National Baseball League

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CLEVELAND — And so here we are, on a cool October afternoon at Jacobs Field, where Game 1 of this Division Series felt every bit like the start of something meaningful. And if you’re the Texas Rangers, you walk out of here saying, “Yes… we’ll take that.”
Texas wins it, 6–4, and really, this was a game defined by timely hitting — the kind that swings a postseason series before you even realize what’s happening. Tony Guerrero was the sparkplug all afternoon, three hits, a double, two runs scored, two driven in. Every time Texas needed something, he seemed to be in the middle of it.
But the real turning point? Top of the seventh. Rangers down a run, two on, two out, and Scott McKee — a 25-year-old second baseman who looks like he should still be filling out a college application — lines a two-run single to put Texas ahead for good. One pitch, one swing, and the game flips like a light switch. That’s postseason baseball.
Cleveland had its moments. Ryan Phipps hit a solo shot in the first and drove in another later, and they actually outhit Texas 12 to 11. But you strand a dozen runners in October… well, you don’t usually win that game.
J. Smith went seven gritty innings for Texas — wasn’t dominant, wasn’t perfect, but he was just good enough. T. White shut the door over the final two, and the Rangers walk off with a road win, and with it, a 1–0 lead in this best-of-five.
Game 2, right back here tomorrow. And already you get the feeling: this series might not be long, but it’s absolutely going to be loud.

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HOUSTON — Well, hello there, everybody, and what a ballgame we had deep in the heart of Texas on this fine October afternoon! Yes, friends, the Houston Astros take Game 1 of the Division Series with a thrilling 3–2 walk-off victory over the New York Yankees — and how about that?
The Yankees struck first, two runs in the second inning, and for a while it looked as though that might carry the day. But oh, doctor, the Astros had ideas of their own! In the fourth inning, Houston scratched across a pair to tie it, and from that moment forward, every pitch, every swing, every foul ball had the crowd buzzing like a beehive.
Ryan Grater — the southpaw with ice water in his veins — went seven strong, scattering six hits and keeping the Yankees guessing all afternoon. A tip of the cap to him: cool, calm, collected… and simply marvelous.
And then we come to the ninth. Minute Maid Park on its feet, the tension so thick you could butter it. Leo Valdivia at the plate, the winning run ninety feet away. The pitch… swung on… a base hit! Down the line! Here comes the runner! And the Astros win it! How about that! The hometown faithful erupt, and the Yankees walk off a step short.
So it’s Houston with the early 1–0 advantage in this best-of-five affair, and what a start it is. These two clubs have the look of a series that may very well go the distance.
Tomorrow afternoon, they’ll do it all again right here in Houston — and if today was any indication, oh my, we are in for quite a treat.

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Walk-off single

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NL Top Seeds

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Well lemme tell ya, folks, this one down at Truist Park was the kind of ballgame where if you like big hits and crooked numbers, you probably spent nine innings wonderin’ when the offense was gonna show up—because it never did for Arizona! Boom! Atlanta takes it 2-0, and the whole thing starts and ends with Ricardo Garcia.
Now here’s a guy—here’s a guy—who goes out there and says, “You know what? I’m just not gonna let anybody score today.” Eight innings, moving the ball in and out, up and down, hittin’ the corners like he’s drawin’ with a Sharpie. And every time the Diamondbacks looked like they might get somethin’ goin’, Garcia slams the door. Whap! Just like that.
And then you look at Atlanta’s offense—didn’t need much. They get that run in the seventh, tack on another in the eighth, and suddenly you’ve got yourself a classic, grind-it-out postseason win. B. Nunez gets a big 2-out RBI, Enriquez is runnin’ wild on the bases like he’s got a bus to catch—that’s how you manufacture runs! You don’t always gotta hit it 450 feet. Sometimes you just gotta out-think, out-run, and out-execute the other team.
Then Monnin comes in for the ninth—boom! one-two-three, goodnight everybody, drive home safe.
Atlanta takes Game 1, Arizona’s wonderin’ where the hits went, and Garcia? Man, he’s struttin’ off that mound lookin’ like a guy who just built a house with his bare hands. That’s good baseball. That’s October baseball.

