National Baseball League

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LUPICA: CARDINALS STORM BACK IN GAME 1, AND JUST LIKE THAT, OCTOBER BELONGS TO ST. LOUIS

By Mike Lupica
October 27, 1915

You don’t win the World Series in a single inning. But every now and then, you can feel one slip right through your fingers in the same short breath of time.

The Chicago White Sox were six outs from a commanding Game 1 win. They had the crowd. They had the momentum. They had the score: 3-1, heading into the top of the 8th.

And then the St. Louis Cardinals walked right through the front door of the South Side and stole the whole thing.

It wasn’t one swing, though there were plenty of them. It wasn’t one mistake, though the Sox gave the Cardinals a couple. No, this was a classic October ambush—a five-run rally in the eighth that turned a cold autumn afternoon into something that will keep St. Louis warm all winter.

One base hit led to another. A walk turned into a double. A double turned into a tie game. And before Chicago could blink, a once-cozy lead was gone, and the Cardinals were circling the bases like they owned the place.

You could feel the shift not just in the scorebook, but in the atmosphere. That’s what October baseball does. It takes a sure thing and turns it sideways. It takes a team playing with house money and reminds them that there’s no such thing once the leaves start falling.

The Cardinals didn’t just win Game 1, they announced themselves. This wasn’t some fluke bounce or lucky blooper. This was a team that’s been here before—even if they’ve never hoisted the trophy. They played like a club with unfinished business. Three pennants now, and still no ring? They’re out to rewrite that.

As for the White Sox, they learned the most brutal October lesson: it’s never over until you get the outs. Not until the pitcher gets the ball back, and the crowd exhales. Until then, the ghosts are always lurking—especially when you’re playing a team like this.

Game 1 is in the books, and the Cardinals have already proven they’re not here to play nice. They’re here to win the whole thing.

And if you were watching the 8th inning yesterday, you saw why they just might.

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CARDINALS RALLY LATE TO DEFEAT WHITE SOX, 6 TO 3
Dolan’s Bat Sparks Seventh and Eighth-Inning Surge at Busch Stadium

ST. LOUIS, October 27th — In a stirring affair beneath clear skies at Busch Stadium, the St. Louis Cardinals staged a late rally to vanquish the visiting Chicago White Sox by a tally of six runs to three. After falling behind early, the Redbirds mounted a thunderous comeback in the latter frames, thrilling the home faithful with timely hitting and stout pitching.

The White Sox took the early initiative, tallying twice in the third inning. Ayala drew a free pass and was promptly brought home on a three-base knock by Wechsler. Felix followed suit with another triple, plating the second run. Chicago added to their account in the fifth when Felix, having earned his way aboard via the base on balls, swiped second and came home on Huskey’s sharp single to center.

Young Steven Janczak, hurling for the home side, shook off the early troubles and turned in a resolute performance. The right-hander struck out eight men in a complete seven-inning effort, his determination unshaken even as the White Sox danced around the base paths.

The tide turned in the seventh. With one down, Carlos Murrone lashed a sharp single, but was erased trying for second. No matter—Lance Dolan revived the cause with a booming triple to the far reaches of right-center. Bill Hemphill’s grounder brought him home, and the crowd roared as the deficit narrowed.

Then came the deluge in the eighth. Petron reached on a miscue, and Bosquez and Arispe followed with blows of their own. A run came home on a wild pitch, and another on a sharp liner from Jaylin Gaddy. Dolan, the hero of the seventh, delivered once more with a two-base clout that brought two more tallies across. By the time the dust had settled, the Cardinals had plated five in the frame and turned a 3–1 deficit into a commanding 6–3 lead.

Evan Young relieved Janczak and stifled any hope of a Chicago rally in the final inning, sealing the triumph with aplomb.

Box Score Summary:

Chicago: 3 runs, 5 hits, 0 errors
St. Louis: 6 runs, 9 hits, 0 errors
Winning Pitcher: Steven Janczak
Losing Pitcher: Caleb Hardwick

With this victory, the Cardinals claim the day and the admiration of the home crowd, who saw in their lads the spirit and fire worthy of the Gateway to the West.

