National Baseball League

[jg2977]

GEORGE COSTANZA ON PIRATES-MARLINS WILD CARD GAME
(read in an agitated, over-caffeinated voice, probably from a payphone outside PNC Park)

So let me get this straight—the Marlins, the team that was supposed to make noise in October, they show up to Pittsburgh and... what? They forget how to play baseball!? One run?? ONE?! That’s not a playoff effort! That’s not even a Wednesday night beer league effort!

The Pirates, I mean, look at them—they’re bootin’ the ball around, they make three errors, and they STILL win by three runs! Three! That’s not baseball, that’s cosmic punishment!

Let’s talk about Miami's “offense.”
Hardwick? He gets on base once, does nothing.
Solorzano? 0-for-4 with two strikeouts.
Willy Morales? He scores the only run… on a single by the CATCHER! The catcher! D. Eustis, baby! Not exactly Mike Piazza back there! One RBI and then poof! That’s it! Curtains! Pack your bags, Miami, go sit in traffic on I-95!

Now you flip the scorecard to Pittsburgh—Sean Hughes? The guy goes seven innings, gives up three hits, and I swear, the guy looked like he was pitching against mannequins! You could’ve put the ‘86 Mets out there, and the Marlins still wouldn’t have scored more than one run!

And don’t get me started on that Marlins bullpen—Spann goes nearly seven, fine, OK, but 99 pitches, and you could see it, he was starting to fray like the hem of a pair of discount pants. Then Oviedo comes in, eight pitches, no damage, great—BUT YOU’RE ALREADY LOSING!

Oh, and the Pirates’ offense? Not exactly Murderers' Row, OK, but they get timely hits. A couple of sac bunts, a two-out double, Villa drives in two—this guy’s the backup catcher! He’s not even supposed to be in the game! And he’s out there breaking hearts!

I tell ya, it’s always the Pirates. Small payroll, little stadium, massive chip on their shoulder. They get no respect and then they roll into the Division Series like they own the place.

So now the Marlins? They’re back on the beach. They’re swimming with the tourists. While Pittsburgh? They’re playin’ Philly next week. Oh, that’s gonna be a series! Cheesesteaks vs. pierogis! Mayhem! But that’s not Miami’s problem. Their problem is that their bats are made of styrofoam and their season is done!

I’m tellin’ ya, if I was managing that team? I’d be in the locker room right now throwing sunflower seeds at everybody. Nobody’s safe.

I gotta go. My pretzel’s getting cold.

GEORGE OUT.

[jg2977]

MIA vs. PIT

[jg2977]

[NEWMAN VOICE]

Ahhh yes… the Cincinnati Reds.

A team of quiet menace. A team that waits. Biding their time… like a mailman lurking behind a hedge, waiting to pounce on a fresh delivery of Victoria's Secret catalogs.

And today… they struck. Ohhh did they strike.

Eleven runs! In enemy territory! On the sacred dirt of Busch Stadium! Ohhhh the humanity! You know who saw that coming? Not the Cardinals. And certainly not poor Randy Gesell, who left the mound today with an ERA that should be posted on a billboard. Nineteen point six four! NINETEEN! It’s not an ERA, it’s a zip code!

Now let’s talk about the hero of the hour. One Ricardo Ruiz. Two hits. A double. Three runs scored. Two RBIs. He was everywhere. He was like that one fly in your apartment—you swat and swat but he just won’t leave! And when it mattered most? Two outs in the fourth? Ruiz delivered a hit so pure, so sharp… it could slice through Jambalaya like a chainsaw!

And the Cardinals? Ohhhh the Cardinals. They tried, Newman concedes that. Fifteen hits. They peppered the ball like an overzealous deli man working a pastrami slicer! And still… six runs. Just six. That’s not baseball justice. That’s baseball cruelty.

Why? Errors! Sloppiness! Double plays! THREE of them! I’ve seen more coordination from a troop of Cub Scouts on a sugar crash. And don’t even get me started on Maya’s glove. Butterfingers! Absolute churned dairy disaster!

Reds pitcher Rich Alvarado? He was like a mail truck on a mission: slow, rumbling, and impossible to stop. Seven and two-thirds innings! Sure, he gave up 12 hits, but like any good federal employee, he kept on trudging along—late deliveries, lost packages, missed birthdays be damned!

And now? Now the series is tied. Game 3 looms. Winner takes all. The Cardinals will regroup, lick their wounds, maybe cry quietly into a vat of toasted ravioli. But they know… deep in their scarlet-colored souls…
Ricardo Ruiz is coming.

And Newman?
Newman will be watching.

