|
Dateline: Minute Maid Park – October 28, 1916
Written in the voice of Roger Dorn (from Major League)
Look, I’m not usually one to get my uniform dirty unless there’s a clause in the contract, but after watching this one unfold from the comfort of a well-appointed luxury box (where I belong), even I had to admit—it was a gritty win by the Giants.
San Francisco edged Houston 4–3 in Game 4 of the World Series, and now they’re one win away from wrapping this thing up. And believe me, I know a thing or two about being close to the finish line and making it look good.
Vinny Luevanos? The guy’s got ice in his veins. Six and two-thirds innings of control, poise, and zero flash. The guy didn’t need to throw heat—he just put it where they couldn’t drive it. That’s what you want from your starter. Smart pitching. Like I used to say: "Work smarter, not harder—unless the ball's hit to me."
And let’s talk Leo Dominguez. Sure, he may not look like the guy you want driving your Porsche, but when it comes to driving in runs, he gets the job done. That bases-loaded walk in the fifth? Textbook patience. You think that just happens? No way. That’s a guy who’s locked in. Focused. Possibly reading The Art of the Deal between innings.
J. Ladino put up a couple of doubles, and Linkletter legged out a triple. As long as they keep swinging like this and stay out of the spa before games, I like their chances.
Now the Astros—oh boy. They had their shots. They jumped ahead 2–0 early, but then went colder than a hotel bar tab after curfew. Segovia had himself a night, sure—three hits, a triple—but when your offense is more singles than a wedding reception, you're going to struggle. And their baserunning? Let’s just say if I’d ever been caught stealing that many times, I’d have faked an injury.
To be fair, B. Foulk wasn’t bad on the mound. Seven innings, four runs, none of them gifts. But in the postseason, “not bad” is about as useful as a gold glove that doesn’t fit.
So here we are. San Francisco up 3–1 in the series. One more win and they’re pouring champagne while the rest of us are trying not to get our loafers wet. Houston’s not out yet, but let’s just say they’re gonna need a lot more than grit—they need a miracle, a cleanup hitter, and probably a new third baseman.
Game 5 tomorrow. Bring your A-game… and maybe a poncho.
—Roger Dorn
(Still fielding grounders. Occasionally.)
|