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On a gray, damp afternoon in Pittsburgh, with a steady wind drifting in from center field and rain tapping lightly across the roofline of PNC Park, the Arizona Diamondbacks brought thunder of their own. A 14–6 victory in Game 4 of the League Championship Series — a game that began with a burst of offense so sudden, so overwhelming, it seemed to echo into the Allegheny Valley.
And at the center of it all was Jose Chapa — the right fielder from Mene Grande, Venezuela — whose afternoon was nothing short of extraordinary. Four hits, two home runs, five runs batted in, and two runs scored. A performance that would have felt right at home in October lore across the generations of the game.
Just five pitches into the bottom of the first inning, Tony Ramirez found himself in trouble. Moments later, Chapa delivered the defining swing: a three-run home run on a slider left too high, too hittable. In an instant, Arizona had a 5–0 lead, and the Pirates — a team that had been flying high earlier in the series — spent the rest of the afternoon playing from behind.
But the Diamondbacks weren’t finished. Chapa homered again in the fifth. Jason Gonzalez added a towering blast of his own in the sixth. The lineup, top to bottom, recorded sixteen hits — a testament to depth, discipline, and patience.
For Pittsburgh, there were glimmers. Matt Croke continued his remarkable postseason with three more hits, two RBIs, and some daring on the basepaths. R. Ortega contributed a pair of hits. D. Verni drove in two. But with pitching struggles from the outset — Ramirez allowing five runs before recording an out — the Pirates simply couldn’t close the gap.
The rain fell. The Diamondbacks pressed on. And by the time the final out settled into the glove, Arizona had evened the series, 2–2, setting up a pivotal Game 5 tomorrow at PNC Park.
On a day when the weather made everything feel a little heavier, a little slower, Jose Chapa played with a brightness that cut through the gloom. A remarkable performance from a remarkable player, in a postseason that continues to remind us why October baseball has its own poetry.
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