ve been here before. Even if I actually haven’t.”
Pittsburgh is now up 3–0 and they’re not just winning games — they’re winning the moments. Every big inflection point, every emotional swing, every inning where the crowd turns from nervous to ravenous… the Pirates are the team absorbing the wave instead of getting crushed by it.
This is what I always say:
You can tell who a team really is when the bullpen doors start opening.
Pittsburgh didn’t blink. Washington blinked five times.
“Now let’s talk Washington.”
I’ve said it for years: the Nationals are talented but they’re not disciplined.
They’re the smartphone generation of baseball teams: all features, no manual.
They’re fun, they’re explosive, they’re chaotic… and they’re also the team that gives up leads like they’re handing out coupons.
Up 4–0?
Gone.
Up 9–3 in hits early?
Gone.
Get a big homer from A. García?
Immediately countered by a Pirates haymaker.
Washington can hit with anybody.
They can run with anybody.
But in October, it’s about two things they absolutely do not have:
situational calm and bullpen clarity.
This game was the Nationals in a nutshell:
Beautiful chaos… that collapses the moment you need order.
“And this is the big picture.”
Pittsburgh right now — and I can’t believe I’m saying this in the year 1928 — looks like the team in the NL with the most belief.
Milwaukee has the wins.
Atlanta has the pedigree.
But Pittsburgh?
They have the vibe.
Stars playing like stars.
Role players playing the best baseball of their lives.
Home crowd acting like it’s destiny.
These blowout shootouts — 25 runs combined — that’s not randomness.
That’s a team with an identity.
Pittsburgh is the definition of ‘embrace the chaos, control the outcome.’
“Final thought.”
Washington isn’t done until the handshake line, but let’s be honest — this thing feels over. Pittsburgh’s up 3–0, they’re hitting beach balls, and Toledano is having the kind of series that becomes its own chapter in franchise history.
If the Pirates finish this, and it looks like they will, remember Game 3.
This was the moment you went:
“Yep. That’s a pennant team.”

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

“You know how I always say: ‘You can tell what a team is when the game goes sideways’? Well… Game 4 didn’t go sideways — it drove off the road, through a fence, and into the Pacific Ocean. And Seattle handled it better than Detroit.”
Let’s start with the obvious: 23–12.
This wasn’t baseball. This was a Fourth of July fireworks show where somebody lost the ignition button and everything went off at once.
But here’s the thing — and I’ve said it all year — Seattle is built for chaos.
“This is who Seattle is.”
Seattle isn’t pretty.
Seattle isn’t polished.
Seattle isn’t one of these high-IQ, paint-inside-the-lines contenders.
Seattle is a bar fight.
They’re aggressive, loud, physical, emotional — and when a game turns into absolute nonsense, they love it.
Victor Yanez?
Folks… that’s a grown-up star.
Two home runs, five RBIs… and the grand slam that completely flipped the game.
Down 6–5, bases loaded, pressure rising… and Yanez says, “I’ll handle it.”
That’s not a stat.
That’s a temperament.
That’s what I always say:
you can tell who the ‘dudes’ are when everyone else is drowning.
And Seattle?
They’ve got dudes everywhere.
Eddie Moreno — four hits, two homers.
Gaetano Papasogli — three hits, two bombs, four RBIs, just a ridiculous performance.
Campbell? White? Waring?
Everybody hit. Everybody contributed.
This team isn’t chasing their first pennant anymore like last season.
They’re chasing their second straight and playing like a team that expects to be here.
“And then there’s Detroit.”
Detroit has heart. They do.
But they’re the classic team that looks great when the weather’s perfect, the umpire’s zone is clean, and the pace is normal.
But when the game turns into a 4-hour, 35-run, street-food-vendor-in-the-dugout circus?
They unravel.
Errors.
Bullpen implosions.
Momentum swings they can’t stop.
Pitching that looked like a telethon — everyone takes a turn and none of it is good.
Detroit scored 12 runs and somehow never felt in control for even one inning.
That’s the difference between being talented… and being a contender.
“The Big Picture.”
This series is now 2–2, and emotionally, spiritually, psychologically — whatever word you want — Seattle has seized control.
Detroit needed this one.
Seattle claimed this one.
The Mariners didn’t just hit well.
They made a statement:
“If you want to beat us, you better be comfortable in absolute insanity.”
And I’ll tell you something…
Detroit is not that team.
Tomorrow night? Seattle’s at home, the crowd will be nuts, Yanez is locked in, and the Mariners have the exact kind of swagger you want heading into a pivotal Game 5.
Final Thought
Some games are about execution.
Some are about matchups.
This one was about identity.
And when the sport turned into a carnival,
when the scoreboard operator needed ice packs,
when the ball felt juiced even though it wasn’t…
Seattle said:
“Yep. This is our element.”
That’s why this thing is tied.
That’s why momentum is changing.
And that’s why the Mariners feel like the more dangerous team right now.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