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One for the Ages… and for the Blood Pressure:
Cards Walk Off in 14, Break Spirits, and Possibly Hips
By Al Bundy, Former Football Legend, Lifetime Husband, Reluctant Baseball Fan

ST. LOUIS — Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and anyone stuck at a family barbecue where Uncle Earl won’t stop talking about the '85 Bears—sit back and soak in the miracle you never saw coming: the St. Louis Cardinals won another World Series game.

And not just any win—this was a 14-inning, soul-draining, hope-breaking, time-bending epic that saw the Redbirds come back from a 7-0 deficit to beat the Chicago White Sox 9-8. I’ve had root canals that took less time.

For the second game in a row, the Cards were down big—this time by a touchdown in the fourth inning. Most teams would fold like a lawn chair at a family reunion. But no, not these guys. These Cardinals got off the couch, cracked their backs, and started swinging like they had something to prove—or like their wives found out about the poker money.

Jaylin Gaddy, the shortstop with hands of gold and a bat hotter than Peg’s credit card, went 3-for-5 with 2 walks, 2 RBIs, and 2 runs scored. He told reporters afterward, and I quote:

“My job is to go out and play as hard as I can.”
Kid, that’s adorable. Meanwhile, my job is to explain to a 300-pound man why the shoe he wants doesn’t come in dragon print.
Now, this game didn’t end with fireworks. No, it ended with a walk-off walk by Matt Petron, who strolled to first like he had all day (because, folks, by the 14th inning, he did). The pitcher, Justin Swanson, had the accuracy of a lawn dart thrown by a blindfolded toddler. Ball four. Game over. Cardinals win. Somewhere, a Chicago fan flipped over a bratwurst cart in rage.

But let’s not forget a couple of other guys who showed up and didn’t embarrass themselves:

Oscar Arispe of St. Louis went 4-for-6, hit a double, walked once, drove in a run, and scored twice. The man had more hits than the Meat Loaf discography I’m not allowed to play during dinner.
Eric Rehfeld of the White Sox had himself a day too—3-for-7 with a home run, 4 RBIs, and 2 runs scored. That kind of performance should win you a ballgame. Unfortunately, he plays for the White Sox, where good things go to die.
So now, the Cards lead the series 2-0, and as someone who’s been married longer than the Berlin Wall was standing, I can tell you: momentum is a cruel mistress. One day you’re the king of the world, the next day you’re scraping gum off the floor in a shoe store and calling it "retail experience."

Game 3 is Saturday in Chicago, where the White Sox will try to remember that games last more than four innings, and the Cardinals will try to keep playing like this isn’t some elaborate prank on their fan base.

Until then, I’ll be on my couch, sipping something cheap, yelling at the TV, and praying Peg doesn’t ask me to "just cuddle."

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1915 World Series - Game 3

“WHAT ARE WE DOIN’ HERE?!” – ARISPE TORCHES CHICAGO, CARDS TAKE COMMANDING 3–0 LEAD!

By Chris Russo

Listen—LISTEN!—I’ve been watchin’ baseball a loooong time, folks. I’m talkin’ 40, 50 years here. And what we saw in Game 3 of this World Series? Let me tell ya somethin’: Oscar Arispe, this kid’s UN-BE-LIEVABLE. I mean—COME ON! Two hits, five RBIs, and the guy just DETONATES the White Sox with a bomb to left, a double, a WALK, and he scores two runs just for good measure. Have a day, kid! The Cardinals take it 9–3—and folks, let me tell ya—this series might be OVER.

📍 CHICAGO – GUARANTEED RATE FIELD, 1915… OR IS IT 1927 YANKEE STADIUM!?
Let’s go through this here! Top 3rd—BOOM! The Cardinals hang a 4-spot on Chicago. They’re swingin’ like they got Ruth, Gehrig, and DiMaggio out there! White Sox starter Justin Hester—bless his heart—pitches his rear end off for eight innings, only one earned run, and he still gets tagged with a fat L! What are we doin’ here?!

Then in the 5th inning, it's 5–2, and we got two outs, bases loaded. Carlos Murrone—WHO?!—hits a weak grounder to third, the Sox boot it! Another run in! Total gift! Santa Claus in October, baby!

