National Baseball League

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Colin Cowherd:
“This game is why October baseball is different. You can do almost everything right… and still lose if you can’t finish. Milwaukee scored twelve runs, got eighteen hits, and still walked out of Oracle Park stunned. Because in the postseason, leads don’t matter — nerve does.”
Milwaukee came in hot, swinging early, dictating tempo. Up 5–0. Up 9–6. Up 12–11 late. And every single time, San Francisco said the same thing: not yet.
That’s not luck. That’s identity.
The Giants didn’t panic. They absorbed punches, waited for mistakes, and trusted their lineup depth. Cesar Vazquez was relentless — four hits, three RBIs, driving rallies instead of chasing hero swings. And then the moment that defines October: bottom of the ninth, tie game, season pressure creeping in… Guillermo Barela delivers.
That’s what playoff teams do. They don’t flinch.
Mike Francesa:
“Look, this was a crazy game, alright? Crazy. Back and forth all afternoon. But let’s call it what it was — Milwaukee had chances to put this game away three or four different times and they just didn’t do it.
You score twelve runs, you get eighteen hits, you can’t lose that game. You just can’t. That’s on the pitching and it’s on the defense. Two errors, bad sequencing out of the bullpen, and you let San Francisco hang around. That’s deadly in October.”
And give the Giants credit — they took advantage of every opening. Vazquez was terrific, Hernandez had huge extra-base hits, and Barela did exactly what you ask your shortstop to do in that spot. Put the ball in play, win the game.
“But from Milwaukee’s standpoint,” Francesa continues, “this one hurts. This isn’t just a loss — this is the kind of loss that can linger. You had control. You let it go.”
Cowherd (closing):
“And here’s the bigger takeaway: San Francisco doesn’t need perfection. They need proximity. Keep the game close long enough, and they believe they’re going to win it — and now Milwaukee knows that too.
Game 1 doesn’t decide the series, but it defines the psychology of it. And right now, the Giants own that edge.”

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Colin Cowherd:
“Let me tell you what this game was: a reminder that baseball doesn’t reward talent in October — it rewards pressure tolerance. Anaheim has stars. Anaheim can slug. Anaheim can jump you early. But Cleveland? Cleveland keeps punching until you blink. And the Angels blinked.”
You hit two homers. You score six runs. You think you’re in control. And then suddenly it’s the third inning, there’s a rain delay, the crowd’s restless, the wind’s howling out, and Matt Holloway turns into a wrecking ball.
Four hits. Three doubles. Three RBIs. That’s not production — that’s dominance. That’s a guy saying, this ends tonight.
Harry Doyle:
“Holy cow! If you brought a scorecard, you ran out of room by the fourth inning! Cleveland just kept hittin’, and hittin’, and hittin’! Doubles everywhere! Triples! Home runs! It was like batting practice — only louder!”
Kevin Walters? THREE doubles! That ties a playoff record, folks! Matt Holloway? THREE doubles TOO! That’s not a coincidence — that’s a parade!
And how about that third inning? BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Before you could finish your hot dog, Cleveland had the lead and Anaheim was lookin’ around like, what just happened?
Cowherd:
“This is where Anaheim’s youth showed. They had momentum early — Garcia homers, Fernandez homers twice — and they couldn’t land the knockout punch. In October, if you don’t finish Cleveland, Cleveland finishes you.”
Look at the box score. Six runs allowed by Cespedes. Then the bullpen comes in and gives up five more. That’s not depth — that’s exposure.
Meanwhile Niccolai? Not perfect, but steady. He bent, didn’t break, and handed the game to Turner with a lead. That’s postseason pitching math.
Harry Doyle:
“And don’t forget the crowd! Thirty-five thousand strong, bundled up, freezing, and LOVIN’ it! Forty-eight degrees, wind blowin’ out, rain stoppin’ the game — didn’t matter! Cleveland just kept crankin’!”
Campbell homers! Hollander homers! Amero triples! Walters doubles again! If you blinked, you missed another run!
Cowherd (closing):
“Here’s the headline: Cleveland isn’t just winning this series — they’re imposing themselves. Up 2–0. One win away. Anaheim has firepower, but Cleveland has rhythm, experience, and right now, belief.”
Game 3 goes west. But momentum? That’s staying right here in Ohio.
Harry Doyle (final call):
“Indians win it! 11–6! One more and they’re movin’ on! Don’t touch that dial, folks — October baseball is ALIVE and KICKIN’!”