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On a cool October afternoon in Milwaukee, with the shadows stretching long across the field and the wind nudging baseballs toward right, the Dodgers and Brewers opened their Division Series with the kind of game that reminds you why October has a magic all its own.
For much of the day, Milwaukee rode the right arm of Rich Alvarado, who worked seven steady innings—calm as a man reading a Sunday paper—holding the Dodgers to just two runs. But baseball, as it so often does, saved its surprise for the very end.
Los Angeles, trailing and tugging at the loose threads of hope, found life in the late innings. A home run by D. Milar in the eighth loosened the knot, and in the ninth inning, with the score tied and tension thick enough to butter on toast, up came Willie Maes—one hitless swing away from frustration. And wouldn’t you know it? On this day, in this ballpark, the young shortstop delivered a soft, rolling single into left, just far enough, just timely enough, to send home the go-ahead run.
The Dodgers had climbed the hill. A 5–4 lead. Three outs to get. And like the turning of a page, J. Aguiniga wrote the final line, retiring Milwaukee quietly in the bottom of the ninth.
And so Los Angeles, steady and resilient, walks away with a 1–0 lead in the series, while Milwaukee is left to ponder how quickly a well-played game can slip through one’s fingers—proof, as always, that in baseball, the difference between joy and heartbreak is often no more than the width of a baseball dropping into the outfield grass.

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“Well folks, buckle up, because if you like runs, you came to the wrong ballpark. Here at Jacobs Field, the Rangers and Indians treated us to ten innings of… well… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Zip. Zero. A big ol’ pile of offensive diarrhea. But hey—great day for the pitchers, I guess.
We finally made it to the tenth inning—by then most fans had either fallen asleep or started questioning their life choices—and Cleveland loads the bases. And how do they win it? A walk. Yes, a walk-off walk. Thrilling stuff. Fireworks probably died of embarrassment.
Jesus Satiago strolls up, shows the patience of a man waiting at the DMV, and takes ball four to end this masterpiece, 1–0. The crowd goes… mildly conscious.
Marquos Philippon was fantastic—eight shutout innings, probably thinking he’s going to have to pitch tomorrow at the rate his offense was going. And Grondin cleaned it up from there.
So the Indians even the series at one apiece. The Rangers? Well, they’ll try hitting the ball again on Wednesday. Might want to practice between now and then.
Final score: Cleveland 1, Texas 0. And if you missed it… consider yourself lucky.”

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MIKE: Alright, let’s get to it here on a Tuesday after-noon, New York evens the series, five-one, and Chris, how about the old man? Sal Cantu! Forty-two years old, Fresno, California, probably had the IcyHot cooking in the locker room, and he gives you eight and a third of three-hit baseball with your season basically hangin’ in the balance!
MAD DOG: MIKE! MIKEY! LISTEN—SAL CANTU! THIS GUY! THIS FOSSIL! I MEAN HE GOT KNOCKED AROUND—KNOCKED AROUND!—in the Wild Card! Five good innings, then BOOM, see ya later! And you figure: “Ah, boy, that’s it, he’s done, get the retirement cake ready.” AND THEN HE COMES BACK, GAME TWO OF THE DIVISION SERIES—SECOND STRAIGHT YEAR HE’S DONE THIS!—AND THROWS AN ABSOLUTE GEM! A GEM, MIKE!
MIKE: You gotta give him credit. Veteran presence, knows how to pitch, doesn’t get rattled in the Minute Maid bandbox. You’re down 1-0 in the series, it’s gettin’ late early, as they say, and Sal Cantu says, “Nope, not today.” That is as good a postseason start as you are gonna see from a man who, frankly, was pitching when half this roster was in diapers.
MAD DOG: AND—AND—ALEJANDRO RIVERA! THREE HITS, THREE RBI! THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED, MIKE! You cannot rely on Aaron Judge the entire time, you need the supporting cast! And Rivera steps up, big double in the third, knocks in two, then another hit later—TREMENDOUS! That’s championship baseball!
MIKE: Exactly, Chris. That’s how you win October games. Contributions up and down the lineup, timely hitting, clean fielding—okay, except for Rivera booting that one ball, but he made up for it—and dominant starting pitching. And now? You’re even. You got the split. You’re going back to the Bronx for the next two games with all the momentum.
MAD DOG: THE PLACE IS GONNA BE JUMPIN’, MIKE! JUMPIN’! And if they win Game Three? OHHH BABY, HOUSTON’S IN TROUBLE! They’re in major trouble! But today? Today is about one thing and one thing only—SAL CANTU, THE ANCIENT MARINER, SAVIN’ YOUR SEASON!
MIKE: Yankees in a much better spot than they were 24 hours ago. Great performance, great win. Series tied 1-1. Back home Wednesday. Should be a fun one.