Yesss…

[jg2977]

HARRY DOYLE STYLE (from Major League)

🎙️**"Hello everybody, Harry Doyle here coming to you live from Busch Stadium, where the St. Louis Cardinals' 1916 postseason run has officially flatlined faster than a rookie on his first trip to Vegas!"**

Ohhh mercy—what a meltdown. The reigning World Series champs—yes, those very same St. Louis Cardinals—have been bounced from the postseason by none other than the division-rival Cincinnati Reds, who came into town like a wrecking ball and took no prisoners.

Final score: Reds 11, Cardinals 3.
That sound you hear? That’s the last of the champagne bottles being quietly rolled back into storage.

It all started early, folks. Top of the first, Reds put up a crooked number—FOUR runs—before the peanut guy could get to section 203. Freddy Martinez ripped a double, Angelo Liotta followed with a triple, and by the time the Cardinals remembered what sport they were playing, it was already 4-0.

And how about Freddy Martinez, ladies and gentlemen? The kid hit .500 in the series, drove in four, scored four, and basically lived in scoring position. Series MVP? You bet your keister. The glue that held the team together? He was the whole hardware store.

Meanwhile, on the other side… the Cardinals looked like they were playing with oven mitts. Four errors. Count 'em—one, two, three, four! They kicked the ball around like it owed them money. The fielding was so bad, I thought I was watching Little League Night at the ballpark!

And the pitching? Oh, sweet saint of lost causes. Starter Denny Rady was yanked in the fourth inning after giving up five runs on eight hits. His ERA? Let’s just say it’s somewhere between his social security number and a lottery ticket. Covert didn’t help, and Mendez… well, Mendez was there. Not sure what he was doing, but he was there.

Meanwhile, Ben Barnard on the bump for Cincy went the distance. Nine full innings. No walks. One strikeout. Not exactly Nolan Ryan, but when your offense scores eleven, you just have to keep it between the lines and breathe through your nose.

And give it up for Pat Vinokur—four hits, two ribbies, and a permanent lease on first base. The guy was hotter than a jalapeño in a sauna.

So now, the Reds are off to face the San Francisco Giants in the Division Series, while the Cardinals are heading home—probably to a long winter of asking, “What just happened?”

For the fans in St. Louis, it’s heartbreak. For the Reds? Well, I hope they packed sunscreen, 'cause this October run just got a whole lot sunnier.

I’m Harry Doyle, saying “So long from Busch Stadium—where the beer’s cold, the defense is colder, and the Reds are movin’ on!”

🎙️**“And for the love of God, someone get a glove on the ball out there.”**

[jg2977]

CIN vs. STL

[jg2977]

KRUSTY THE CLOWN’S POSTGAME RECAP — LIVE FROM YANKEE STADIUM! 🤡🎤

"Hey hey, baseball fans! Or as I like to call you, the only people who willingly spend $14 on a hot dog and cry about a blown save!"

🎪 Game 1 of the ALDS! Step right up, folks! Come see the New York Yankees play three innings of actual baseball and six innings of sad trombone noises! Wah-waaaaah! 🤡🎺

The Houston Astros came into Yankee Stadium and stole one faster than I bail on a charity gig! Final score: Astros 4, Yankees 3 — and if you’re a Yankees fan, yes, that taste in your mouth is regret and lightly used pinstripe tears!

Let’s talk about Will "Don’t Call Me Granny" Goldsmith! The guy’s 34 years old — that’s, like, 92 in pitcher years! Seven innings, six hits, only three runs, and he somehow kept his ERA lower than my cholesterol level after a funnel cake binge! 🎡💀

Oh! And Eddie Arciniega? With a clutch RBI double in the seventh that gave the 'Stros the lead? That’s showbiz, baby! One hit all game, but who cares? Timing is everything! Just ask my third divorce lawyer! Hoo-hoo-HAAA!

And the Yankees? Oooooh boy. They got seven hits, but left more runners stranded than a clown car in rush hour. Buchanan, Crane, Ruiz—I’ve seen more contact in a mime convention! 😬

They tried, folks. I mean, Schultz knocked in one, Ray had two hits, and Simmons doubled in a run... but that’s like throwing glitter on a dumpster fire — it’s still a mess, it just sparkles now!

As for the bullpens? Houston brings in A. Reyes for the save — two innings, one hit, no drama. Meanwhile, the Yankees rolled with Deming, who lasted eight innings on 116 pitches. His ERA’s holding on by a thread, and somewhere in the clubhouse, he’s icing his shoulder in Gatorade and regret. 🧊😭

Let’s not forget the errors: one each for Morine and Crane. Smooth move, fellas! I’ve seen tighter fundamentals at Krusty’s Clown College... and our shortstop is a goat. Literally!

