National Baseball League

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CHRIS BERMAN STYLE – ESPN SPORTSCENTER (RELOADED)
More nicknames, more bombs, more Berman!

Back, back, back, back... GONE to the Bay!
But not for the Giants… ohhh no, this time it was the Baltimore “Birds of Prey” Orioles who flapped and clapped their way to a Game 3 victory in the World Series, beating the San Francisco Giants 3–2 at Oracle Park and taking a 2-1 series lead!
��️ We start with the man who painted the corners like Picasso, Sal “Like the Pizza” Cantu!
Seven innings of gourmet stuff, just one earned run, and command so tight it made a drum jealous. He diced the Giants like sashimi at a Tokyo steakhouse.
And A.J. “No Relation to Thomas Jefferson” Jeoffrey? He slammed the door in the 8th and 9th. Two innings, one save, three straight zeros on the scoreboard. That’s closer material, baby!

�� But let’s not forget the first boom of the night... and it came in the third inning courtesy of Chris “The Bronx Bomber in Baltimore” Alfonso!
With one out and no one on, he sent a souvenir into the misty Bay air—a solo SHOT off Seth Beeman that rattled the crab traps.
BOOM goes the Alfonso-mite!
And later, with the game tied at 1–1 in the 8th...
Kazuhito “Kung Fu” Kawakami said "Hi-YA!" to the Giants' hopes with a clutch RBI single. He only went 1-for-4, but that hit?
Game-changer. Script-flipper. Kung Fu finisher.
�� Flip it over to the home squad—
The Giants had some sparks:
Benito “Can You Smell What He’s” Gargallo scored both runs, while Nate “The Natural” Moser came up big AGAIN with a clutch 2-out RBI double in the 8th to pull it close.
But Shamar “The Bee Man” Beeman, who looked buzzworthy through 7, ran into a sting in the 8th.
Enter Nico “Not the Velvet Underground” Gomez, who gave up 6 hits in two innings. And the lead? Poof. Gone. Like the fog over the Bay.
�� Giants left 6 on, grounded into two double plays, and couldn’t crack the Baltimore bullpen.
You can’t spell “clutch” without C-H, but tonight the Giants left the clutch in neutral.

��️ Game 4? That’s tomorrow at Oracle.
Will the Giants bounce back, or will the Orioles put ‘em in a chokehold and take a 3-1 strangle lead?
Stay tuned, folks.
But for now...
Orioles 3, Giants 2.

This bird?
It’s got launch codes.

I’m Chris Berman, and I’m Berman–OUTTA HERE! ����⚾

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MAD DOG CHRIS RUSSO STYLE — ON A RANT FROM SAN FRANCISCO!!

OOOOOH MY GOD!!!
I mean — I mean — YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!
WHY—IN—THE—NAME—OF—WILLIE—MAYS—ARE YOU STILL BRINGING IN NELSON GOMEZ?!?!

HE’S TERRIBLE!!!
HE STINKS!!!

We’re in Game 4 of the World Series! You’re down 2 games to 1, you get SEVEN innings of PURE GOLD from Ryan Grater — SEVEN! The kid gives you a gutsy, gorgeous, three-hit, one-run performance. He leaves the game with a lead. A lead! And what do you do??
YOU HAND THE BALL TO GOMEZ!! AGAIN!!!

And guess what happens?
Let’s go to the tape:

8th inning?
Double. Walk. SINGLE. 2-RUN SINGLE by some guy named JORDAN RIZO, who hasn’t had a hit since the Woodrow Wilson administration.
AND THEN YOU LEAVE GOMEZ IN?!?!
What happens next? BOOM — a double by Kawakami, and the go-ahead run’s in.
Next inning?
First out, fine.
Then GOMEZ serves up a MEATBALL to SANTIAGO VALDEZ?? WHO??
Gone. See ya. Ballgame.
WHY! WHY IS THIS MAN STILL IN THE POSTSEASON BULLPEN?
He’s now 1-and-3 in the playoffs, ERA over 7, and has blown TWO SAVES! TWO!!!

“Oh, he’s got good stuff,” they say.
Yeah — good stuff for the OTHER TEAM!

I mean seriously — Ryan Grater’s probably ripping his jersey apart in the dugout, wondering if he needs to finish his own games now!

