[jg2977]

[Bob Costas voice – elegant, articulate, measured, nostalgic]

On a crisp October afternoon in Baltimore, with the wind gently brushing across Oriole Park at Camden Yards and autumn’s edge just beginning to color the trees beyond the right field wall, the 1917 Division Series opened not with fireworks, but with quiet excellence.

This was not a game marked by towering home runs or late-inning chaos, but rather, one run—scored in the bottom of the very first inning—stood alone as the difference. A 1–0 victory. A minimalist’s masterpiece. And for the Baltimore Orioles, a statement of poise and precision.

The story of the day, unequivocally, was Sal Cantu.

In an era—and in a postseason—so often driven by power and spectacle, Cantu delivered something more rare: seven innings of silence. The left-hander tamed the Yankees’ formidable lineup with craft and command. No flash. Just groundouts, fly balls, and a steady rhythm that mirrored the deliberate pacing of a string quartet. He allowed just three hits over those seven frames, walking two, striking out none. There were no exclamation points—just periods. Finality.

In support, the Orioles’ bats didn’t do much—but they didn’t need to. After Cantu set the tone, Jimmy Hyland stepped in during the bottom of the first, grounded out to the right side, and did his job. A run scored. Carlos Alfonso, who had doubled earlier in the inning, crossed the plate. That was it. That was the game.

Credit, too, to Luis Ortiz, the Yankees starter. Seven innings, one run, four walks, three strikeouts. The 22-year-old right-hander was magnificent, but on this day, he was outdueled. It was, quite simply, one of those afternoons where the margin of error was a whisper.

From there, Alex Jeoffrey took the baton for Baltimore and held the Yankees at bay over the final two innings, scattering two hits, striking out three, and collecting the save. Calm, composed, clinical.

And while many will glance over the box score and see a 1–0 game with little to remember, those in attendance—over 43,000 strong—witnessed a different kind of drama. The type that unfolds pitch by pitch. The kind of game that pays homage to the sport’s subtler virtues. Tension. Timing. Stillness.

Game 2 awaits, with the Yankees hungry to respond. But tonight, Baltimore holds a 1–0 series lead, thanks to a pitcher’s quiet brilliance and the lonely, beautiful solitude of a single run.

I'm Bob Costas.