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Colin Cowherd:
“Okay, this game? This is exactly why October baseball is different from the regular season. Houston came in thinking, we’ve been here before, we’re the standard, we’ve seen Boston. And for about seven innings, they were right. Then reality hit — hard, loud, and off the Green Monster.”
You score six runs in the second inning on the road, you’re supposed to win that game. Period. But playoff baseball isn’t about what you score early. It’s about who handles the late leverage. And Houston? Completely unraveled.
Chris “Mad Dog” Russo:
“Colin, this game was BANANAS, okay?! Absolute bedlam! Fenway was ROCKIN’, and Houston just could not put the fire out! Every time the Astros thought they had control, BANG — another Boston bomb, another momentum swing, another disaster!”
You had errors! You had blown saves! You had a bullpen that just imploded in front of forty-four thousand people who smelled blood!
Cowherd:
“Let’s talk about the adults in the room. Brian Petro. This guy didn’t just have a good game — he had a franchise-defining game. Two home runs. Walk. Three runs scored. Three driven in. In October, stars don’t hide — they announce themselves. Petro announced himself.”
And then Antonio Galindo — this is the moment. Bottom of the eighth. Tie game. Fenway holding its breath. Boom. Three-run homer. That’s not a swing — that’s a statement.
Russo:
“That homer BROKE Houston! You could FEEL it! The Astros went from confident to shell-shocked in about ten seconds! And you know what else, Colin? Houston’s defense was a MESS. Three errors! THREE! You cannot give a team like Boston extra outs at Fenway — they’ll bury you alive!”
And don’t forget Madigan! Don’t forget Lopez! Don’t forget Torres! Everybody hit! Everybody ran! Everybody contributed! This wasn’t one guy — this was a TEAM avalanche!
Cowherd:
“And here’s the bigger picture: Houston’s bullpen is officially a problem. Strayer? Five runs. Beltran? Gave it back. You can’t survive October when every late inning feels like a coin flip.”
Boston, meanwhile, showed you exactly why they earned the bye. They absorbed the early punch, stayed calm, trusted depth, and waited for Houston to crack. That’s postseason maturity.
Russo (winding up):
“And now it’s TWO-NOTHING, Colin! TWO-NOTHING! Houston’s gotta go home, answer questions, look in the mirror, and figure out why a team that scored ELEVEN RUNS still walked off the field LOSERS!”
Fenway wins again! Petro’s a hero! Galindo’s a legend for a night! And Houston? They’re on the ropes, pal — BIG TIME!
Cowherd (closing):
“Boston didn’t just win Game 2. They took control of the series narrative. Houston still has talent — but momentum? Confidence? Crowd energy? All wearing red socks right now.”
Game 3 shifts south. Pressure stays exactly where it is — squarely on the Astros.

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Vin Scully:
“You know, sometimes baseball saves its biggest surprises for the quiet afternoons. The Braves came in with thunder in their bats, a lineup that had been relentless all season long. And on this day at Truist Park… they were reduced to whispers.”
Four hits. One run. And for nine innings, Justin Symons painted a masterpiece.
Colin Cowherd:
“Vin, nobody saw this coming. Atlanta is the heavyweight champ — power, depth, confidence — and they just got neutralized. This wasn’t luck. This was disruption. The Dodgers changed the rhythm of the entire series in one afternoon.”
Justin Symons didn’t overpower them. He controlled them. That’s the difference.
Vin Scully:
“He worked quickly, he worked calmly, and he worked without fear. One hundred and five pitches, a complete game, and only one mistake — the solo home run by Baugh in the third. Beyond that, the Braves spent the afternoon chasing memories of rallies that never came.”
The crowd waited. And waited. And waited some more.
Cowherd:
“This is what playoff baseball exposes. Atlanta’s lineup thrives on pressure they apply. But when pressure is applied to them — when nothing comes easy — suddenly they’re human.”
Meanwhile, the Dodgers? Opportunistic. They didn’t dominate early, but when cracks appeared, they drove trucks through them.
Vin Scully:
“Arroyo with two home runs. Antillon with four runs driven in. And quietly, patiently, Los Angeles added and added and added, until the score no longer matched the tension of the first six innings.”
By the ninth, the surprise had turned into a statement.
Cowherd:
“And here’s the big takeaway: this series just flipped. Atlanta had control — home field, momentum, narrative. One complete game later, that’s gone.”
Now the series goes west, tied at one, and the Braves have to sit with something unfamiliar: doubt.
Vin Scully (closing):
“In baseball, tomorrow always arrives quickly, but tonight belongs to the unexpected. The Dodgers reminded everyone that power can be quieted, confidence can be shaken, and a single arm can change the direction of October.”
From Atlanta, where no one saw this coming… good night.