“Folks… this wasn’t a baseball game. This was a cry for help.”
Look — you can say a lot of things about the Washington Nationals this postseason.
That they’re inconsistent.
That they’re streaky.
That they look overwhelmed half the time.
But one thing you cannot say is that they quit.
Because down 3–0 in the series, on the road, against a Pittsburgh lineup that’s basically a fireworks display with uniforms… Washington walks into PNC Park and drops 24 runs like they’re trying to reset the league’s moral compass.
This was not normal.
This was not structured.
This was not what baseball’s supposed to look like.
This was chaos.
And Washington said:
“We’ll take it.”
“This is why I always say: stars matter.”
Cesar Hernandez…
Folks, that’s a grown-up performance.
Three home runs. Eight RBI.
He was the best player on either team, on the field, in the stadium, in the city — pick your metaphor.
This is what great players do when seasons are on life support.
They don’t ask for permission.
They don’t wait for someone else to save them.
They take over.
You’re trailing 4–1? Hernandez hits one.
You’re trailing 6–4? Hernandez hits another.
You’re finally back on top and you want the kill shot?
Yeah — Hernandez hits the third one.
That’s not coaching.
That’s not analytics.
That’s not matchups.
That’s a temperament.
You can’t teach that.
“Washington’s identity finally showed up.”
Here’s the truth: Washington is not a precision team.
They’re not Milwaukee — who wins games like a business quarterly report.
They’re not Atlanta — who can overwhelm you with clean, professional hitting.
Washington is emotional.
Washington is streaky.
Washington is volcanic.
And when a game turns into a three-and-a-half-hour demolition derby?
They’re actually pretty comfortable.
Twenty-five hits.
Nine different players with RBI.
Six players with multi-hit nights.
Eleven home runs as a team.
This wasn’t baseball — this was a modern art exhibit.
“And Pittsburgh? They finally played a game they couldn’t bluff their way through.”
Listen — the Pirates have been the better team all series.
They’re deeper, they’re hotter, and they’ve controlled the tempo of everything.
But every once in a while, you get punched in the mouth early and you realize you don’t actually have a counterpunch.
Pittsburgh goes up 4–1?
Washington laughs and hits three homers.
Pittsburgh goes up 6–4?
Washington drops a ten-run fifth inning on them.
Pittsburgh tries to rally in the sixth?
Washington scores six more.
There are losses…
and then there are “we need to talk about our life choices” losses.
For Pittsburgh, this was the latter.
Their bullpen was a parade of gas cans.
Ramos wasn’t sharp, Castro wasn’t ready, Soto had nothing, Diaz didn’t fool anybody.
This looked like a team that suddenly realized the Nationals’ season wasn’t ending today.
“The Big Picture.”
It’s still 3–1 Pittsburgh.
The Pirates are still the better, more stable team.
But this is why I’ve always said: momentum is the most overrated thing in sports — except when it isn’t.
Washington didn’t just avoid a sweep.
They found their bravado.
They found their stars.
They found their personality.
And they walked out of PNC Park saying:
“We’re not dead yet.”
Game 5 suddenly has a pulse.
A heartbeat.
A little pressure on the home team.
And if you’re Pittsburgh, you better hope this wasn’t the moment where Washington — finally — woke up.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

