[jg2977]

Colin Cowherd
This is why I always say momentum is real — and denial is expensive.
Game 1? Tampa Bay lost, but they learned something.
Game 2? They applied it with force.
Because when you hang 14 runs in a single inning on a World Series team, that’s not luck. That’s not randomness. That’s a message.
This inning wasn’t about home runs alone. It was about discipline. Long at-bats. Fouling off pitches. Making St. Louis work. And then—boom—once the bullpen door opened, the game broke wide open. Walks. Doubles. Missed locations. You could feel the Cardinals unraveling pitch by pitch.
Here’s the takeaway:
St. Louis won Game 1 with resilience.
Tampa won Game 2 with authority.
That sixth inning flipped the series emotionally. Tampa didn’t just even it up — they reminded everyone they’re not here for moral victories. They’re here because when conditions tilt even slightly in their favor, they can bury you.
That’s a championship trait.

Mike Francesa
Alright, let’s slow this down, because this wasn’t some fluky inning.
You don’t score fourteen runs in the World Series unless a lot of things go wrong — and unless the other team does a lot of things right.
The Cardinals starter lost command. That’s the beginning. Then you go to the bullpen, and instead of stopping the bleeding, it pours gasoline on it. You can’t have that in October. You just can’t. Walks, bad counts, pitches left up — that’s how innings snowball.
Now give Tampa credit. They didn’t chase. They didn’t expand the zone. They let St. Louis beat itself, and then they punished mistakes. That’s professional hitting.
And here’s the key point: Game 2 exposed St. Louis’ biggest weakness. When things go sideways, they don’t have the shutdown arm to slam the door immediately. That’s fine in July. That’s a problem in the World Series.
This series is even now, but psychologically? Tampa got something back that St. Louis took in Game 1.

Chris Russo
MIKE, MIKE, MIKE — this is why you don’t overreact to Game 1!
Fourteen runs in ONE INNING!
FOUR-TEEN!
I don’t care what level you’re playing at — Little League, college, the SHOW — you don’t just accidentally do that.
This inning was like watching a car crash in slow motion. Every batter comes up, and you’re thinking, “Okay, this has to stop now.” And it never does! Pitching change? Nope. Defensive miscue? Yep. Big hit? Another one!
And Tampa’s dugout — they knew. They weren’t shocked. They were calm. That’s scary.
St. Louis looked rattled. That’s rare for them. You don’t usually see that team flinch — but they flinched tonight.
Now it’s a series. Not “could be.”
It IS.

Bob Costas
Baseball has always had a unique capacity for sudden, irreversible moments — and the sixth inning of Game 2 will endure as one of them.
For five innings, this game carried the quiet tension of a typical World Series contest. Then, without warning, it transformed. Tampa Bay sent nineteen men to the plate. The inning unfolded not as a burst, but as an accumulation — each baserunner adding weight, each pitching change failing to alter the trajectory.
Fourteen runs later, the Cardinals were left with a stunned ballpark and a night that had slipped beyond repair.
What made the inning so striking was not merely its length or its brutality, but its contrast with Game 1. St. Louis survived adversity then. Tonight, they were overwhelmed by it.
For Tampa Bay, this was more than an equalizer in the standings. It was a declaration: that their comeback loss the night before had not lingered as disappointment, but had sharpened resolve.
As the series moves forward, this inning will echo — not just in the box score, but in the minds of both clubs. One team now knows it can absorb punishment and respond. The other must prove that one extraordinary collapse does not define it.
That tension, as ever, is the essence of October baseball.