Tag Archives: world series

An Empire in Autumn

To be a Yankees fan since 2009 is probably something akin to being a Spaniard after the demise of the Armada or a Brit after World War II. The empire is still powerful, still has vast holdings and wealth, but the decline phase has clearly begun, old fiefdoms slipping away and a general sense of decadence in the air. For 15 years, the Yankees put together consistent playoff contenders but always fell a bit short, first as a vaunted core faded into retirement and then as a new generation repeatedly collided with skilled and occasionally cheating Astros teams. We waited and waited for a breakthrough.

In 2024, they finally found their way back to the Fall Classic, a triumph after a nervy but steady march through series against inferior opponents in Kansas City and Cleveland. Luke Weaver emerged as a hero to shore up a shaky bullpen, Gleyber Torres rehabilitated himself, Giancarlo Stanton put on his playoff cape, and Juan Soto showed he is worth every penny he will get this offseason. They did not overpower a thin AL, but they took care of business and found some of those dramatic moments that hearkened back to past Yankee greatness. This was only the third or fourth best Yankee team over the past eight years, but caught enough lightning to suggest they could cover up the flaws.

It was a new experience, then, to see them line up in the World Series against an opponent that had all the resources they did but used them much more intelligently. The Los Angeles Dodgers were so deep they could have a full pitching staff on the shelf for the postseason and still be better than everyone else. After the Yankees inexcusably blew a Game One they needed, the Dodgers buried their erstwhile crosstown rivals. The Yankees retained some of their honor with a thunderous Game Four win, but between Freddie Freeman and a relentless order one through nine, LA trounced the Bronx Bombers even with Shohei Ohtani playing like a shell of himself.

The one advantage the Yankees had over the Dodgers was Gerrit Cole, but they won neither of his starts. First, they wasted a dominant Game One outing with an early hook and questionable bullpen decisions thereafter. And then, in Game Five, after sailing through four dominant innings, the defense absolutely unraveled, with back-to-back errors and Cole failing to cover first base before the roof caved in on the Yankee ace. Somehow he gutted his way into the seventh inning, a testament to fortitude, but he alone could not drag the Yankees to another comeback.

That fateful fifth inning underlined some of the team’s glaring flaws. The Yankees somehow outhit and outpitched the Dodgers over these five games, reaching base at a much higher rate and hitting more homers and logging a team earned run average that was nearly a run lower. The defense, however, has been atrocious season, with facepalm-worthy errors at regular intervals. The baserunning, somehow, was often worse, with Yankee runners frequent victims of pickoffs and some curious sends.

New York had too top-heavy an offense, a four- or five-man show with too many free outs toward the bottom. Jazz Chisholm and Anthony Rizzo have their qualities, but their 2024 selves are far cries from prime Tino Martinez or Hideki Matsui or the others who filled their spots in Yankee lineups in the 90s and 00s. (Lest someone argue baseball has changed over the past 15 years, they are no Max Muncy either.) Relying heavily on stars means they can’t go cold, but one of them did: Aaron Judge did just enough at the end to rescue his postseason from utter infamy, but his New York playoff legacy remains an open question. The Dodgers had the talent to cover for Shohei’s shoulder; the Yankees did not have the talent to cover for Judge’s yips.

The future of this team hinges most immediately on the Soto sweepstakes, as the Yankees had better pony up the hundreds of millions necessary to keep their incredible prize. Beyond that, however, the fixes are murky. The pitching, despite some admirable October efforts, still does not feel championship caliber, and there is no obvious single way to fix it. Unless Hal Steinbrenner decides to backtrack on his cautionary payroll notes, it is hard to see them resigning both Soto and Torres, and with Rizzo played out at first base they will have at least two gaping voids to fill. And then they have a slot in the outfield for Jasson Dominguez, their most hyped prospect in years but still an unknown.

For all the Yankees’ money, the fate of their youths will likely decide their trajectory in the coming years. They need some kids to give the lineups balance beyond the stars, and to save payroll in the process. Anthony Volpe had a Game Four for the ages in the Series and Austin Wells might just be the AL Rookie of the Year, but they are not yet in any sort of all-star class. Starters Clarke Schmidt and Luis Gil, dominant at times in the regular season, did not quite look ready for the bright lights of October. Maybe they can stick around and become the next Jorge Posadas and Andy Pettittes, but the transition to stardom is not seamless.

Like most Yankee fans I am not particularly thrilled with the regime running the team right now. These people have not won a playoff series against a team outside the AL Central since 2012. Hal Steinbrenner has overcorrected for his father’s excesses, a corporate manager who maintains the brand but takes no risks. After a quarter century Brian Cashman is who he is, capable of finding diamonds in the rough but also making some absolute clunker long-term deals, always a seeming half step behind in front office innovation. Aaron Boone is his loyal yes-man, a player’s manager to a fault; to his credit his in-game touch showed some progress in the early rounds of the playoffs, but at least three separate decisions in Game One still gall me. It is also hard not to compare the Yankees’ slop in the field to the Dodgers’ fundamental soundness and wonder if certain messages are not coming through the way they should.