Final thoughts? Astros go up 1-0 in the series. Yankees fans go down a few notches in blood pressure. And somewhere in Houston, manager David Cork is laughing like he just found a winning lottery ticket in a Cracker Jack box.

Tune in tomorrow, kids! Same Krusty time, same Krusty station! Until then — keep laughin', keep swingin', and whatever you do, don’t bunt in the third inning with two outs and a runner on second!

Hoo-hoo-ha-HA! Krusty OUT! 🎤💥💨

[jg2977]

🎙️IF YA SMELLLLLLLL-LA-LA-LA-LAOW… WHAT THE WHITE SOX… ARE COOKIN’!!! 🎤🔥

FINALLY… the ALDS has come back… to the South Side of CHICAGOOOO!

The White Sox came out swingin’ in Game 1 of the American League Division Series, and let The Rock tell ya somethin’ — they laid the smacketh down on the Baltimore Orioles’ candy feathers with a 2–0 shutout in front of a crowd louder than the Brahma Bull at WrestleMania!

Let’s talk about the man of the hour, the pitcher of the power, the sultan of the slider — Matt “The Main Event” Terry! Seven innings of pure electrification. Four hits, no runs, one walk, and a strikeout so smooth it left the Orioles cryin’ in their crab cakes. If you smell toast… that’s just Matt Terry cookin’ up a goose egg on the scoreboard!

And then… the bottom of the fourth. OHHHH, the bottom of the fourth. The White Sox got their shot, and they took it like a steel chair to the ribs. K. Centeno with the RBI that got the people out of their seats. DANNY “THE PEOPLES CATCHER” SANCHEZ follows it up with a shot through the infield like a Rock Bottom through a table — BAM — 2-0, Sox.

Meanwhile, Baltimore? ZERO runs. FIVE hits. ONE poor lonely fan still clappin’ in the 9th inning. The only thing colder than their bats is the look The Rock gives to jabronis who try to cut the line at catering.

Let’s give a little golf clap to Albert Garay, Orioles pitcher — he went eight full innings, held the Sox to five hits and two runs. But just like The Rock’s 1999 haircut — buddy, it wasn’t enough. This is the playoffs. This is Chicago. This is where legends are born and jabronis are sent home.

And then came D. Moran, closin’ it out with the kind of dominance you only see when The Rock’s about to drop The People’s Elbow. Two innings, one hit, and NO MERCY. That’s how you open a postseason.

So what’s next?

Game 2, same time, same ring. The Sox are up 1-0, and they’re lookin’ to take this series, raise the AL pennant, and march their jabroni-stompin’ selves all the way back to the World Series.

So Baltimore — pack your bags, warm up your bus, and tell the clubhouse cook to put away the lobster rolls, BECAUSE…

THE CHICAGO WHITE SOX ARE ROLLIN’, AND THERE AIN’T NOTHIN’ YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.

🎤 IF YA SMELLLLLLL… WHAT THE SOOOOOOOOOOX… ARE COOKIN’!!! 🔥🔥🔥

(Raises eyebrow. Walks off. Crowd explodes.)

[jg2977]

Gimme a hell yeah if the Pittsburgh Pirates just stomped a mudhole in the Phillies and walked it dry!!! 🍻💥

October 8th, 1916 — Citizens Bank Park — and that’s the night the Philadelphia jabronis got their candy asses handed to ‘em 2 to 1 by the bad boys from Pittsburgh. And if you don’t like that, Stone Cold’s got two words for ya... ⚰️ TOO BAD!

Now let’s talk about Julio freakin’ Cardenas — that rookie stepped up on the mound, strutted in like he owned the damn place, and threw 7 innings of whoop-ass. Only gave up 4 hits, 1 run, and kept the Phillies quieter than a church mouse tip-toein’ past a rattlesnake. That’s a Stone Cold fact!

Scott Arena? This son of a gun shows up in the fourth inning, steps into the batter’s box with two runners on and says, "Lemme show ya how we do things in Steel City." BOOM — a 2-run triple off Hoelzle. Crowd goes silent, beers go warm, Phillies fans go home. 💀

And how about J. Farley? Came in for the 2-inning save like a rattlesnake in the weeds. Two innings. Zero hits. Two strikeouts. That’s the kind of bullpen heat that makes you wanna smash a few Steveweisers and stun the whole damn dugout!

Meanwhile, the Phillies? Oh, they tried. They scratched one across in the 4th and then just laid down and took it like a bunch of jabronis caught in the Texas Cloverleaf. Couldn’t cash in, couldn’t hit, and sure as hell couldn’t win.

