Hi Everyone —
Game Seven. Game Seven! GAME SEVEN! GAME SEVEN!
I’ll be watching tonight’s Game Seven in the birthplace of baseball, Cooperstown, NY! Well, OK, it’s not really the birthplace of baseball, but it is the birthplace of the guy who wrote The Last of the Mohicans, which, OK, no, it’s not the same thing, but it’s something. I’ve always said that while baseball wasn’t really invented in Cooperstown, it should have been; the spirit of the game is there.
It feels like a perfect place to catch the 32nd Game Seven since the end of World War II.
I’m working on my next book — well, my next-next book since my actual next book, BIG FAN, comes out May 19 — and yes, I’m in Cooperstown purportedly to do some hardcore baseball research, but really I’m there to be surrounded by baseball. I need to get in a certain headspace when beginning the exhausting stage of book writing. Yeah, that’s a bit of a spoiler alert: My next-next book is going to be a deep-dive, all-in, let’s-go baseball book.
I can’t imagine a better place to begin the writing for this one than Cooperstown, as Game Seven of the World Series is about to be played.
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We made it. That’s the wonder of Game Seven — it feels like a “we” moment, like we all played our part in making this happen. The postseason has been fantastic. Huge moments! Historic performances! Breathtaking plays! Epic blunders! The return of starting pitching! It has been a wild ride and a daily reminder of why so many of us love this game with every part of our hearts and minds.
And here’s our final reward before the clocks turn back and the days grow darker and Christmas decorations blare, and it feels like spring might never come around again.
Game Seven.
We got our Game Seven Friday night when perennial postseason hero Kiké Hernández got an otherworldly jump on Andrés Giménez’s bloop in the ninth inning, caught it on the run, and then doubled off wandering baserunner Addison Barger to clinch the Dodgers’ victory. At first, I blamed Barger for going Magellan out there — you CANNOT get thrown out on the bases when you are the tying run, for crying out loud — but having watched the play a million times since then, I now believe the play was much more about Kiké’s brilliance than Barger’s baserunning. It looked like a hit off the bat — Statcast™ gave it a 70% hit probability.
Hernández is not fast. But he seemed to move toward the ball before it was even hit. It’s a funny thing about baseball defense — we cherish the diving, sprawling, sliding catches, even if they are prompted by late jumps or bad routes. This one didn’t look spectacular, but it might have been the defensive best play of the World Series. Hernández knew the stakes, he understood every element of the situation, he anticipated the bloop, he made the immediate throw, and even if it didn’t take your breath away, you will never see a better play than that.
Then again, the only reason Barger was even on second base in the first place is that the blast he had hit a minute earlier had somehow wedged at the base of the outfield wall. That turned a possible run-scoring triple into a no-run ground-rule double. Baseball is a game of skill. Baseball is also a game of fortune.
And now, it’s Game Seven.
We made it.
Not every one of the 32 Game Sevens since 1945 sparks a headline or memory. Some do, of course.
2016? Rain Delay.
2014: Mad Bum.
2001? Broken bat single.
1991? Jack.
1979? Pops.
1967: Gibson.
1965: The Left Arm of God
1962? McCovey and Richardson.
1960? Mazeroski, of course.
Many of the Game Sevens from years past, though, are overshadowed by something unforgettable that had already happened … by David Freese or Bill Buckner or Don Denkinger or Carlton Fisk or Al Gionfriddo. History doesn’t always tell fair stories — Buckner and Denkinger do not deserve their infamous place at the center of those World Series … Fisk’s homer only extended Boston’s gloom.
But that’s the fickle nature of history. The Game Seven heroics of Allen Craig and Jesse Orosco and Bret Saberhagen and Tony Pérez and Joe Page get lost.
This series has been so much fun … but also so uneven. The heart of it was that 18-inning game of Survivor, but we’ve had five other games and only one of them, last night’s game, felt particularly competitive.
The Blue Jays shredded the Dodgers’ Bullpen in Game 1.
Yoshi Yamamoto went old-school Dizzy Dean in Game 2.
Shohei went supersonic and the Dodgers survived the marathon that wouldn’t end in Game 3.
Vladdy Jr. took Shohei deep and the Dodgers’ bats slept in Game 4.
Vladdy Jr. took Blake Snell deep and the Dodgers’ bats slept in Game 5.
Mookie finally found his mojo again, and Kiké launched a double play for the ages in Game 6.
And it just feels like we are set up for an unforgettable finish. It might not work that way — one team might score seven runs in the first on a calamity of errors and blunders, you can’t predict baseball — but everything is set up just so. It looks like Shohei’s pitching for the Dodgers. Mad Max is definitely pitching for the Blue Jays. Mookie and Freddie and I think Vladdy, too, will all be in the Hall of Fame someday. Barger is playing like Clemente. Yamamoto will probably make himself available out of the bullpen. The city of Toronto will be lit.
Everyone will play for their little place in baseball history.
Oh yes, it really feels like something unforgettable is going to happen.
I talk a lot about Why We Love Baseball — I mean it’s my thing — but this is it, as corny as it is: The anticipation, the wonder, the hope that we will see something we’ve never seen before and will remember for the rest of our lives. The last day of the baseball season is an ending, no doubt about that. On Sunday morning, the countdown to pitchers and catchers begins anew, and that countdown will feel like forever.
But before Baseball goes into hibernation, it gave us tonight. Game Seven. What a gift.
