Good morning. With the World Series just days away, we have an ode to the beauty of baseball — even if one team looks unbeatable.
October magic
Good morning, everyone. Or should I say, “Good morning to everyone except fans of the Los Angeles Dodgers.” Every morning is a good morning for Dodger fans. The rest of us who love baseball are out here hoping to enjoy the magic of October, yearning for the suspense and surprises of playoff baseball. But these darn Dodgers keep winning. And not just winning. This team looks unstoppable and almost superhuman. They’re like the Goldman Sachs of baseball, with a payroll almost triple the size of the team they crushed in the National League championship, the Milwaukee Brewers. Even as the city of Los Angeles falters, its entertainment industry shrinking and its civic identity shaken, the Dodgers appear more exorbitant and unbeatable than ever. As a lifelong baseball fan, I’m pleased to see postseason viewership at its highest in 15 years. I love the game for many reasons, but one is how it reveals a certain vulnerability. Baseball players are not as gigantic or as classically athletic as the stars of other professional sports. There’s an imperfection to them: They can be short, skinny, kind of chubby or kind of slow. And they’re not covered in armor and headgear. We can see their expressions — pride, embarrassment, anger or elation — after a miraculous play or a humiliating stumble. That makes us feel as if we know them. It makes baseball’s characters, subplots and soap operas irresistible. It’s why I’ve been so captivated by Pat Murphy, the Brewers’ manager. He’s a former boxer who has been married three times, survived a heart attack and alcohol addiction, and has Bruce Springsteen lyrics tattooed on his body. It’s why I root for Cal Raleigh, the Seattle Mariners catcher. He’s nicknamed “the Big Dumper” for his oversized derrière, and is so tough and so determined that he once broke a tooth biting into a sandwich, then played a full nine innings through the pain and even hit a home run. And it’s why I got goose bumps Thursday watching the Toronto Blue Jays pitcher Max Scherzer, who is 41 years old and coming off yet another injury, loudly and profanely refusing to come out of the game when his manager approached the mound. Scherzer promptly struck out the next Mariners batter and got the win. I’m a Red Sox fan. So I’ve had a lifetime of roller-coaster Octobers. And of course I was gutted to see the Sox eliminated by the Yankees (again) earlier this month. But I love the game enough to appreciate other teams, too. I love the Dodgers’ history and defining personalities, especially Sandy Koufax and Jackie Robinson. I applaud their talent and I admire their fans, who are knowledgeable and loyal. These Dodgers, though, lack vulnerability. They seem inevitable. Invincible. They have Shohei Ohtani, who may just be the best in the game since Babe Ruth. He looked the part on Friday night, when he pitched six scoreless innings, struck out 10 batters and hit three home runs. The Athletic’s Jayson Stark called it “the single greatest game any human has ever had on a baseball field.” These Dodgers have five All Stars and an ace-filled pitching staff. And everything seems to fall into place for them. When they moved their sidelined rookie starter, Roki Sasaki, to the role of closer this postseason, suddenly he, too, was perfect. October baseball, at its best, is about nail-biters and unpredictable outcomes. It’s about extra innings and unsung utility players stealing a base and changing the arc of a series. The World Series starts this week, with the Dodgers facing Seattle or Toronto, depending on who wins the American League championship. For the sake of the fans and the sake of the game, let’s hope it will offer a bit more drama and much-needed diversion. And that the Dodgers will get a bit of competition instead of what seems like certain coronation. More on the playoffs
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