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In Atlanta tonight, the defending champions from Arizona find themselves standing at the edge of a precipice. October, with all its promise and peril, can be profoundly unforgiving, and over two games at Truist Park, the Diamondbacks have discovered just how quickly a postseason script can turn. One run—one—is all their bats could muster in 18 innings. For a team that just a year ago authored one of baseball’s great championship runs, the silence has been jarring.
Meanwhile, the Braves played with the steady confidence of a club sensing opportunity. Hector Garcia, the right-hander from Sagua la Grande, Cuba, delivered a performance worthy of any October montage—nine innings, five hits, one run, and complete command throughout. And behind him, Atlanta’s lineup offered a balanced and relentless reply: three-hit nights from both Troy McKnight and Jared Qualls, Qualls himself collecting seven total bases in a dazzling display of gap-to-gap power.
For the Diamondbacks, the series now shifts west, to the desert, where they’ll need to rediscover the spark that made them last year’s champions. Down two games to none, they face the kind of moment that defines whether a title defense endures… or ends.

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In Milwaukee this afternoon, under clear skies and the unmistakable tension of October baseball, the Dodgers were treated to something every team hopes for in a postseason road game: calm, quiet certainty from the man on the mound. Paul Campbell, the pride of Cedartown, Georgia, was magnificent—crafting nine innings of soft contact, well-placed fastballs, and the steady heartbeat of a pitcher who understands that in October, every out carries its own little bit of history.
From the very first inning, when Los Angeles jumped ahead with four runs, you could sense a shift in the ballpark. Forty-seven thousand fans, draped in blue and gold, watching a 103-win Brewers team—a team that had dreamed all season long of finally reaching that elusive first World Series title—slowly confront the reality of a day when nothing came easily. By the time Campbell had finished his afternoon’s work, scattering six harmless hits, Milwaukee’s bats never truly stirred.
And sometimes, baseball can be that way. All season long, the Brewers hit, pitched, and fielded with precision and confidence. Yet over two games, the postseason—so often a mirror held up uncomfortably close—has revealed only frustration. Now, down two games to none, they head to Los Angeles with a mountain far steeper than the foothills of October usually offer.
For the Dodgers, buoyed by Campbell’s masterful performance and a lineup that struck early and efficiently, the path is suddenly clear: one more win, at home, and they’ll be on their way to the National League Championship Series. For Milwaukee, the season they believed might finally be theirs now rests on the thinnest of ledges.
As always, in this grand old game, tomorrow promises another chance… but no guarantees.

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MIKE: “Alright, now listen, folks—this was one of those classic Yankee postseason roller coasters. I mean, DOG, for three and a half innings, this thing looked like every nightmare the Yankees have ever had in October rolled into one. Errors, hit batsmen, bases loaded… a five-spot hung on ’em in the fourth! Five-nothing! At Yankee Stadium! You could feel that place go stone cold.”
MAD DOG: “MIKEY, THEY WERE DEAD! DEAD! You cannot spot a playoff team FIVE RUNS in Game 3 of a Division Series and expect to win! Looked like the same old story—Yankees givin’ games away like Halloween candy! I mean, GOOD GRIEF!”
MIKE: “But—and this is the difference—the Yankees didn’t pack it in. That bottom of the fourth, Chris, that changed the whole tone of the game. Four runs, right back in it. The crowd wakes up, the Astros tighten up, and suddenly it’s the Yankees putting all the pressure on.”
MAD DOG: “AND THEN THEY JUST KEPT COMIN’! Sixteen hits! Hugo Gonzalez, the guy from Cotui, Dominican Republic, hittin’ everything in sight! Arispe with the big double! Centeno! Lord! Johnson! Everybody chippin’ in! That’s a TEAM win, Mikey! A TEAM win!”
MIKE: “They absolutely flipped that script. From 5-0 down to a 9-6 victory, and now they’re one win away—one—from heading back to the ALCS for the seventh straight year.”
MAD DOG: “SEVEN!! That’s a DYNASTY, MIKE! I don’t care what year it is, I don’t care what the roster looks like—seven straight ALCS appearances is OUTRAGEOUS!”
MIKE: “And tomorrow, they’ve got a chance to finish it at home. The Astros? They’re reeling. The Yankees? They look like the Yankees again.”
MAD DOG: “BIG GAME TOMORROW, MIKEY! HUGE! YOU GOTTA CLOSE IT OUT! CAN’T LET A TEAM LIKE HOUSTON UP OFF THE MAT!”
MIKE: “We’ll see if they do. But tonight? A gut-check win. A real Yankee Stadium October special.”