E. Hoelzle? Decent outing, 6.2 innings, 2 earned, blah blah blah... BUT AT THE END OF THE DAY, SON, HE STILL TOOK THE L!

Final score:
PIRATES – 2
PHILLIES – 1
Glass-shattering silence in Philly.

So tomorrow night, Game 2 back at Citizens Bank Park — and lemme tell ya, if the Phillies don’t show up ready to fight, the Pirates are gonna go Stone Cold Stunner on this whole damn series, sweep ‘em right out of the postseason, and start packing their bags for the NLCS.

And that’s the bottom line… 'cause STONE COLD SAID SO!!! 🧃🧃💥💥💥

🎤 [smashes mic]
🎉 [catches two beers midair]
💀 [cracks 'em open, pours 'em all over this win]

[jg2977]

Yo, lemme tell ya somethin’ 'bout this ballgame right here…

October 8th, 1916 — Oracle Park — the place was packed, the crowd was buzzin', and what happened? The San Francisco Giants took some hits, went the distance, and came back swingin’ like a real champion. Just like me, Rocky Balboa. 🥊

The Cincinnati Reds? They came out hot, ya know? Threw a couple punches in the 1st inning — 3 runs. Boom. Just like gettin’ popped in the mouth before your gloves are even laced up. But what do the Giants do?

They got up.

Down 3-0? That ain’t nothin’. By the 3rd, the Giants answered back with three of their own, like a left-right-hook from the South Philly school of hard knocks. You gotta respect that.

Now listen, this kid Alex Baca? Fuggedaboutit. Three hits. A triple. A double. Two runs. This guy was everywhere. Hustlin’ on the bases, puttin’ pressure on the defense, grindin' like it was the fifteenth round at the Spectrum. This guy’s got heart, y'know? You don’t win games like this without guts — and Baca’s got ‘em.

And then in the bottom of the 11th, lights bright, crowd goin’ crazy — two outs, pressure boilin’, and here comes Joe Edwards. Bang! RBI single. Walk-off win. Crowd explodes. Reds go down. That's what we call a knockout punch, baby.

Final score: 6-5, Giants.

But it wasn’t just about the bats — Francisco Quintana, this guy comes in from the pen, throws four shutout innings, no hits, no walks. Ice cold veins. That’s the kinda stuff that wins championships, not just games.

The Reds? Hey, they threw some haymakers too. Ojeda with two doubles, Castaneda with a homer — they came to fight. But they made some mistakes, y'know? A couple errors, left some runners hangin’, and when it came time to dig deep? The Giants had more in the tank.

That’s the thing about this game, and life, y'know? It ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep movin’ forward. And that’s what the Giants did.

They’re up 1-0 in the series, but it ain't over. Just like no fight’s over until the final bell rings. Reds are gonna come back swingin’, and the Giants? They better be ready.

Yo Adrian — they won. 🏟️👊🍂

Rocky out. 🐅🎤

[jg2977]

BRONX BUMMER!

Astros Drop Yanks, One Win from ALCS — Houston 4, Yankees 2

By The New York Post Sports Desk

HOUSTON, WE HAVE LIFT-OFF.

The Bronx was anything but booming Sunday afternoon as the pinstripes flailed and the Houston Astros moved one win away from the American League Championship Series, silencing Yankee Stadium with a 4-2 gut-punch.

While the Yankees looked lost at the plate, Houston lefty Luke Peters turned the Bronx into his own backyard, tossing seven innings of four-hit dominance and leaving the Bombers swinging at ghosts.

“We need better swings,” mumbled Yankees skipper Rickey Arnette postgame.
No kidding, Rickey.
The 'Stros pounced early, plating three in the first like they were late for dinner. Jon Dunham’s 2-out double cracked the scoreboard, and by the time the Yankees got their first runner past second base, they were already chasing shadows.

The Yanks scraped together a run in the 4th thanks to Geoff Shackford’s RBI triple, and another in the 8th on Matt Simmons’ RBI double — but it was too little, too late.

Meanwhile, Peters kept mowing 'em down with surgical precision, fanning seven and walking just two on 103 efficient pitches.

The real insult? Houston didn't even bring the boom — they just peppered the outfield with well-placed contact. Eight hits, two errors by New York, and not a single Astro longball in sight. Just smart baseball, the kind Yankee fans used to expect in October.

New York’s starter George Attwood battled for 8.2 innings, but his defense betrayed him. A pair of errors — including a brutal one from shortstop Leander van der Linde — gave the Astros more than enough rope to hang the Yankees’ hopes out to dry.