Maybe the Dodgers have shown Steinbrenner what can be and push him to think differently. But most likely Cashman and Boone aren’t going anywhere, so their true test should now be their ability to bring along this next generation of talent. Is there an actual foundation here, or are we going to swing through yet another cycle of incomplete rosters propped up by enough dollars to stay in the hunt, never rising to the peak? The tale of baseball’s most storied empire depends on it. Are they a collection of dusty monuments to past glory, or is a renaissance at hand?

Chicago, Triumphant

On a handful of occasions in my life, sports have caused me to shed a few tears. Twice they were the result of jarring defeats for a kid, as the 2001 World Series and the 2008 section 7AA hockey semifinals left me crushed. Twice they came when childhood heroes rode off into retirement. Twice, there have been tears of pride and joy: in the waning moments of a AA state semifinal in 2015, and, now, after the final out of the 2016 World Series.

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Karl and Mom in the Duluth Rose Garden, now sitting on my desk at work.

I come from a family of Cubs fans, but, contrarian child that I was, I instead adopted the Yankees as a kid. The Cubs, however, still settled in at number two. The wins were sporadic in those early days, but the North Siders always managed to entertain. Whenever I joined my uncles at Wrigley Field, we were treated to absurd games: a 100-degree, four-hour war with the Mets in the Sammy Sosa years, a Roger Clemens loss in pursuit of his 300th win, a laughable marathon against Atlanta in which the Cubs rallied from four down in the 9th only to lose when a ball bounced off of Aramis Ramirez’s head in the 13th inning. Win or lose, those days at Wrigley always showed how baseball should be: long, lazy afternoons basking in the sun, the Bleacher Bums cursing up a storm throughout. It was always a delight.

In a year in which baseball often took back seat to other things, I only casually followed the Cubs’ 103-win regular season and the first round of the playoffs. But by the end of the NLCS I was fully on board the bandwagon, keeping score like I was a kid watching the Yankees’ 90s dynasty again. My mom showed more emotion over sports than I’d ever seen when they finally clinched the pennant against the Dodgers, and lately I’ve been glued, growing gradually more and more sleep-deprived and invested.

What a World Series it was: intense drama, back-and-forth games, and a weird aversion to giving starting pitchers any slack anytime beyond the third inning. Sure, there were too many pitching changes and long games, but there were also plenty of brilliant moves by the managers, and it felt only natural that it came down to a thriller of a seventh game. When a bear wandered down into the middle of downtown Duluth today and climbed a tree, it was hard not to think of it as an omen. The extra inning rain delay in Game Seven only added another dose of mystique, as the heavens made it clear they’d leave their mark on this one. All it takes is a silly sport to turn all us skeptics into true believers.

This batch of Lovable Losers proved to be thoroughly lovable winners. Even if he had me muttering things with his pitching choices in Games Six and Seven, Joe Maddon set the tone here, and made sure he had a group that could handle the moment. There was David Ross, riding off into retirement with a home run; Dexter Fowler, who just sounds like he was born to be a leadoff man. The double play combination of Addison Russell and Javier Baez, overflowing with promise and flair. I forgive Jon Lester and John Lackey for being Red Sox, admire the ace Jake Arrieta, and feel for Kyle Hendricks, pulled too soon, the quiet hero of the Cubs’ postseason. There was even some cosmic justice in the Game Seven implosion, as Aroldis Chapman, the most questionable of Cubs, blew the save and gave an entire city ulcers. But Kyle Schwarber lumbered back from injury to start the tenth inning rally, and Ben Zobrist was on hand to play the consummate hero. A few more pitching changes, and we were finally ready to end 108 years of pain. The final out, Kris Bryant to Anthony Rizzo, the powerful combination at the heart of the lineup combining to take a franchise where so many before them could not. Eight different players scored in the clincher, while seven drove in runs, a total team effort. They all earned it, scraping past an opponent that gave it their all.

As Wrigleyville parties into the night and “Go Cubs Go” echoes around the world, my mind drifts to all of that Field of Dreams mush about how baseball reminds us of all that once was good, and could be again. It’s timeless, and much as I love my Yankees’ history and lore, the 2016 Series has far more powerful generational ties. As I settle in to bed in world in which the Cubs are World Series champions, my thoughts are with my grandparents, in their late 80s and lifelong Cubs fans, who get to experience this for the first time in their lives. Congratulations to all the Cubs fans in the Maloney clan, and thanks for teaching me to enjoy this beautiful game. In 2016, you leave all of the rest of us musing “maybe next year,” and get to enjoy a trophy more deserved than any other in professional sports. Hey Chicago, what do you say? The Cubs, at long last, won it all today.