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“Hello everybody, Harry Doyle here… and if you like late explosions, crooked numbers, and the kind of seventh inning that makes opposing pitchers want to crawl under the dugout bench, well, have I got a ballgame for you.”
We go to Arlington, where the Texas Rangers jumped out in front 2-0 and probably thought they were cruising. And then—then—the Cleveland Indians decided they were actually ready to play postseason baseball.
“Top of the sixth, Cleveland scratches across a couple. No big deal. Still 2-2, still anybody’s game. And then… oh doctor… we hit the seventh.”
The Rangers bring in Tucker, and Cleveland loads ’em up for Chris Alfonso. Alfonso steps in, looks at one, maybe two, and then he sends the next pitch into orbit. Grand slam. Boom. Just like that, 7–2. If you were sitting in the upper deck, I hope you brought your glove—because that ball had its own boarding pass.
“And if you’re Texas, you think, ‘Alright, that’s bad, but at least it can’t get worse.’”
Wrong.
Cleveland posts seven runs in that frame, and before the Rangers can even find the antacid tablets, Mike Hughes comes up in the eighth and launches another one just to make sure everyone in the state of Texas understands exactly who’s in charge.
Jesus Satiago? Three hits. Double, triple, drove in three, scored two, probably parked the team bus for all I know.
Texas fans heading for the exits? Lots of ’em. Can’t blame ’em. When the scoreboard operator starts filing for overtime, you know it’s just not your day.
Final score: Cleveland 12, Texas 4. Indians take a 2–1 lead in the series and are now just one win away from punching their ticket to the ALCS yet again.
“We’ll be right back after these messages… assuming the scoreboard hasn’t melted.”

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“Well, folks, if you like drama, if you like baseball at its most unpredictable, you were in the right place at Chase Field tonight. The defending World Series champion Arizona Diamondbacks found themselves down 7-0 after seven innings—a deficit that in most ballparks would be insurmountable. And yet, somehow, some way, they clawed their way back into this game.
It started in the bottom of the seventh: five runs. Five runs that suddenly made the scoreboard not just numbers, but a story, a story that was far from finished. Two more in the eighth inning, and the Diamondbacks had tied the tension with the scoreboard itself.
And then, the bottom of the ninth. One out, the game still hanging by a thread, and up steps Sean Nicholson of Janesville, WI. Nicholson, who last year’s Game 7 of the World Series showed us he thrives in these moments, looks the Braves right in the eye and sends a fastball into the outfield for a walk-off single. Just like that, an 8-7 victory, and Arizona stays alive in the Division Series.
Three hits tonight for Nicholson: a home run to tie the game in the 8th at 7-7, a double, three RBIs, and the kind of heroics that make you lean forward in your chair. In a series where Atlanta looked ready to put this one to bed, it’s Nicholson who reminds us why we watch the game—the unpredictable, almost poetic moments that make baseball baseball.
The series now stands 2-1 in favor of Atlanta, but for the Diamondbacks, hope has not just survived—it has roared back to life.”

