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MLB NETWORK POSTGAME PANEL – ASTROS 20, TIGERS 19
Costas, Francesa, Kay, Cowherd
Bob Costas:
“On an October afternoon that felt as though it had been scripted by a baseball-obsessed surrealist, the Houston Astros and Detroit Tigers combined for 39 runs, 37 hits, 11 home runs, and at least a half-dozen moments that defied logic, precedent, and perhaps even the laws of physics.
Consider the arc of this game: Houston trailed 19–15 entering the ninth. The Tigers, the defending world champions, had seemingly seized control after that monstrous eight-run seventh. But Antonio de Luna, who earlier in the day had already authored a two-homer performance, stepped into the batter’s box with a runner aboard and two outs in the ninth—and launched a ball into the chill Detroit air, landing deep into a crowd that may still be shouting.
Twenty to nineteen. The Astros rescue their season. The Tigers mystify their fans. And the series, remarkably, is tied.”
Michael Kay:
“You know what amazes me? We’ve watched offense explode in this sport before—steroid era, lively ball, altitude, you name it. But this? This was absurd. The pitching in this game… I don’t want to be cruel, but it was non-competitive for long stretches.
Detroit used six pitchers, and I swear none of them had any idea where the ball was going. Morton gives up seven, Santana gives up five, Dietrich gives up three—every time you looked up, another ball was leaving the ballpark.
Meanwhile, Houston’s staff wasn’t exactly Mariano Rivera out there either. Sobie? Nettles? Luevanos? Everyone looked overwhelmed. Credit to Bancroft, though—he blew the lead and still got the win. That’s the most baseball thing ever.
But de Luna—four hits, two homers, including the homer—that’s the guy you talk about. That’s the guy who saves a season.”
Colin Cowherd:
“Let me frame this the way I see it: this game was pure chaos vs. identity.
Houston knows what they are. They’re an offense-first team. They’re aggressive on the bases—four steals. They hit for power—five homers. They’re built like a modern team parachuted into 1929. Everything is velocity, launch angle, efficiency.
Detroit? They’re emotional. They’re talented. But they’re streaky. That eight-run seventh was an adrenaline surge. But what happens when the adrenaline wears off? You still need bullpen depth. You still need structure. You still need someone—anyone—to get three outs when it matters.
The Astros had that guy: Collings. One inning. No hits. Game over.
Detroit didn’t.”
Mike Francesa:
“Let me tell you something right now: this is one of the craziest baseball games I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been watching this sport a very, very long time.
You score 19 runs at home—nineteen!—you should win that game 100 percent of the time. You should win it in your sleep. You should win it with your eyes closed. And Detroit still found a way to lose.
That’s a disaster. I’m sorry. I don’t care if it’s October, I don’t care if it’s the ’29 World Series or some alternate universe—nineteen runs should be enough.
But the Tigers bullpen? Childress? I mean, come on. Five runs in the ninth? How does that happen? How do you give up a two-run homer to de Luna with two outs? The guy’s already beaten you three times in the same game! Maybe—just maybe—stop pitching to him!
And the Tigers’ defense? Two errors, terrible positioning, wild pitches—sloppy, sloppy baseball. You can’t win like that in October.
Houston deserved this one. Period.”
Costas (closing):
“So the Tigers and Astros, locked now at two wins apiece, will reconvene tomorrow in Detroit. Each team has inflicted and absorbed staggering punishment. Each has seen its season rise and tremble within the same innings.
In a series filled with unpredictability, Game 4 may stand as the kind of contest that echoes across eras—proof that baseball, no matter the decade in which it’s played, remains capable of astonishment.”
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