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Alright, friends… pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable. This is Vin Scully, and it was one of those warm, golden Los Angeles afternoons when the sun slanted in through the roof of Staples Center, turning an ordinary ballgame into something a little more special.
It was Game 3 of this conference semifinal… the Chicago Blackhawks in town to face the Los Angeles Kings… and if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought it was written in a script.
The Kings came out of the gate like they’d been waiting for this moment all year. First inning… one out… the count 2-and-1 to Corey Perry. Bautista deals… and Perry sends it high and deep to left field. Bedard drifts back… back… and it’s gone! Two–nothing, Kings.
And before the crowd could sit back down, here came young Anze Kopitar. You could almost feel a hush roll through the park — one of those quiet moments that hang in the air just before the swing. The next pitch was a fastball over the heart of the plate, and Kopitar didn’t miss it. He crushed it. Into the seats, to the delight of 55,919 fans, and suddenly Los Angeles led 3–0.
Chicago, though, they’re not a team to scare easy. They chipped away. Bedard with a two-run homer in the fourth. Foligno launching another in the sixth. And just like that, what once looked like a runaway became a one-run game.
But here’s where baseball — and hockey, and life — reveals itself: the small moments. Bottom of the fourth, the bases loaded, two outs, and Jesus Valdespino at the plate. He didn’t need a big swing. He didn’t need a headline. He just needed a little patience. And with the crowd on its feet, he drew a walk. It wasn’t flashy, but it pushed across a run and gave Los Angeles a little more breathing room.
Kopitar added a walk and scored twice on the afternoon, the bullpen held on by its fingernails, and when the dust settled after three hours and thirty-two minutes… Los Angeles 7, Chicago 6.
R. McCoubrey got the win, Valdivia the save. But really, it belonged to Kopitar — two hits, a home run, a smile as wide as the Pacific, and the sound of 55,000 people roaring his name as he trotted home.
You could feel it as the sun began to fade behind the left-field stands — this series had taken a turn. The Kings had cut Chicago’s lead to two games to one.
And that, folks, is baseball’s quiet poetry. One swing in the first. One walk in the fourth. And just enough pitching to hang on.
Tomorrow, they’ll do it again under the Southern California sky. And who knows… there just might be another story waiting to be told.
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