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“Well… a very pleasant good evening to you, wherever you may be.”
On a cloudy October afternoon at Dodger Stadium, the Los Angeles Dodgers came within ninety feet of completing a sweep… and the Milwaukee Brewers came within a breath of ending their season. And somehow, as baseball often does, it chose the winding road instead of the simple one.
The Dodgers and Brewers played eleven tense, low-scoring innings—an October tug-of-war, inning after inning, like two men pulling on the same rope, neither willing to let go.
Jake Giambalvo, the young man from West Brookfield, Massachusetts, pitched with the calm of someone strolling along a quiet New England street. Seven innings, one run, not a single strikeout… just soft contact, ground balls, and the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly where the ball is going. On the other side, Dirk van Meel matched him step for step, pitching into the seventh and bending, but never breaking.
The game turned, as these stories often do, not on a towering home run, but on a moment of decision.
Bottom of the ninth, one out, the bases loaded, the score tied 1–1. Willie Cortez lifted a shallow fly ball to left field. Josh Clevenger—perhaps feeling the weight of the moment, perhaps hearing the roar of forty-eight thousand hearts beating at once—tagged and headed for home.
Antonio Garcia came charging in, gathered the ball, and with one smooth motion delivered a throw that seemed to ride a rail straight to the catcher. Clevenger slid, the tag was applied, and the hope of a sweep was washed away in a cloud of dust.
The Brewers, given new life, made their stand in the eleventh inning. A double by Juan Vasquez set the stage, and César Malagon—hitless in his first four at-bats—sent a clean single into the outfield to bring him home. One swing, one run, and the Brewers finally led, 2–1.
Milwaukee’s bullpen held on, and the Brewers, who had been quiet for most of the afternoon, left the field with a well-earned victory and the faint but persistent whisper of possibility still alive.
And so the series moves to a fourth game. The Dodgers still lead two-games-to-one… but the Brewers, like a boxer who refuses to stay down, rise from the canvas once more.
As always in October, the script remains unwritten, and baseball—wonderful, unpredictable baseball—keeps us turning the pages.
“And that’s the story from Dodger Stadium… this timeless game of ours, still finding new ways to surprise us.”

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New York Yankees: 13th ALCS berth
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MIKE:
“Alright, let’s get right to it. The Yankees—listen—say whatever you want, but they have shown you something in this series. They fall behind 3–0 in the first inning, Beeman doesn’t have it early, the building’s groaning, you’re thinking, ‘Here we go, Game 5 in Houston…’ And what happens? They score ten unanswered runs. Ten! They bury the Astros. 10–3 the final. Sixteen hits. Rivera with seven RBIs in the series—your MVP. And the Yankees are going to the ALCS for the thirteenth time in franchise history… and Chris, the seventh straight year. That is dominance.”
MAD DOG:
“SEVEN YEARS IN A ROW, MIKEY!!! SEVEN!! THAT’S A DYNASTY, MIKE! I don’t care what anybody says! This team—OH MY GOODNESS—ya fall behind three-nothin’, I mean the Astros jump ‘em right out of the gate, and you’re thinkin’ ‘UH-OH, here comes Houston again!’ AND THEN THE YANKEES SCORE TEN STRAIGHT RUNS! TEN!! THEY ABSOLUTELY OBLITERATED ‘EM! This wasn’t competitive! After the first inning Houston DID NOT SCORE A RUN, MIKE! DID NOT SCORE A RUN!!!”
MIKE:
“They shut ‘em down completely after that. Beeman settled in, bullpen did its job, and the offense… look, Rivera, Fagundes, Kim, Lord—everybody in that lineup contributed. Sixteen hits, and they ran the bases aggressively. Rivera stealing bases, Centeno stealing bases. They overwhelmed Houston.”
MAD DOG:
“AND ALEJANDRO RIVERA, MIKE! .500 IN THE SERIES! SEVEN RBIS! HE WAS EVERYWHERE! You wanna talk about an MVP performance? THAT’S an MVP performance! And Fagundes with FOUR hits! Kim with three hits! I mean, the Astros pitchers—Flor, Cicero, Medina—they had NO ANSWER! NONE!!”
MIKE:
“Well, the Astros were sloppy, Chris. Two errors, missed opportunities, couldn’t get the big out, and the Yankees made them pay for every mistake. And now, listen, they can set the rotation, they get the rest, and they’re gonna face either Cleveland or Texas. Cleveland up 2–1 in that series.”
MAD DOG:
“I DON’T CARE WHO THEY PLAY, MIKE! YOU WANNA BE THE BIG BOYS? YOU WANNA WIN YOUR THIRD TITLE?? YOU GOTTA BEAT SOMEBODY! BRING ON THE INDIANS, BRING ON THE RANGERS, BRING ON THE ’27 YANKEES WHILE YOU’RE AT IT!!”
MIKE:
“Alright, calm down. But the Yankees earned this one. They absolutely pummeled the Astros today, and they move on. Seven straight ALCS appearances. That is extraordinary consistency.”
MAD DOG:
“YANKEES MOVE ON! ASTROS GO HOME! GOODNIGHT, HOUSTON!!”