“We’ve been here before,” said a defiant (but nervous) fan in Section 234.
Yeah, but not in a good way.
The Yankees now face elimination on Tuesday in Houston, and unless they find some thunder — or divine intervention — the only October baseball in the Bronx will be replays on YES.

Final line:
Astros 4, Yankees 2
Series: Houston leads 2-0
Next Game: Tuesday @ Minute Maid Park

YANKEES FANS: PANIC LEVEL — HIGH.
HOUSTON: ONE WIN FROM ANOTHER ALCS DANCE.
NEW YORK: ONE MORE LOSS FROM AN EARLY EXIT.

TICK… TICK… BOOM.

[jg2977]

“THE AL CHAMPS DON'T MISS, BABY.”

White Sox Float Like a Butterfly, Blank Orioles 4-0 in South Side Showdown

By Apollo Creed (yeah, that’s right, I said it)

CHICAGO — OHHH BALTIMORE, Y’ALL JUST GOT DANCED ON.

Now that was a performance worthy of the main event, baby. While the Orioles were stuck shadowboxing with the strike zone, the Chicago White Sox came out sharp, struttin’ and jabbin’ like a champ on Broadway.

Hugo Avalos? Man, that brother pitched like he had silk gloves and fire in his soul — 7 innings, zero runs, zero mercy. Just four hits allowed and more swagger than a Cadillac with the top down.

“I told you before,” Avalos said cool and smooth, towel draped over his shoulder, “I don’t throw punches — I paint corners.”
That’s poetry in cleats, baby.
The Sox got the party started in the 1st, danced a little more in the 4th with Lance Satterwhite’s solo homer, and kept the rhythm going with two more runs sprinkled through like confetti at a title parade.

And let me tell you something: Luke Satterwhite? That man was shining like a spotlight. Double. Dinger. Two RBIs. This wasn’t a game, it was a performance.

Chicago's defense? Tighter than a drum solo. They turned a sweet double play and shut Baltimore down like last call on Bourbon Street.

Meanwhile, Baltimore? They were searchin’ for a groove, but it just wasn’t their song. Six hits. Fifteen left stranded. You can’t win a fight if you don’t throw a punch.

“We’ll regroup,” mumbled someone from the O’s bench.
Naw, man. You better retrain.
Now Chicago leads this dance 2-0, and they’re just one win away from that big ballroom we call the ALCS. Next stop? Oriole Park, where the Sox will bring the rhythm, the power, and the heat.

So listen here, Baltimore — you got one shot to stand tall, bite down on that mouthpiece, and fight back.
Because the White Sox? They ain’t just playin’. They’re performin’.

AND THE SHOW’S JUST GETTIN’ STARTED.

“You wanna be a champion?”
Then act like one.
And today?
Chicago stood tall. Baltimore fell short.
Creed out. ��

[jg2977]

CLUBBER LANG’S TAKE: PAIN DELIVERED, TIED UP, AND COMIN’ FOR MORE

PHILLIES BRING THE HURT, TIE UP SERIES WITH 4-2 SMACKDOWN OVER PIRATES

PHILADELPHIA — You step into Citizens Bank Park, you better be ready to fight. You better come with fists up and jaw tight, ‘cause Philly don’t play, and tonight, the Phillies landed every punch with bad intentions. Ask Pittsburgh.

I told you fools this wasn’t gonna be a tea party. This ain’t poetry. This is baseball like a beatdown, and the Phillies just leveled the Pirates, 4-2, to square the NLDS like a proper slugfest.

Jimmy Grubbs? That man’s got ice in his veins and fire in his soul. Seven strong innings, only two runs, barely broke a sweat. He stared down that Pittsburgh lineup like he was lookin’ at a plate of cold spaghetti. Ain’t nothin’. Just chewed ‘em up.

“I predict pain,” Grubbs didn’t say, but he lived it. Seven hits allowed, four K’s, and no fear.
Frank Smalley? He’s got lightning in his bat, baby. Triple in the 2nd, sent the crowd into orbit. That wasn’t a base hit, that was a statement. You try’n take this series? We got somethin’ to say about that.

Don’t sleep on Ruben Serrano either — man had two doubles like he was dealin’ cards in a backroom brawl. V. Brown, I. Garcia, all got in on the beatdown. Ain’t no free rides in Philly.

Now Pittsburgh? Eh. They showed a little fight. A couple runs in the 4th. But they didn’t come with the attitude. Eight hits, two runs? That ain’t enough when Clubber’s in the house. You wanna win in October? You better bring the pain, not just show up for the handshake.

“We’ll get ‘em back at home,” someone from the Pirates probably mumbled into their glove.
You better. ‘Cause next time? It’s PNC Park. Game 3. One team walks out, the other crawls.