Let’s not forget, folks:
The Giants scored early. CONTRERAS goes deep in the 1st! They’re up 2-0. You’re at home. Crowd’s going bananas.
And you do NOTHING after that! Offense goes ice cold! Zippo!
Not one hit in the final three innings. That’s not championship baseball — that’s spring training in March!

And I don’t want to hear it — “Bojorquez was dealing” — STOP.
You had chances.
You let Nelson Gomez bury you.
AGAIN!

And now?
The Giants are down 3-1, and Baltimore is ONE WIN AWAY from stealing this series in YOUR HOUSE.

UN-AC-CEPT-ABLE.

Tomorrow is do or die, and let me tell ya right now:
If I see Nelson Gomez warming up in the 8th inning tomorrow, I’m taking a kayak into McCovey Cove and I’m not coming back!!

I’m MAD DOG RUSSO — and I need a blood pressure check.

GOODNIGHT!!!
rips papers, storms off set

[jg2977]

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[jg2977]

Baltimore Orioles: 1917 World Series Champions
1902 1904 1907 1917

JIM PALMER STYLE — O’s WIN IT ALL! ORIOLES CLAIM 4TH WORLD SERIES TITLE
Well, that’s how you finish a ballgame.
That’s how you finish a season.
And folks, that’s how you win a World Series.

From the booth here at Oracle Park, watching these Baltimore Orioles celebrate on enemy turf after an 8–3 win over San Francisco—it’s poetic. This team, this group, this clubhouse—they came out from day one of spring training with a purpose, and today, they’ve completed that mission.

This is championship number four for the franchise—1902, 1904, 1907… and now 1917. And let me tell you something as a guy who knows a little something about winning from the mound—this team had the pitching, the poise, and the personality to pull this off from the start.

Let’s talk about Kevin Johnson.
You want to win a title on the road? You need a starter who’s not afraid of the moment. And that’s what Johnson was today. Eight and two-thirds innings, pitching to contact, mixing speeds, keeping Giants hitters guessing, never letting the game speed up on him. He threw 107 pitches—70 for strikes—and when he left the mound in the ninth, he had earned every bit of that standing ovation from the visiting dugout.

But it wasn’t just Johnson. This whole lineup came through when it mattered.

— Sergio Herrera, the Series MVP, made sure his final stamp on the series was a big one—a three-run homer in the seventh that busted this game wide open. That swing? That’s why he’s the guy you want in center field and in the batter’s box with the lights brightest.

— Kazuhito Kawakami, one of the most disciplined hitters in baseball, launched a solo shot in the 9th—his fifth of the postseason. Just a tremendous piece of hitting. He works counts, doesn’t try to do too much, and when you make a mistake, he makes you pay.

— Don’t overlook Chris Alfonso, either. Another big 2-run double back in the 4th. He may not get the spotlight like Herrera or Kawakami, but those at-bats? That’s how championships are won—grinding, fighting, driving in runs with two outs.

You know what I loved most?
This wasn’t just a team winning with talent. This was a team that executed. That outplayed their opponent in every facet—defense, situational hitting, pitching, poise. They made the big plays and the smart ones, and they didn’t beat themselves.

San Francisco’s a good team, and they’ll be back. But they were outmatched in this series—out-managed, out-hit, and certainly out-pitched.

As for Baltimore? They’re not just World Series champions today.
They’re a team that deserves to be remembered. Four titles in 16 years? That’s what dynasties are built on.

Congratulations to Manager Ed Galindo and this entire Orioles roster.
From the dugout to the bullpen to the fans back home in Baltimore—

This team earned every bit of this.
They’re champions. And no one can ever take that away.

— I’m Jim Palmer. Let’s go enjoy the celebration.

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1917 World Series

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3rd Cy Young, 2nd straight

Jim Lahey-style Cy Young Newsflash (with a splash of liquor-fueled wisdom):
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, cats and kittens... let me tell ya somethin’ about Sal Cantu — the man just backed a dump truck full of excellence into the Baseball Awards Office and dumped out a Cy Young trophy so shiny it gave the sun a goddamn inferiority complex.

There’s less room in his trophy case than there is beer in Randy’s fridge, because this beautiful Baltimore hurler just walked away with the 1917 American League Cy Young — unanimous, baby. That means 30 first place votes. Not one stray ballot. That’s rarer than a sober Julian.