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On a crisp October afternoon in Texas, in a game stretched thin by tension and opportunity lost, the Rangers and Indians played twelve innings that felt like a slow tightening of the postseason’s grip. And in the end, it was one swing—Tom Purcell’s lone hit of the day, lifted high into the Arlington night—that brought this taut, exhausting contest to its sudden close.
Texas, a club that has long worn both triumph and heartbreak in equal measure, found a way to survive, edging Cleveland 2–1 to square their Division Series at two games apiece. For the Indians, three-time defending champions of the American League, this was a reminder that October seldom bows to pedigree. For the Rangers, it was a reminder that even a season’s worth of struggles can be redeemed by a single moment crafted in the postseason’s crucible.
Taylor White, steady and unshaken in five scoreless innings of relief, kept Texas upright long enough for destiny to find its mark.
And so the series shifts back to Cleveland—where a season, and perhaps a reign, now hangs in the balance.

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In the desert twilight of October, where hopes often rise and evaporate in the same dry breeze, the Arizona Diamondbacks found precisely the spark they needed to keep their season alive. Down two games to one and staring at elimination, Arizona leaned on the bat of José Chapa—the unlikeliest of October heroes, and yet on this night, the most certain.
Chapa’s afternoon was a study in timely thunder: a booming two-run homer in the second, a run-scoring double in the fifth, and later, a sacrifice fly that reflected less the majesty of power and more the measure of a professional at-bat when a season hangs in the balance. He drove in four runs—four moments that rewrote the shape of the series—and guided the Diamondbacks to a 6–4 win and a decisive Game 5.
For Atlanta, so often this year the picture of steadiness, the loss was a reminder of baseball’s enduring truth: October does not reward reputation; it rewards execution. Jonathan Ledger, who had been so reliable, simply could not outrun the cascade of Arizona’s fifth-inning surge.
And so, fittingly, this Division Series will come down to one final game—Sunday in Atlanta, where every pitch, every pause, every heartbeat will carry the full weight of a season. In a sport defined by its long march through summer, it is now autumn’s sudden, unforgiving turn that decides everything.

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At Dodger Stadium this afternoon, with Los Angeles looking to close out the series at home, the Milwaukee Brewers had other ideas — and they made it clear early. Milwaukee jumps out with two in the first, adds another in the third, and then breaks the game open with a six-run sixth inning that took the air out of the ballpark and sent this Division Series back to Milwaukee tied at two games apiece.
And the star of the day… was Ryan Kessler.
Three hits, including a towering three-run homer off David Herrera in that decisive sixth. He drove in three, scored another, and was the heartbeat of a Brewers lineup that collected 15 hits and refused to let the Dodgers get comfortable for even a moment.
Juan Vasquez put Milwaukee in front for good with an RBI single in the sixth, Escobar tripled home two more, and by the time the Brewers were done, they’d stacked a 10–5 lead that held the rest of the way.
Vinny Luevanos gave Milwaukee six and two-thirds innings, battled through traffic all afternoon, and got just enough help from his defense to leave with the win. Kevin Christmas closed it out with 2.1 steady innings of scoreless relief.
For Los Angeles, five runs on nine hits — but too many missed chances, too many extra outs, and too much Milwaukee offense.
And after the game, Dodgers manager Miles Maddox… offered no explanations. He declined all questions, saying only that he’d speak “if and when we win the World Series.”
So now it all shifts to Sunday. Game 5. American Family Field. Winner moves on. Loser goes home.
Should be fun.

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Cleveland Indians: 8th ALCS berth
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**“Well folks… the Indians survive the Rangers, 10–5, and The Triple is headed to their fourth straight ALCS and—why not—seventh in the last eight years.
They’ll face the Yankees again. For the fourth consecutive season. I swear, I feel like I’m trapped in the damn Groundhog Day movie. Same teams, same script… somebody wake me up when Bill Murray shows up at shortstop.”**
Pat Kresse was the hero today—four hits, a homer, a couple of ribs, and about half the ballpark’s electricity. Niccolai gritted through seven-plus, the offense exploded in the sixth, and Cleveland basically spent the afternoon reminding Texas that the postseason is no country for anyone without a bullpen.
Texas made it interesting with five in the eighth, but hey—too little, too late. Pack the bags, boys.
So, next stop: Yankees vs. Indians. Again.
Grab your scorecards and cross out the dates—you won’t need to change anything else.