FINAL WARNING:
Philly’s awake now. Citizens Bank is buzzin’. The gloves are off.

And this series?
IT AIN’T OVER.
IT’S WAR.

Prediction for next game?

PAIN.

[jg2977]

IF HE DIES, HE DIES: GRATER, GIANTS CRUSH REDS WITH COLD EFFICIENCY

SAN FRANCISCO — No emotion. No mercy. No escape.

Ryan Grater did not pitch. Ryan Grater executed. He stood tall on the mound—stone-faced, unmoved—and dismantled the Cincinnati Reds, one batter at a time. Complete game. Three hits. Zero runs. No chance.

Giants win 5-0. Series 2-0. One more game, and Cincinnati is finished.

Grater—tall, strong, ruthless—threw 112 pitches of punishment. He made Reds hitters swing and miss. He made them fear the strike zone. They came to compete, and they were dominated.

“He showed no weakness,” said manager Chris Roberts.
“He showed perfection,” said Ivan Drago.
J. Linkletter hit like hammer. Three hits, two RBIs. Fast. Precise. Deadly.
A. Baca? Three hits of his own. Silent killer. Always moving.
I. Ramos? Sacrifice fly. Tactical. Calculated. No flash, just power.

San Francisco attacked early. Two in the first. One in the second. Two more in the fourth. Then... silence. Like watching a machine power down—only after the job is done.

Cincinnati? Weak. No fire. No damage. Just three scattered hits and six strikeouts. They are broken.

J. Landaverde tried. Eight innings. Ten hits. Five earned runs. He did not quit. But this is war. Trying is not enough.

"He fought well," Drago says, staring into the distance. "But in the end... he was outmatched."
Next stop: Great American Ball Park. Game 3. The Reds are home. But they are bleeding.
The Giants smell it.
Grater drew first blood. The rest will follow.

Cincinnati must fight like champions... or fall like the rest.

Prediction: Giants finish what they started.
No emotion. No mercy.
Victory is inevitable.

“I defeat all men. Even in baseball.” — Drago.

[jg2977]

Orioles Walk Off in Game 3 Thriller, Keep ALDS Hopes Alive at Camden Yards

By The Baltimore Sun Staff | October 10, 1916 | Camden Yards

BALTIMORE — In a game that hung on every pitch, it was the hometown faithful who erupted last, and loudest.

Shortstop Chris Alfonso, quiet until it mattered most, delivered a clutch ninth-inning single to lift the Baltimore Orioles to a 3-2 walk-off victory over the Chicago White Sox on Tuesday afternoon at Oriole Park at Camden Yards. The win breathes life into Baltimore’s postseason, trimming Chicago’s lead in the American League Division Series to 2-1 and forcing a Game 4 on Wednesday.

On a crisp October afternoon, it was left-hander Sal Cantu who set the tone for the Orioles. In front of 43,736 raucous fans, Cantu spun seven masterful innings, surrendering just two hits and two runs—only one of them earned—while keeping Chicago's bats quiet and the Birds’ hopes aloft.

“I just tried to attack the bottom of the zone and keep it there,” Cantu said afterward, his voice low and calm in the postgame clubhouse. “That’s where we could win.”

And win they did—with flair.

After falling behind 2-0 in the fifth inning, the Orioles struck back immediately. A double by J. Rizo and a sharp RBI single from O. Herrera sparked a two-run rally to tie the game, igniting a crowd hungry for a postseason moment.

From there, it became a battle of nerves.

Reliever A. Jeoffrey worked two crucial shutout innings in relief of Cantu, stranding a pair of runners in the top of the ninth to preserve the tie and set the stage for a dramatic finish.

In the bottom of the inning, it was Alfonso—already with two hits to his name—who stepped in with runners aboard and the season in the balance. He laced a 2-1 pitch into left field, sending Santiago Herrera racing home from third and bringing the dugout and the ballpark to life.

“I was just thinking, ‘Put the ball in play. Make something happen,’” Alfonso said. “And then I heard the crowd. I’ll never forget that sound.”

The win not only staves off elimination but shifts the series’ momentum back to Baltimore, who will host Game 4 with renewed energy and a resurgent belief in their own October destiny.

A Look at the Numbers:

Alfonso finished the day 3-for-5, driving in the winning run and raising his postseason average to .364.
Cantu’s ERA through two playoff starts now sits at a stingy 0.64, further solidifying his postseason credentials.
Rizo contributed two hits, including a double, while Hyland and McCarvill chipped in with timely production.
The Orioles outhit the White Sox 8 to 4, and stranded nine men on base—a sign that despite the win, they’ll want more efficiency with runners in scoring position in Game 4.
Looking Ahead:

Game 4 is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon at Oriole Park. First pitch is set for 2:05 PM ET. The Orioles will need another strong showing to send this series back to Chicago for a decisive fifth game. The White Sox, meanwhile, will aim to close the door.