Let’s run the numbers like a man on a bender with a calculator:

22 wins, only 6 losses.
2.34 ERA — that’s lower than Ricky’s credit score.
156 K’s across 269.1 innings — the man pitched more innings than I’ve had whiskey shots in November, and that’s saying something.
Only 67 walks — because Sal Cantu doesn’t hand out free passes. Life ain't a charity, and neither is the strike zone, boys.
And where was everyone else?
Mike Deming of the Yankees? Second place. He brought a butter knife to a gun fight.
Kevin Johnson, Cantu’s Orioles teammate? Great pitcher. World Series winner. Third place. Still stuck behind Mount Cantu.
The rest? Just names in the rearview mirror of a man driving a high-octane victory train.

Here's the scoreboard for all you stat-loving liquor jockeys:

Player Team 1st Place Total Points
Sal Cantu Baltimore Orioles 30 210
Mike Deming NY Yankees 0 120
Kevin Johnson Baltimore Orioles 0 76
Cole Galindo Seattle Mariners 0 73
Jesse Vadala KC Royals 0 21
Sean Lorenz NY Yankees 0 4
Julio Morales Seattle Mariners 0 3
Will Goldsmith Houston Astros 0 2
Albert Garay Baltimore Orioles 0 1

So raise a glass, raise a bat, raise Randy if he’s passed out again on the front lawn — because Sal Cantu is the Cy Young, and the rest of the league? Just living in his beautifully pitched shadow.
This isn’t just baseball, boys...
It’s liquor-fueled destiny.

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PRINCIPAL STRICKLAND MODE ACTIVATED.
Slams office door.
Adjusts tie. Squints with absolute disgust at any form of underachievement.

Listen up, slackers!

You can talk all you want about ERA this and innings pitched that, but there's only one pitcher in the National League who showed the kind of discipline, focus, and—yes—respect for the game that I expect from a real professional. That man is RICARDO GARCIA of the Miami Marlins, and he just taught the rest of the league a lesson in how not to be a slacker.

This guy? Thirty-five starts.
Eighteen wins.
Only five losses.
2.54 ERA over 248 innings.
And let me tell you something—when you punch out 115 batters, you're not just pitching... you're laying down the law.

And he didn’t just win the 1917 National League Cy Young Award…
No no no…
He dominated it.
Unanimous. Thirty first-place votes. That means every single voter looked at Garcia and said, “Now that’s a pitcher who gets to class on time.”

The rest of you? Here’s the breakdown:

Player Team 1st Place Total Points
Ricardo Garcia Miami Marlins 30 210
Rich Alvarado Cincinnati Reds 0 67
Constantino Flor LA Dodgers 0 60
Jun-seo Kim Pittsburgh Pirates 0 36
Bobby Colon Chicago Cubs 0 35
Steven Janczak St. Louis Cardinals 0 33
Eduardo Gavarrete Pittsburgh Pirates 0 23
Eric Hoelzle Philadelphia Phillies 0 17
Vinny Luevanos SF Giants 0 12
Colin Yovanovich Milwaukee Brewers 0 11
Mike Perez LA Dodgers 0 4
Jimmy Grubbs Philadelphia Phillies 0 2

So if you're out there coasting through the season, cutting corners, mailing it in like some kind of homework dodger... take a long, hard look at Ricardo Garcia.
Because in baseball, just like in school, only the disciplined rise to the top.
Everyone else? Slackers!

Now get back to work!
This Cy Young isn’t gonna win itself.

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BIFF TANNEN STYLE — COMIN’ IN HOT FROM HILL VALLEY HIGH, BABY
Well, well, well... look who just punched the rest of the American League right in the kisser!
Josh Freeman! MVP! Again!
That’s two of ‘em now — TWO! Count ‘em! One, two!
You know what I call that?
McFLY-LIKE DOMINATION.

The guy’s basically been running laps around the league all year like it’s his own personal Pepsi Free.
He batted .372, knocked out 207 hits, 40 homers, and drove in 118 ribbies.
What’s he hittin’ with, a Louisville Slugger or a hoverboard?!

And guess what? The voters weren’t dumb this time—
28 first place votes outta 30. The other two probably had too much manure in their eyes.