And did I mention Arispe? Did I mention Arispe?! Just absolutely punishing the ball. This kid's got ice in his veins!

🎙️ RUSSO REACTS – “ST. LOUIS IS ROLLIN’, FOLKS!”
Now look—you gotta give it up to Cardinals starter Dave Rady. Seven innings, gives up nine hits, but you know what? Only three runs! He’s a bulldog! Got into a little trouble early, but then—BOOM—locks it down, and the Sox bats? Quiet as a library. One run from innings 3 to 9. You’re not gonna win a ballgame like that, people.

And the White Sox, I mean—what happened?! Two early runs and then nothin’. Goose eggs across the board until a little bloop in the 8th. That’s not gonna cut it in October!

😤 THE BIG PICTURE – “3–0?! WE GOT A PROBLEM, CHICAGO!”
So now, HERE WE GO! Cardinals are up 3 games to 0, and Chicago’s got the weight of the world on ‘em. You lose Game 4 tomorrow? Series over. Done. Put a fork in it. Guaranteed Rate Field might as well be the funeral home, because the White Sox bats have GONE MISSING.

And Arispe? We might be lookin’ at a World Series MVP, folks!

🧢 MAD DOG’S FINAL THOUGHT:
If you're the White Sox, you gotta wake up! You gotta get mad! I need fire, I need urgency—this ain't June in Detroit, this is the World Series, for cryin’ out loud!

And the Cardinals—they're playin' like kings, baby. Smart, aggressive, opportunistic baseball. And with one more W? They're gonna be pop champagne in the visitor’s clubhouse in Chicago.

Game 4 is TOMORROW.
Sox need a miracle.
Cards? They’re sniffin’ a sweep.

And I’ll say it one more time…

WHAT. ARE. WE. DOIN’. HERE?!

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DePalma Deals, White Sox Stay Alive in Game 4

By Mike Francesa

Alright, let’s get to it.

The White Sox, facing elimination, finally show a pulse. They beat the Cardinals, 5–2, in Game 4 of the World Series at Guaranteed Rate Field. And let’s be honest here—this game? This game was all about Dave DePalma. I mean, the guy was locked in. Seven innings, tenacious, no earned runs, no walks, didn’t even strike anybody out, and still absolutely shut down a very good St. Louis lineup. That’s pitchin'. That’s postseason pitchin'. That’s how you save your season.

Let me say that again: no earned runs, no walks, no strikeouts, and he wins the game. That tells you what kind of command this guy had tonight.

🔍 GAME ANALYSIS – “CARDS FLAT, SOX SHARP EARLY”
You want to talk about pressure? Chicago comes out in the first two innings, and right away it’s 3–0. That’s how you answer the bell. The Cardinals? They’re sitting there with a 3–0 series lead, thinkin’ maybe this one’s already in the bag. Well, not so fast. Because Chicago played like they were down to their last breath, and St. Louis? Honestly—they looked flat.

St. Louis starter Hector Castello, not terrible, not great—seven innings, gave up three earned, walked three, struck out four. Not the reason they lost, but didn't keep 'em in it long enough either.

Big at-bats from Chicago in that 8th inning—that was the nail. Cardinals tried to make a little noise in the 9th, got one run in, but listen—by then it was too late. Too little, too late.

🗣️ “THEY NEEDED THIS ONE – AND THEY GOT IT.”
Now look, give credit where it’s due. White Sox manager—he kept the bullpen tight, let DePalma work, didn’t overthink it. Got his 7 innings, turned it over clean.

And the Cardinals? Hey, they’ve still got a 3–1 lead. They’re in the driver’s seat. But now you’re starting to look at this thing and say, “OK... they better close this out soon.” You give a team like the White Sox life? You give 'em two straight at home? And suddenly, now we got a series.

⭐ THREE STARS
Dave DePalma (CHW) – 7 IP, 8 H, 1 R, 0 ER, 0 BB, 0 K. That’s a man’s win.
Lance Dolan (STL) – 2-3, 2B, RBI, BB. Only guy in that St. Louis lineup who looked locked in.
Hector Castello (STL) – 7 IP, 3 ER. Not great, but kept it close for a while.
📌 NEXT UP: GAME 5 – “NOW IT’S INTERESTING”
Game 5 is tomorrow, still in Chicago. White Sox have some momentum now. Cardinals better come out focused, because you drop Game 5? Then you're headed back to St. Louis with all the pressure in the world—and Chicago smellin’ blood.