Bob Costas on Tigers 7, Mariners 2 — Detroit Takes a 3–2 ALCS Lead
On an October afternoon in Seattle, with the chill of fall sweeping in from the Sound and the Mariners still chasing what would be just their second American League pennant, baseball offered one of its timeless reminders: in October, you can prepare, you can anticipate, you can hope…
but you cannot predict.
Game 5 belonged to Detroit.
More specifically, it belonged to one man.
Tyler Wesley, whose regular season was a catalog of contradictions — brilliance mixed with volatility, an ERA that defied logic, and a reputation for being equal parts gifted and unpredictable — was, on this day, nothing short of masterful.
Nine innings.
Five hits.
Two runs — only one earned.
No walks.
Six strikeouts.
111 pitches on enemy soil.
In a postseason landscape so often dictated by bullpens, matchups, and cautious managerial maneuvering, Wesley delivered one of those increasingly rare performances: a complete game that felt like a statement, maybe even a challenge.
The Tigers struck early and often. A run in the first, another in the second, adding on in the fourth, and again in the seventh. And then, in the eighth, the moment that broke the game open — Santiago Macario, who had already doubled earlier, turning on a pitch and driving it deep into the night for a three-run homer that silenced a once-hopeful Seattle crowd.
Detroit did not overwhelm so much as they imposed themselves — a steady, methodical tightening of the screws as the innings passed.
Seattle, for its part, had few answers.
Matt Johnston’s solo home run in the ninth was a brief spark, but by then the story had already been written. The Mariners, who carried so much promise into this postseason after last year’s breakthrough pennant, managed just five hits, and never truly threatened to change the trajectory of the afternoon.
And so the Tigers — champions in 1906 and still searching for a modern identity in this alternate baseball chronicle — return home now, to Comerica Park, with a 3–2 lead and a chance to punch their ticket to the World Series.
Game 6 awaits.
Seattle’s season hangs in the balance.
Detroit stands one win from the Fall Classic.
And in a year defined by staggering offensive totals, towering home run numbers, and pitching statistics that seem pulled from some fever dream of a more lawless era… Game 5 offered a reminder that, sometimes, one pitcher with conviction and command can still cut through all of it.
Tyler Wesley was that pitcher today.
And for the Detroit Tigers, it could not have come at a better time.

[jg2977]

Pittsburgh Pirates: 1928 National League Champions

Colin Cowherd on the 1928 Pirates’ 14–12 Pennant Clincher
“Folks… at long last… the Pittsburgh Pirates are going to the World Series. And they didn’t just win — they announced themselves.”
You ever notice how some franchises just have a feel to them?
Some teams win with power. Some win with pitching.
The Pirates?
They win with chaos.
Beautiful, cinematic, Pittsburgh steel-mill chaos.
Down 10–3 after five innings.
Season slipping away.
Momentum gone.
All the analytics saying, “Yeah, Washington’s got this.”
And then Pittsburgh does what Pittsburgh’s been doing all postseason:
They become the NFL’s version of a team with a great quarterback — it just doesn’t matter how bad the start is because you know they can score fast.
Juan Rivera?
He’s their Patrick Mahomes.
You can’t compare him to anyone else.
You can’t gameplan him.
You can’t contain him.
You just try to survive him.
The guy hits two home runs, drives in four, and oh by the way, he’s hitting SIX HUNDRED for the series with seven homers. That’s not baseball — that’s a cheat code. That’s a video game played by a kid who turned off the difficulty settings.
And here’s the thing about Washington — and I’ve said this for YEARS — they’re flashy, not foundational.
They’re loud, not layered.
Fun story, great individual bats… but no identity.
You cannot win playoff baseball games when you blow a 10–3 lead, commit sloppy errors, and ask your bullpen to get 12 outs it’s simply not equipped to get. That’s not a championship operation, that’s a weekend Airbnb.
Meanwhile Pittsburgh… nineteen hits, six errors — and STILL wins.
Why?
Because when you have the best player, the hungriest clubhouse, and the loudest ballpark… that stuff covers up a lot of mess.
And let’s talk about that ballpark for a second.
PNC today?
It felt like a college football stadium.
It felt SEC.
It felt religious.
Once that sixth inning started, once the crowd sensed blood — it was over.
Washington never recovered.
The Pirates drop a six-spot in the seventh, a four-spot in the eighth, and suddenly this franchise — which for years felt like it was trapped in neutral — is four wins away from a championship.
So now they wait for Detroit or Seattle.
And I’ll tell you right now:
I don’t care who comes out of the American League.
Those teams are nice stories.
They’re buttoned-up, well-run, polished.
Pittsburgh?
They’re not polished.
They’re dangerous.
They’re the kind of team that hits you with a 14–12 game and you walk away thinking, “We played great tonight… and we STILL lost.”
That’s what championship teams feel like.
This city’s waited a long time.
Today it happened.
The Pirates…
are going to the World Series.
-----------------------------------------------
Colin Cowherd on the Pirates’ Wild 14–12 Pennant Win — Now Featuring the Legend of Isidro Pruneda
“Folks… what Pittsburgh did today? That’s not baseball — that’s destiny wearing cleats.”
You know how I always say there are playoff performers…
and then there are postseason mythologies?
Pittsburgh has both — in the same lineup.
We’ve talked all October about Juan Rivera.
He’s the Mahomes of this league, the cheat code, the guy you can’t pitch to without regretting it.
But now?
They’ve got ANOTHER one.
Isidro Pruneda.
Remember the name.
Because what he’s doing is borderline fictional.
Pittsburgh’s down 12–10.
Crowd tightening up.
Nationals fans starting to get cute on social media.
And then Pruneda hits the biggest inside-the-park home run in franchise history — three runs, full sprint, dives into the plate like he’s stealing home in the 1910 World Series.
And this postseason?
.567 batting average.
11 home runs.
40 RBI.
That’s not a playoff run; that’s Babe Ruth created in a laboratory and set loose on a pitching staff.
You can’t coach this.
You can’t analytics this.
You can’t prepare for a lineup where Juan Rivera AND Isidro Pruneda are basically superhero characters.
It’s like having Mahomes and peak Adrian Peterson on the same roster.
Washington had a 10–3 lead.
A 12–10 lead.
Twice they could’ve put this thing away.
And twice Pittsburgh’s stars said, “Nope. Not today. Not in our building.”
This is what I always say:
Some teams are built for seasons.
Some teams are built for moments.
Pittsburgh is built for moments.
Washington?
Nice team.
Fun story.
They’re the NBA team that runs hot for three quarters, hits threes, looks great — and then they get punched in the mouth and collapse. No layers. No backbone. No identity.
Pittsburgh?
They’ve got Rivera.
They’ve got Pruneda.
They’ve got the best home crowd in the sport.
And they’ve got this chaos-fueled energy that feels like they’re dragging baseball into a bar fight every night.
Down 10–3?
Doesn’t matter.
Down 12–10?
Doesn’t matter.
Two swings.
Two superstars.
Ballgame.
This city hasn’t seen a run like this in decades.
And after today…
I’m not sure anyone in the American League — Detroit or the Mariners, who are trying for their second straight pennant — actually wants any part of this team.
The Pirates aren’t just hot.
They’re inevitable.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