Now let’s see who finished behind him, just to have a good laugh:

Player Team 1st Place Total Points
Josh Freeman Seattle Mariners 28 410
Tony Guerrero Texas Rangers 0 244
Mark McCall Seattle Mariners 0 227
Nate Cech Seattle Mariners 0 216
Sal Cantu Baltimore Orioles 2 156
Christian Villa Chicago White Sox 0 150
Ethan Holtzen Minnesota Twins 0 122
Mike Lord Minnesota Twins 0 65
Mike Deming New York Yankees 0 62
Manuel Felix Chicago White Sox 0 26
Luke Satterwhite Chicago White Sox 0 22
Sergio Herrera Baltimore Orioles 0 17
Mark Crane New York Yankees 0 12
Jon Dunham Houston Astros 0 11
Kevin Johnson Baltimore Orioles 0 10
Cole Galindo Seattle Mariners 0 8
Alex Pena Minnesota Twins 0 7
Pedro Alicea Anaheim Angels 0 3
Chris Alfonso Baltimore Orioles 0 2

HA! You see that? Seattle didn’t just win the MVP—they basically filled the whole top-five like it was a high school prom ballot!
And Freeman?
He’s the king, baby.
Forget “Mr. Sandman”—this guy’s more like Mr. Slugman, and he just sent every pitcher in the league straight back to dreamland.

So here’s your reminder, world:
When Josh Freeman steps up to the plate, you better duck, or you’ll be eating manure sandwiches for breakfast.

That’s the power of love... and a .372 batting average.

Now get outta here before I call you butthead.

[jg2977]

(IN THE GRIZZLED, GRUMBLIN' STYLE OF BUFORD "MAD DOG" TANNEN)
Daggnabbit! Looks like that no-good, bat-swingin' son of a gun Vince Brown done did it again! That ornery slugger from the Philadelphia Phillies just wrangled himself his FOURTH National League Most Valuable Player Award in 1917.

FOUR TIMES! You hear me?! That's three more times than a man oughta be allowed!

Now this dusty ol' veteran, he ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie—he batted .333, got himself on base near half the time (.498!), cracked 168 hits, 34 doubles, 7 triples, and 37 big flyin’ home runs. And the nerve of it all—he took 164 walks! That’s more than there are rattlesnakes in a canyon!

Scored 135 runs, drove in 119, and made pitchers weep like babies in a thunderstorm.

And them voters? Twenty of ‘em tipped their ten-gallon hats to Brown.
But I reckon there’s still ten with more sense—they cast their lot for Alex Ojeda of the Reds. Still didn’t matter worth a damn. Brown took the crown.

The Tally, If You're Keepin' Score:
Player Team 1st Place Total Points
Vince Brown Philadelphia Phillies 20 369
Alex Ojeda Cincinnati Reds 10 319
Sepp Miller Miami Marlins 0 215
Angelo Liotta Cincinnati Reds 0 184
Jason Gonzalez Arizona D'Backs 0 156
Mel Villalobos Washington Nationals 0 133
Ricardo Contreras San Francisco Giants 0 122
Alan Sloan New York Mets 0 71
Ricardo Garcia Miami Marlins 0 59
Sean Nicholson Cincinnati Reds 0 51
Ricardo Calzolai Los Angeles Dodgers 0 30
Nate Moser San Francisco Giants 0 23
Tsunemori Tamura New York Mets 0 21
Rich Alvarado Cincinnati Reds 0 6
Oscar Arispe St. Louis Cardinals 0 5
Jun-seo Kim Pittsburgh Pirates 0 3
Vinny Luevanos San Francisco Giants 0 2
Justin Laird Milwaukee Brewers 0 1
So here's the deal, partner:
Vince Brown's got more MVPs than I got patience, and that ain’t sayin’ much.
I don't like his fancy walk numbers, I don't like his on-base whatsit, and I sure as shootin’ don’t like that smug look he gets when he rounds third.

But facts is facts, and this year belonged to that Philadelphia snake-wranglin’, base-hoggin’, walk-mongerin’ bandit.

Now if you'll excuse me... I'm gonna go punch somethin’.