For Baltimore, Tuesday was a victory defined not by dominance, but by heart—and the belief that October magic still resides at Camden Yards.

“It’s not over,” Cantu said with a steady gaze. “Not even close.”

[jg2977]

It is high... it is far... IT IS A YANKEES WIN!

By John Sterling, voice of the Yankees – October 10, 1916

HOUSTON — Ohhhhhh my! You can’t predict baseball!

The New York Yankees, teetering on the edge of elimination, rose from the ashes in the ninth inning like a Broadway revival—and ladies and gentlemen, what a performance it was! They storm back to beat the Houston Astros, 4 to 3, in a heart-pounding Game 3 of the Division Series, and they live to fight another day!

You talk about drama? You talk about grit? You talk about—Tom Buchanan?!

Yes, the designated hitter, silent all night, came up in the ninth inning and wrote a new chapter in Yankees postseason lore—a TOM-TOM TRIPLE! He rips one into the gap in right-center, it rolls all the way to the wall, two runners score, and the Yankees... take the lead!

Ohhhh, Tommy boy! He’s the Buchanan Brawler!

Earlier in the game, it was Mark Crane—yes, MARK, not Clarke—who delivered a two-out RBI double to put the Yanks on the board in the third. And then came Jimmy Schultz, knocking in another with a base hit. Shackford was stackin' hits behind the plate, going 3-for-4 like he was calling a symphony from the batter’s box.

But make no mistake, the man of the hour, the toast of the Bronx, the Bronx Bull himself—Justin Bowles! The righty went eight strong, grinding through Houston’s lineup like a metronome of menace. Eight innings, eight hits, but only three runs—and not a walk to be found. Now that’s a big-league effort!

And then… enter Nevarez! Calm as a cab ride down 161st Street. One inning, three batters, boom-boom-boom—save number one, series still alive.

Let’s talk about Minute Maid Park—it was loud, it was orange, it was buzzing—but the Bronx Bombers silenced the crowd in the ninth. A total gut punch to Houston, who were looking to sweep. Instead, the pinstripes bring the thunder, and we’ve got ourselves a series again!

The Yankees now trail 2 games to 1, and folks, Game 4 is tomorrow! The Yankees will try to even things up, and if tonight is any sign of what’s to come, well... hold onto your hats!

Because this one was...

THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE YANKEES WIN!!!

THAAAAAA YANKEES... WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!

Stay tuned for Game 4 action tomorrow right here on your home for October drama—and always remember: you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn... you just can’t.

[jg2977]

Pedro Cerrano Baseball Report — October 11, 1916
(as only Cerrano would say it)

Giants beat Reds. Giants strong. Reds... no have enough marbles.

CINCINNATI — The gods of baseball, they smile on San Francisco today. The mighty Giants, with hearts like lion, arms like thunder, and bats that speak truth, sweep the Reds and march on to National League Championship.

Jobu is pleased.

San Francisco win 2 to 1. Not big win. But big enough. When warriors go to battle, it is not about flash — it is about fire. Giants pitcher Vinny Luevanos, he have fire. Seven innings, five hits, no fear. Throws with courage. Throws with honor. He does not fear curveball.

Then come Quintana — like blade in the dark. Two innings, no runs, only silence. Silence from Reds. Silence from crowd. Silence... is the sound of victory.

The Reds — they try. They scratch. They fight. One run from Castaneda in the sixth. But it is like mosquito bite to rhino. Giants do not flinch.

Alex Baca, he is man of series. He hits everything. Fastball? Hit. Slider? Hit. Change-up? Ha! Hit again. He bat .615. Jobu blesses his bat. Jobu makes it gold.

Cerrano sees many things in this game. He sees Dominguez swing hard like tree falling. He sees Rudeseal run like jaguar. He sees Contreras, Ramos, Fisher — all play like men who believe. Like men who know they go to next battle.

Reds... they look confused. They bring bats, but forget the thunder. They bring gloves, but forget the fire. Jobu cannot help them. Cerrano cannot help them. No one can help them. They are swept. Like dust. Like crumbs. Gone.

Now Giants wait. They wait to fight next challenger — Pirates or Phillies. Cerrano says it don’t matter. When team have honor, when team have Jobu on shoulder — team is ready.

Giants go to NLCS. Giants make fire. Giants drink rum.