Bottom line: White Sox needed it, got it. Cardinals still control the series. But it's baseball—and baseball has a funny way of humbling you if you think it's over before it’s over.

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I Am the One Who Wins: White Sox Shut Out Cardinals in Game 5

By Walter Hartwell White

St. Louis walked into Chicago expecting a celebration.
Instead, they were handed silence—nine innings of it.
Total. Unrelenting. Silence.

Because tonight, Caleb Hardwick didn’t just pitch.
He engineered.
He didn’t survive the Cardinals.
He dismantled them.

The White Sox, facing elimination for the second straight day, put on a display of pure control, methodical execution, and quiet fury. Final score? 5–0, Chicago. Series? Still alive. But now... the oxygen’s thinner in St. Louis.

⚗️ This Wasn't a Game. This Was Precision Chemistry.
You want to know what happens when you combine focus, discipline, and a refusal to yield? You get Hardwick: 9.0 innings, 2 hits, 0 runs, 0 excuses. This wasn’t pitching—it was a clinical procedure.

He took the Cardinals lineup, broke it down to its elemental components, and neutralized every threat. Two hits. All night. That’s it.

They didn’t hit him.
They didn’t walk on him.
They didn’t rattle him.

They. Were. Helpless.

🧪 The Equation: 5 Runs, 12 Hits, Total Control
Let’s not forget what else went into this formula: Jonathan Husky, who didn’t just play—he cooked. 3 for 4. A double. A triple. 3 RBI. Two runs scored. He wasn’t just getting on base—he was igniting combustion.

And then there’s Manuel Felix—2 for 4, 2 runs, and a stolen base. Quiet, efficient. No flash. Just impact. Like a silent reaction that leaves nothing standing.

🧬 Chemistry Meets Destiny: A Series Reconfigured
What started as a 3–0 stranglehold by St. Louis has now been reduced to a 3–2 series. That’s no longer dominance. That’s danger. The Cardinals thought they were on the cusp of immortality. Now they’re standing at the edge, staring into the eyes of a team that refuses to die.

The next game? Wednesday, November 3rd. Back in St. Louis.
Let me be clear:

There are no guarantees in chemistry.
There are only reactions.

🧊 I Am Not in Danger, Cardinals. I Am the Danger.
You think this is about momentum? This isn’t momentum. This is inevitability, breaking bonds one molecule at a time.

You let this series get to Game 6...
You let us back into your house...

And soon, St. Louis is going to realize—

You’re not facing a team.
You’re facing the reaction.

Say my name.
It’s Chicago.

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St. Louis Cardinals: 1915 World Series Champions
1st title

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1915 WORLD SERIES – GAME 6
"Yo, Cardinals Bring the Boom – Champs, B**!"**
by Jesse Pinkman

Yo, check it. St. Louis didn’t just win Game 6.
They straight-up exploded, man.

Like, first inning? BOOM. Seven freakin’ runs. Seven. Like, you blinked and the White Sox were already curled up on the floor cryin' for mercy. Game? Over. And just like that, the St. Louis Cardinals are your 1915 World Series champs, yo! Best-of-seven? More like best-of-SIX, B****!

�� First Inning = Total Domination, Yo
You know how people say “get ahead early”?
Yeah, St. Louis was like, “how about we END it early?”
First inning, they rolled up like a squad in a muscle car with the engine revving and just ran over the White Sox. Seven runs, man. It was violent.

They weren’t just playing baseball, bro—they were wrecking shop.

�� Player of the Freakin’ Game: Oscar Freakin' Arispe
Dude’s a beast. 2 for 3 with a double, a triple, FOUR RBIs, a walk, and a run scored. That ain’t just hitting—that’s dropping full-on warheads. Dude was straight-up on fire.