Detroit Tigers: 1928 American League Champions (3rd AL pennant)
1905 1906 1928

Colin Cowherd on Tigers 17, Mariners 13 — Detroit Back to the Big Stage, Seattle’s Repeat Bid Dies in the D
“You ever notice how some franchises just feel like big brands when the lights get bright? Yeah. Detroit’s one of those.”
The Tigers… folks, they’re going back to the World Series.
For the third time in franchise history.
Their first in 22 years.
And this game?
This wasn’t baseball — this was a bar fight with a scoreboard attached.
Seattle came out swinging.
Five runs in the first.
A 7–1 start.
This looked like the veteran, the champ, the team trying to win back-to-back American League pennants — the team that did win the AL last season — just flexing its muscles.
But here’s the thing about Detroit…
**They don’t panic.
They avalanche.**
Seven runs in the 4th.
Twenty-four hits.
Every time Seattle punched, Detroit hit back twice as hard.
This is what I always say:
“Some teams play baseball. Some teams feel like a movement.”
Detroit feels like a movement.
Gilberto Cisneros?
I mean, what are we even doing here?
.480 average.
.552 OBP.
5 homers.
12 RBI.
13 runs.
He’s not a leadoff hitter — he’s a sparkplug with dynamite strapped to him.
He was the best player on either team by a mile.
He wins MVP and honestly? Should’ve been unanimous.
Detroit is layered.
Carbigos hits rockets.
Fleming hits timely homers.
Galindo’s spraying doubles all over Michigan.
Macario with the knockout punch.
Duran with the dagger.
They’re tough, they’re deep, they’re grown-ups.
Seattle?
Look — they’re good.
They’re fun.
They’re talented.
They were going for that second straight American League crown.
But this year?
They felt like a team carried by talent, not identity.
You blow a 7–1 lead in an elimination game?
You give up 17 runs?
You get pummeled by 24 hits?
That’s not bad luck — that’s a franchise that wasn’t built for the long haul this year.
Victor Yáñez had another huge game.
Campbell was amazing.
Rodriguez emptied the tank.
They fought.
But they were always chasing, always reacting, never dictating.
Detroit dictated everything.
And now the Tigers head to face Pittsburgh — the hottest, most chaotic, most “you gotta be kidding me” team in the sport.
Rivera. Pruneda.
That Pirate lineup is an avalanche of its own.
But Detroit?
Detroit’s playing like a brand.
And brands win in October.

[jg2977]

.