Baseball is strange game. But today, it was beautiful.

Giants win. Jobu approves.

[jg2977]

nlds

[jg2977]

Rick “Wild Thing” Vaughn, Postgame Breakdown
October 11, 1916 – PNC Park, Pittsburgh
PHILLIES @ PIRATES — NLDS GAME 3

Alright people, fasten your seatbelts. Because what we just saw out there in Pittsburgh? That was a freaking clinic.

Pittsburgh Pirates 3, Philadelphia Phillies 1. That’s the final, and lemme tell ya — the Buccos came in like they had serious attitude, and they just put Philly on their heels like a rookie trying to hit a Vaughn heater.

Now listen up...

Sean Hughes? The dude was ICE. Seven innings, four hits, gave up just one run, and that was basically on a soft jab. No homers, no damage. The guy didn’t even break a sweat. Like, if I threw a game like that back in the day? I’d be struttin’ off the mound like I owned the stadium. Which I usually did.

And then Carlos Villa — BOOM! Fifth inning, one swing, two runs off Hector Castello. I don’t even think the ball's landed yet. It was gone, baby, gone. That one had vapor trails. I stood up in the press box and yelled “SEE. YOU. LATER.” Security didn’t love that, but hey — I’m Rick Vaughn.

Meanwhile, Philly looked like they couldn’t hit water if they fell outta a boat. Hector Castello actually wasn’t bad — eight innings, only three hits, three runs (two earned), and one huge mistake — Villa’s bomb. But let’s be real, you can’t win if your bats are made of wet newspaper. Five hits, two errors... c’mon. You’re not gonna beat the Pirates sleepwalking like that.

Offensive MVP? Villa, hands down. Defensive MVP? Nobody booted anything. Pirates were cleaner than a fresh shave. And the bullpen? Farley comes in and shuts the damn door. Two innings, zero drama. Just the way we like it.

Pittsburgh now leads the series 2-1. One more win and they’re heading to the NLCS to face the Giants, who just steamrolled the Reds like a freight train full of angry rhinos. So the Pirates better keep this fire burning — because San Fran? They don’t mess around.

Next game’s in Pittsburgh. If the Phillies don’t come in swinging like their careers are on the line? It’s curtains. Pack the bags. Book the tee times.

This is Rick Vaughn, signing off. Keep it fast, keep it wild, and whatever you do — never hang a curveball to a guy named Villa. Trust me.

[jg2977]

White Sox Slide into ALCS with Swagger, Speed & a Touch of Flash
October 11, 1916 – Oriole Park at Camden Yards
WHITE SOX 4, ORIOLES 2 — CHICAGO WINS SERIES 3-1

Yo, it’s your boy Willie Mays Hayes here, comin’ at you fast and flashy from Baltimore, where the Chicago White Sox just danced, dashed, and dove their way into their second straight ALCS — and did it with that cool, crisp style I like to call winning with flavor.

Now lemme break this one down for you real smooth…

Kyle Centeno, baby! This man was everywhere. MVP of the Division Series? You better believe it. Hit .400, crossed the plate three times, and looked smoother than silk on defense. You coulda served dinner off his glove. He’s the kinda player you don’t wanna face with the game on the line… unless you like watching fireworks you didn’t plan.

The game? Tight. Like me trying to fit into last year’s cleats. White Sox got it started early with a run in the first, then went real quiet — like, library quiet — for seven innings. But the ninth? Ooh boy, Rehfeld stepped up with a double that cleared the bags like a fire drill. Boom. Just like that, Chicago flips the score from 1-1 to 4-1. Mic drop.

Baltimore tried to get cute in the bottom of the ninth, made it 4-2, but that was it. Too little, too slow. And let’s not forget those Oriole errors — FOUR of ‘em! C’mon now! You can’t win a playoff game kickin’ the ball around like it owes you money.

Pitching? Alex Cruz was stone cold. Seven innings, two hits, seven walks (heh — little wild there, kid), but ZERO bombs. Then D. Moran came in and sealed it like a pro. You love to see it.

Defense? Three double plays by Chicago. That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Like I always say, you hit it on the ground, you’re gonna run like me or you’re gonna run back to the dugout.

So now the Sox are sittin’ pretty, waitin’ to see if they face the Yankees or the Astros. Either way, you know they comin’ with speed, gloves, and just enough swagger to make your grandma lean in and say, “Now that’s baseball.”

White Sox, baby — movin’ on, lookin’ good, and runnin’ like I taught ‘em.

Stay flashy,
Willie Mays Hayes
“I hit like Mays, I run like Hayes, and I always deliver when it counts.”

[jg2977]

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