– Mad Dog out.
(And if I see Vince Brown in the saloon, there’s gonna be trouble.) 🐎🔥

[jg2977]

2003 NHL Standings

The Kings have made the playoffs for the first time since 1982, and the Avalanche first time since 1990.

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Alright folks, buckle up, Barry Melrose here, and lemme tell ya—if you're a fan of offense, fireworks, and absolute domination, you got it in spades Friday night down in Los Angeles. The Calgary Flames—yes, the baseball version of the Flames—lit up the Kings like it was Canada Day on ice. Final score? 19–6. That’s not a hockey game, that’s a touchdown and a safety in baseball cleats.
Now let’s talk about the star of the show: Nazem Kadri. This guy didn’t just show up—he exploded. Six-for-six at the dish. Hits for the cycle. Three bombs, a double, a triple—the full buffet, folks. He drove in six, scored six, and basically walked into L.A. and said, “This is my house now.”

Look, it was the Kings' first playoff game in 21 years and it showed. They came out with some energy, but the Flames punched ‘em in the mouth in the 2nd inning with seven runs, and the Kings never got back up off the mat.

Kadri wasn’t alone either—P. Salles, M. Grubin, A. Piceno, and the rest of that Flames lineup just kept pouring it on. 22 hits. I’ve seen kinder treatment at a bouncer convention. This was relentless.

Now, give the Kings some credit—they had three homers of their own, including one from Anze Kopitar—but let’s be honest: the pitching staff looked like they were throwing BP. Calgary touched up seven different arms. Nobody got away clean.

The win sends the Flames to face the rested and ready Chicago Blackhawks in the next round, and lemme tell ya—after a performance like that, Chicago’s gotta be sweating bullets. This Calgary squad? They’re loose, they’re loud, and they just dropped nineteen runs in a playoff game.

To quote Don Cherry—if that don’t light your fire, your wood’s wet.

Stick around, folks. Playoff baseball just got spicy.

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Mark Messier:
You know, when the stakes are high and the season's on the line, you find out what kind of character your team’s got. And tonight, the Florida Panthers showed a ton of it. This was a hard-fought, playoff-style baseball game—gritty, disciplined, and physical—and they earned that 4–1 win over the Tampa Bay Lightning.
Let’s talk about Roger McCutcheon. The guy was nails. Seven innings, six strikeouts, and only one run given up? That’s how you lead from the mound. That’s how you inspire your teammates. That’s the kind of performance you expect from a guy who wants the ball when it matters most. And he got it done. That’s a playoff warrior right there.

Offensively, Florida didn’t need a dozen runs—they were opportunistic, they capitalized when it counted. J. Baca and E. van de Griendt stepped up in the big moments. Both of them launched homers, and Van de Griendt had a huge triple as well. You talk about guys who don’t shy away from the spotlight—those are them. Big-time hits in a pressure-packed environment.

On the other side, Tampa Bay had some traffic on the bases, but they couldn’t cash in. And credit the Florida bullpen, especially A. Mata—he came in and shut the door. Two clean innings, didn’t give Tampa a sniff. That’s how you close out a playoff game.

So now Florida’s moving on to face the New York Rangers in the Conference Semifinals. That’s going to be a battle. But if McCutcheon and this crew bring that same effort, that same intensity, they’re going to be tough to beat.

This is what playoff baseball’s all about—heart, leadership, execution. The Panthers showed all three tonight.

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2003 Conference Semifinals

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🎩🏒 One fine day in September, the sun shining bright,
Two teams took the field for a playoff delight.
The Avalanche came with their bats held up high,
While the Stars tried to dazzle and reach for the sky.
At the American Airlines, the crowd gave a cheer,
As Grubin stepped up, full of playoff-time fear?
Oh no, not a bit! He was ready to roll—
With a home run so loud, it could rattle your soul!

He cracked one in the first, then a double with flair,
Two singles came later—he was everywhere!
With four hits, two runs, and two ribbies as well,
Jeff Grubin, that day, was the bat-swinging spell.

They scored in the first, and then in the third,
Four runs! The dugout was dancing, I heard.
Okuhara? Two homers! He swung with such grace,
That ball soared so far, it escaped outer space!

MacKinnon stole bags—why, he zoomed like a jet!
And Makar hit a double that fans won’t forget.
Sanchez? He joined with a homer of might,
And the Dallas crowd groaned, “This just isn’t right!”