“Oscar came to cook, yo.”
�� #2 Star: Randy “Mr. Ice Cold” Gesell
This man pitched like a damn king, okay? Nine. Full. Innings. Only gave up 7 hits and 2 earned runs. Struck out 2, walked 2. Didn't flinch once. Guy was chillin’ out there like he had nothing better to do but win rings.

"That’s how you close, b****!"
�� #3 Star: Bert “Scored Everything” Maya
Bert only had one hit, sure, but the dude crossed the plate three freakin’ times. Walked twice, made chaos on the bases, looked like he owned the joint. He was in it, man.

�� Honorable Mention? Yeah, Ayala Was Fly
Props to Henry Ayala of the White Sox, who hit two triples like it was nothing. Dude tried to carry his squad on his back, but c’mon... it was too late, bro.

�� Final Score: Cardinals 14, White Sox 3

�� So That's It — CHAMPS, Yo!
The St. Louis Cardinals close the door in Game 6, take the series 4 games to 2, and own the damn decade now. From Game 3’s destruction to this final flamethrower, it’s been all about that Cardinal heat.

You don’t just beat teams like that.
You warn them.
You say:

“Stay outta our house. Or we’ll burn it down with ya in it.”
�� Jesse’s Final Thought?
"Yeah, Cardinals won.
Yo yo yo. 148-3 to the 3 to the 6 to the 9, representing the STL, what up, B**. Leave it at the tone."

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Oscar Arispe was the 1915 World Series MVP, going 10 for 23, good for a .435 batting average. In the series he had 1 home run, 10 RBI, and OBP of .552 and slugged .826,

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Champions after 15 seasons

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"The Third Time Was the Charm"
By Vin Scully

Ladies and gentlemen, pull up a chair, settle in, and let’s tell a story—the kind of story only baseball can write. It is a story of heartbreak turned into triumph, of seasons filled with near-misses and unfinished business, now, finally, fulfilled. For the St. Louis Cardinals, in the autumn of 1915, the third time was, indeed, the charm.

They have done it.

After years of coming close—after falling short not once, but twice—the St. Louis Cardinals are, at last, world champions.

And they did it with style. With grit. With a team that refused to be denied.

It began as so many great tales do: with a question. Could this finally be their year? Could this be the time they finish the job?

Oh, how they answered.

They opened the World Series against the Chicago White Sox like a team with unfinished business. Game after game, you could feel it—not just in the hits or the runs, but in their resolve. They played with the urgency of a team chasing ghosts, and by the end, they had left those ghosts behind in the dust.

There was Oscar Arispe, whose bat was as loud as a firecracker in a cathedral—his timely hits and fierce presence at the plate becoming the steady heartbeat of the Cardinal offense. When he stood in the batter's box, you got the feeling something special might happen. And more often than not, it did.

Then there was Randy Gesell, the steely-eyed right-hander who pitched the game of his life in the clincher. Nine innings, cool as ice. If the White Sox brought fire, he brought water. And when the final out settled into a glove, it was Gesell who stood tall on the mound—quiet, calm, victorious.

The Cardinals struck early in Game 6, a seven-run first inning like a thunderclap echoing across the Series. It was, for all intents and purposes, the moment the dream became real. It was a statement to the baseball world: this is our time.

There were others, of course—heroes in the shadows, doing the little things that don’t make headlines but win championships. Bert Maya, who darted across the bases like a whisper in the night. The bullpen arms who held the line. The young players who played like veterans, and the veterans who led with grace.

And though the White Sox fought valiantly—though they clawed back to win two games and send the series back to St. Louis—it was the Cardinals who had the final word. A team shaped by disappointment, now reborn in glory.

You see, that’s the beauty of this game. Baseball, in its quiet way, teaches us that perseverance pays. That patience is a virtue. And that the third time? Well, sometimes, the third time is the charm.

So tonight, the Gateway City sings. Tonight, St. Louis shines.

They are champions now. World champions. Finally. Fittingly. Forever.

And as we say goodbye to this wonderful series, we tip our caps to the boys in red. Congratulations, Cardinals.

It was worth the wait.

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"A Model of Precision and Poise: Kyle Centeno Named AL Rookie of the Year"
By Gustavo Fring

Excellence is not accidental. It is the product of precision, of discipline, of unrelenting attention to detail. These are the qualities that define success—in business, in leadership, and yes, in baseball.

