[jg2977]

Tropicana Field, Tampa, Florida — October 4th, 1938.

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.
There are certain October days when the air feels a bit lighter, when the calendar insists it is autumn, but the ballpark tells you it is something more. Today was one of those days — the beginning of what we like to call the second season.
The Wild Card Series opened with the Kansas City Royals visiting the Tampa Bay Rays — and what unfolded was less a ballgame and more a symphony played fortissimo.
Kansas City struck first, as though eager to announce their presence. Chris Taylor doubled sharply into the afternoon, Raul Manzo followed with a base hit, and before the Rays had fully settled in, the Royals had hung two runs upon the scoreboard.
But October has a way of answering.
In the bottom of the first, a young shortstop by the name of Eric Crismond stepped to the plate. And with one fluid swing, he sent a ball arching toward right — 332 feet of punctuation. A solo home run. Just like that, the tone shifted.
And if you’ll forgive the understatement… he was only beginning.
This was a game that refused to sit quietly.
By the third inning, Kansas City had surged ahead 6–4, powered by Chris Bish, who seemed intent on stretching every base path to its absolute limit. Three triples on the afternoon — tying an American League postseason mark — and each one struck with the authority of a man determined to outrun history itself.
In the fifth, the Royals appeared to seize control. Home runs from Philippe Carbigos and Chris Taylor extended the lead to 10–4. And you could almost sense the dugout in blue beginning to exhale.
But baseball, as always, reminds us that comfort is temporary.
The Rays responded not with a whisper, but with a roar.
Rod Francia lifted a two-run homer in the fifth. Johnny Nava added another — a soaring drive into the Florida sky. And then came the sixth inning, that curious chapter where games sometimes lose all sense of proportion.
Mark McDonald walked. He stole second — as he would do three times today. And then Eric Crismond, already having homered once, circled the bases again. A drive into the gap, legs churning, the crowd rising… an inside-the-park home run. Two runs home. A stadium in full voice.
The scoreboard read 14–13 Tampa Bay. And we were only in the sixth.
By the seventh, the Rays had fully seized the afternoon.
Rod Francia launched a three-run homer, his second of the day. Pablo Parga followed with one of his own. Five runs in the inning. The lead swelled. The noise never faded.
And at the center of it all stood Crismond.
Four hits. Two home runs. Four runs scored. Four driven in. Eleven total bases. A performance that will be retold whenever October baseball is discussed in this city.
When the final out settled into leather, the scoreboard read:
Tampa Bay 20.
Kansas City 13.
Thirty-three runs. Thirty-five hits. Nine home runs between them. It was less a duel and more a display of unchecked momentum.
Kansas City’s manager, Francisco Ramirez, said afterward, “Whenever you score that many runs, you expect to win.” And he is quite right. Most afternoons, thirteen runs is an avalanche.
Today, it was merely a foothill.
And so, the Rays take a one-game-to-none lead in this best-of-three series.
Tomorrow, these two clubs will return to this very diamond. The Royals will attempt to steady the storm. The Rays will try to ride it.
Because in October, the margins shrink, the swings grow louder, and sometimes… the game becomes unforgettable.
And on this Tuesday in 1938, it most certainly did. ⚾