The Stars had their moment, they battled quite bold,
With Casteneda’s homer, a story retold.
But the runs dried up, and their hopes took a dip,
As Colorado’s bullpen tightened the grip.

From Rodriguez to Ochoa, the pitchers were slick,
They threw with precision, and threw it in quick.
While Amador pitched in with six innings stout,
The Avalanche held firm and shut the Stars out.

Eight runs, eleven hits, two errors, that’s true,
The Avalanche left with the win—whoop-de-doo!
Now Game Two is coming, the Stars seek revenge,
But they’ll need to regroup and sharpen their edge.

So if you’re a fan of the puck or the bat,
Just tip your big hat to the team with the stat:
For Game One was won by a team from the snow,
And Dallas now trails the series one–oh!

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Seven bloody hells, what a mess of a game that was. Chicago put the boots to Calgary, sixteen to nine, and it wasn’t even that close. Blackhawks came out swinging like they’d been promised gold at the end of it, and Nick Foligno? That bastard swung the bat like he had a personal grudge against the ball. Three home runs. Eight runs driven in. Four times crossing the plate like it was his own damned castle. Man’s a one-man siege tower.
Calgary? They had their moments—Braun smashed a couple over the wall, Kadri got his licks in, and Grubin sent one sailing. But their pitchers looked like scared smallfolk tossing meat to a pack of hounds. Sellars didn’t last long—two innings, seven hits, six runs, two balls over the fence. After that, the bullpen kept bleeding runs like a gut-stabbed pig.

Chicago’s lineup? Every other man hit like they’d been feasting on bear meat all week. Bedard went five for five, Foligno turned the place into his personal slaughterhouse, Trevino and Klompus joined in the pillaging. By the time the seventh rolled around, the Flames were more ash than fire.

And just to keep things lively, there was a proper scrap in the seventh—Salles and Almaraz both tossed for starting a bench-clearing brawl. At least someone in Calgary showed a bit of fight, even if it wasn’t with a bat.

So now Chicago’s up one game to none in the series, the fans are drunk and happy, and tomorrow night, they’ll try to do it again. If the Flames don’t find some steel in their spines, this’ll be over quicker than a chicken in a wolf’s den.

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Chicago smashed Calgary’s skull in, sixteen to nine. Nick Foligno – gods help us – went on a rampage: three homers, four runs scored, eight driven in. Might as well have lit the pitcher’s mound on fire for all the defense the Flames showed. Hawks lead the series 1–0.
CALGARY – swings and misses
Batting:
Braun (SS) – 5 swings, 2 runs, 2 hits, 3 driven in, no bloody walks, no strikeouts. Two homers. Swung like a man who actually gives a damn.
Hernandez (DH) – 5 swings, 1 lousy hit, nothing else. May as well have been picking daisies.
Kadri (3B) – 4 swings, 2 runs, 3 hits, 1 RBI, 1 walk. Smashed one over the wall.
Grubin (CF) – 4 swings, 3 runs, 2 hits, 1 RBI, 1 walk. Sent one deep too.
Salles (1B) – 2 swings, 1 hit, 2 RBIs, 1 walk. Got binned in the brawl.
Holder (PR) – ran for Salles, did sod-all.
Willems (1B) – came in after the mess, struck out like it was his job.
Piceno (LF) – 5 swings, 1 hit. Mostly fresh air.
Bautista (2B) – 5 swings, 2 hits, still useless on the scoreboard.
Gutierrez (RF) – 5 swings, 2 hits, 1 RBI.
Mercado (C) – 5 swings, 1 hit, 1 RBI. Grounded into a bloody double play when they needed life.
Highlights:
Braun with two big ones (3rd inning off Perez, 8th off Gomez), Kadri and Grubin each got one in the 7th. Doubles from Salles, Kadri, Mercado, and Gutierrez. Nine bastards left on base—nine.
Fielding:
Four double plays, which is nice, but useless when you give up sixteen runs.