It is with that spirit that we acknowledge Mr. Kyle Centeno, shortstop for the Chicago White Sox, as the recipient of the 1915 American League Rookie of the Year Award.

Mr. Centeno, a young man of remarkable poise and consistency, approached the game not with flair, but with quiet, deliberate excellence. Over 95 games, he compiled a batting average of .270, collecting 96 hits, 60 runs batted in, and scoring 33 times. He also registered two home runs—perhaps not staggering in volume, but timely and effective. His contributions were never ostentatious. They were efficient. Predictable. Trustworthy.

In a league defined by chaos and emotion, Mr. Centeno was an outlier. A model of clarity.

Of the 30 possible first-place votes, Mr. Centeno received 28. That, I would say, is not a fluke—it is a statement. It is the league’s silent agreement that what he has delivered is rare: a rookie who behaves not like a novice, but like a man who has done this before.

Armando Rodriguez of the Anaheim Angels—a fine player in his own right—received the remaining 2 first-place votes and finishes second. Christian Villa, also of the White Sox, finishes third, a sign of the organization’s promising future.

To Mr. Centeno: maintain your discipline. The temptations of premature success are many. But remember—real power is earned over time. Quietly. Methodically.

Congratulations. I trust you will continue to represent the game—and your organization—with the seriousness it deserves.

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"Joey Rankins Bags NL Rookie of the Year — And Yeah, He Earned It"
By Hank Schrader

All right, let’s get one thing straight—this ain’t no charity vote, no feel-good story. This year’s National League Rookie of the Year winner flat-out earned it. We’re talking about Washington third baseman Joey Rankins, and the kid’s got more grit than a New Mexico driveway.

Yeah, you heard me.

Rankins came in hot this season—batting .277 with a .332 OBP, and while the guy only popped 1 home run, don’t sleep on his 65 RBIs and 62 runs scored. That’s called producing. That’s called showing up, getting your hands dirty, and doing the damn job.

Now look, this wasn’t some runaway blowout. The vote? Tight. Rankins pulled 13 first-place votes outta 30. Just enough to take the crown. Abel Grohman of the Mets actually got 14 first-place votes, but when you tally up the rest of the ballots and how people ranked ‘em? Rankins came out on top. That’s how the cookie crumbles in this business. You win on points, not just punches.

And hey, credit where it’s due—Leo Echeverria from Atlanta? Finished third with 2 first-place votes. Respect. The kid’s got a glove and some flash.

But today? Today belongs to Joey Rankins. Not flashy. Not loud. Just consistent, smart, hard-nosed baseball. He’s the guy you want holding down third when the game’s on the line and the pressure’s thick.

So congrats, Joey. Keep your head down, don’t let it go to your head, and don’t forget—there are 29 other teams watching now. You're not the underdog anymore.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got minerals to catalog. And a beer to open.

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"Brandon Murphy Wins AL Manager of the Year — And You Shouldn’t Be Surprised"
By Colin Cowherd

So... Brandon Murphy — or “Cap,” as he likes to be called — wins 1915 American League Manager of the Year, and Twitter’s acting like they’ve never heard of the guy. Of course they haven’t. He’s not flashy. He’s not out there doing podcasts or feuding with umpires on SportsCenter. He’s not a quote machine. He’s a grown-up.

And let me say this: in a world of chest-thumping managers and analytics worshippers who forget what a dugout smells like, Murphy just wins baseball games. Period.

This is a guy who led the Chicago White Sox to a 97-65 record, second in the AL Central, and oh by the way — he took a team that nobody had in October all the way to Game 6 of the World Series. That’s not a cute story. That’s not a fluke. That’s leadership. That’s culture. That’s getting men to buy in.

You want to know what separates Murphy from the rest of the pack? It’s this quote right here:

"It's really unfair to the guys that busted their humps all year long to put all the focus on me now."
That's a guy who gets it. He’s not waving around binders or calculating launch angles on a tablet. He’s in the trenches. He’s in the cage. He’s watching field work. He’s coaching baseball. What a novel concept, right?