CHICAGO – the slaughterers
Batting:
Hextall (SS) – 5 swings, 4 hits, 1 RBI. Tripled once, doubled once, and made Calgary cry.
Klompus (3B) – 6 swings, 2 hits, 2 RBIs. Sent one deep in the 8th just to rub salt in it.
Bedard (CF) – perfect 5-for-5, 4 runs, 1 RBI, a homer, and two doubles. Played like the reaper in cleats.
Foligno (RF) – the butcher himself: 5 swings, 4 hits, 8 RBIs, 3 homers. Stole a base just because he could.
Trevino (LF) – 6 swings, 2 hits, 1 RBI, 1 homer.
Diaz (1B) – 5 swings, 1 hit, 1 RBI. Kept his head down and let the others do the killing.
Gonzalez (2B) – 2 swings, 2 hits, walked thrice.
Kim (C) – 5 swings, 3 hits, 1 RBI, but let a passed ball slip.
Lautzenheiser (DH) – 5 swings, 1 hit, 1 RBI. Doubled once.
Highlights:
Foligno with three moonshots (1st, 3rd, 7th), Trevino and Bedard each with one, Klompus with one. Doubles flying everywhere—Bedard twice, Hextall, Gonzalez, Lautzenheiser. Ten left on base, but who cares when you’re bludgeoning the other side.
Fielding:
One tidy double play. That’s all they needed.

Calgary Pitching – leaky bucket brigade
Sellars (L) – 2 innings, 7 hits, 6 runs, 2 homers. Might as well have pitched underhand.
Hudson – 1.2 innings, 5 hits, 3 runs, 2 homers, and 3 walks. Bloody generous.
McInnis – 1.1 innings, kept the bleeding down to zero runs. Small mercy.
Hashimoto – two-thirds of an inning, 4 hits, 3 runs. Looked lost.
Guzman – 1.1 innings, 3 hits, 2 runs, 1 homer.
Munoz – 1 inning, 4 hits, 2 runs, 1 homer.
Chicago Pitching – just enough steel
Perez (W) – 6.1 innings, 7 hits, 3 runs, 7 strikeouts. Kept his foot on their throats.
Almaraz – one out, 2 hits, 2 runs, 2 homers, and tossed for fighting.
Gomez – two-thirds of an inning, 3 hits, 3 runs, 1 homer.
Nunez – 1.2 innings, 3 hits, 1 run, finished the job.
GAME NOTES
Player of the Game: Nick bloody Foligno, no question.
Ballpark: United Center. 63 degrees, wind pushing right to left.
Time: Four bloody hours.
Attendance: 42,207 drunks and lunatics.
The dust-up in the 7th got Salles and Almaraz tossed after fists started flying.
Foligno tied the team playoff record for homers in a game (3) and set the RBI mark (8).
Bedard tied the hits record (5).

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In the Game of Ice and Steel, Only the Ruthless Prevail
The Long Island Islanders have claimed the opening strike in their semifinal bout, turning back the visiting Montreal Canadiens with a 3–2 victory at UBS Arena. And as in all battles worth winning, the triumph came not from chance, but from control—cold, relentless control.

Eduardo Roman, the Islanders’ chosen arm for the day, was every inch the commander they needed—seven innings, five meager hits allowed, six Montreal batsmen struck down with precision. No wasted movement. No mercy. When a man dictates the pace, the enemy has no choice but to dance to his tune.

Montreal, to their credit, opened with the boldness of men who did not yet understand their place. In the first inning, Asher Grubin’s two-run home run briefly disturbed the air. But as often happens with the loudest declarations, it was the last meaningful thing they accomplished. From the second inning onward, they were reduced to scratching at the gates, unable to breach them.

Long Island, patient as a ruler awaiting the perfect moment to turn the blade, replied not with panic, but with inevitability. In the third, Vinny Hixson’s solo home run served as the first whisper of trouble for Montreal. In the seventh, Warming Bernabel matched the feat, evening the score. And in the eighth—the killing blow—Lance Clark, graceful and merciless, drove in the run that broke Montreal’s spirit entirely.

Roman handed the battlefield to Jacomino, who closed the affair with all the warmth of winter steel—two perfect innings, four strikeouts.

Montreal leaves the ice with but five hits, two runs, and the bitter taste of being outmaneuvered. Long Island departs with the advantage in the series, a fortress still unbreached, and the confidence of those who know that one victory is merely the first move in a longer game.

And tomorrow, they meet again. The wise will remember: in such contests, courage without cunning is as useless as a knight without a sword.