And I get it — he’s a "dark horse." He’s not a coastal brand. He’s not managing the Yankees or the Dodgers. But Brandon Murphy is what the sport needs more of: grown men who know how to handle a clubhouse, manage a bullpen, and develop talent without turning it into a social media sideshow.

So let’s stop pretending this is some Cinderella story. It’s not. It’s just what happens when a guy knows how to lead — and gets buy-in from a team that believed in the message more than the media metrics.

Congratulations, “Skip.” You earned it. You just became the most relevant man in a city that lives and breathes sports — and did it without asking for attention.

And for the record — don’t be shocked if we’re talking about Cap hoisting a trophy in the next few years. Winners win. It’s not that complicated.

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"Ben McTigue: A Champion, A Leader, A Manager of the Year"
By Michael Kay

Ladies and gentlemen, the votes are in, and the verdict is unanimous—not just in the numbers, not just in the standings, but in the clubhouse, on the field, and throughout the baseball world: Ben McTigue is the 1915 National League Manager of the Year.

And when the announcement came down, when the envelope was opened, and the name was read, the St. Louis Cardinals coaching staff broke out the bubbly—not out of surprise, but out of joy. Out of pride. Because this was not just a manager who tallied wins. This was a manager who earned hearts.

McTigue skippered the Redbirds to a 104-58 regular season record, a commanding first-place finish in the NL Central, and—let’s not forget—the franchise’s first World Series title. That’s right. The first. And you better believe it felt like destiny with him at the helm.

In every city, in every ballpark, McTigue brought a quiet confidence. He’s not loud. He’s not brash. But what he is… is brilliant. Calculated. Steady. And when the pressure mounted, when October roared, he didn’t blink.

And it wasn’t just the results. It was the relationships.

“He just has a way with people,” said one coach. “Coaches and players alike love him.”
In a sport that values routine, rhythm, and trust, that kind of respect is everything. Everything.

So now, in the record books, his name will sit beside the best to ever do it. But in that Cardinals clubhouse, his name’s been etched in legend since that final out in Game 6.

Ben McTigue. Manager of the Year. Champion. And most importantly—a leader of men.

And folks... that is the story. So put it on the back page, raise a glass in St. Louis, and remember the name. Because Ben McTigue isn’t done yet.

See ya!

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"Jordan Pineda! Are You Kidding Me?! An Unstoppable Force in 1915!"
By Christopher "Mad Dog" Russo

HO HO! Let me tell ya somethin’ folks—this kid, Jordan Pineda? THIS. KID. WAS. UNHITTABLE! You wanna talk about DOMINANT? You wanna talk about OLD SCHOOL, blow-it-by-ya, bulldog-on-the-mound kind of stuff? Jordan Pineda gave you the full menu, baby. The appetizer, the entrée, the dessert—and he still had room for more!

He goes 21 and 7, makes 35 starts, throws almost 274 innings, strikes out 154, and—you ready for this?—a microscopic 1.41 ERA! This isn’t 1968! This isn’t the dead ball era! This is 1915 and the guy pitched like Walter Johnson with a Red Sox logo on his chest!

UNANIMOUS! You hear me? UN-A-NI-MOUS! Thirty—count ‘em—THIRTY first-place votes! Not one voter said, “Eh, maybe someone else.” Not Sal Cantu—who’s a fine pitcher in Baltimore, by the way. Not Mike Deming from the Bronx. Not even Davey Bowers in Minnesota. Pineda blew 'em all out of the water! Wasn’t even CLOSE!

Let me give you the rundown here:

Pineda – 210 points!
Cantu – 117
Deming – 83
The rest? Thanks for showing up, fellas!
I mean come on! You could take Cantu AND Deming, add ‘em together, and they STILL wouldn’t catch Pineda! This is Pedro Martinez '99 level dominance we’re talking about here!

And ya know what else? He took the ball every five days. Didn’t miss a turn. Didn’t need load management. Didn’t need a pitch clock. He just shoved, game after game, month after month. And he did it in Boston, under the bright lights, the pressure, the media—the whole thing!

So now you got your 1915 AL Cy Young winner: Jordan Pineda, the pride of Beantown. And if he does THIS again next year? Ho ho ho! We might be lookin’ at the beginning of a dynasty, folks!

Back after this!