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Joe Buck:
“This one got away early… and then it really got away. The Milwaukee Brewers come into San Francisco needing a response, and they deliver one of the most lopsided playoff performances you’ll ever see — a 20–6 win to even this Division Series at one game apiece.”
Tim McCarver:
“Joe, this was over before the Giants could even settle into their seats. When you score eleven runs in the first three innings on the road, in a playoff game, you take the crowd out of it, you take the pitchers out of it, and you take the confidence right out of the dugout.”
Buck:
“And the tone was set immediately. Milwaukee scores three in the first, two more in the second, and then six in the third — capped by the moment that really broke the game open.”
McCarver:
“That grand slam by Jordan Watson. Two outs, bases loaded, slider that doesn’t slide — and Watson stays back beautifully. That’s not a guess swing, Joe. That’s a hitter who knows exactly what’s coming.”
Buck:
“Watson finishes with five RBIs, three hits, a home run, and two doubles. He was everywhere in this game.”
McCarver:
“And it wasn’t just Watson. That’s the scary part. This was a lineup one through nine. Extra-base hits all over the field. Guys weren’t trying to do too much — they were taking what the Giants gave them, and San Francisco kept giving.”
Buck:
“The Brewers end the day with twenty runs on twenty-one hits. They scored in seven different innings.”
McCarver:
“And Joe, when a pitching staff has to go to the bullpen that early, it changes the whole game. Bachus couldn’t get through the third, Kovach gets tagged, Mondragon gets tagged — suddenly you’re just trying to survive.”
Buck:
“San Francisco did get on the board late, but by then this had turned into damage control.”
McCarver:
“The Giants had no margin for error coming in, and once they fell behind early, they had to start chasing runs. That’s not how this club is built to play.”
Buck:
“Meanwhile, credit to Milwaukee starter Javier Arias — steady, efficient, gave his team exactly what it needed.”
McCarver:
“He didn’t have to be perfect. With that kind of run support, you just pound the zone, let hitters put the ball in play, and trust your defense.”
Buck (closing):
“So the Brewers answer emphatically. The series now shifts to Milwaukee, tied at one, and suddenly all the pressure swings back to San Francisco.”
Final from Oracle Park — Brewers 20, Giants 6.

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Boston Red Sox: 2nd ALCS berth
1911 1934

COLIN COWHERD:
Here’s what I like about Boston—and I’ve been saying this for years—they don’t beat you with flash, they beat you with momentum. Baseball is a rhythm sport, and right now the Red Sox have it. This wasn’t some fluky three-game stumble by Houston. This was a sweep of the defending standard in the American League. The Astros won the World Series three years ago, they still have big names, pedigree, banners—and Boston walked into Minute Maid Park and took their lunch money.
You look at Brian Petro? That’s not a hot streak—that’s a centerpiece. .571, four homers, ten runs scored in three games. That’s what October stars look like. Boston didn’t survive this series. They controlled it. Lost the starter early? No problem. Barnette steadies the game, Sato shuts the door. That’s organizational confidence.
And here’s the question I always ask: Do you want to play them right now?
The answer is no. Cleveland, Anaheim—doesn’t matter. Boston is playing loose, confident, connected. Those are the teams that end up dog-piling in October.

CHRIS “MAD DOG” RUSSO:
WAIT A MINUTE—WAIT A SECOND—can we stop with the “nice little run” nonsense?! This is the Boston Red Sox, for crying out loud! This franchise hasn’t sniffed a World Series since before half the country was born! You don’t sweep Houston by accident! You don’t go into that building, against that lineup, with Curtis, Berthiaume, Garcia, and just wipe ‘em out unless you’re legit!
And don’t gimme the “Houston was tired” garbage—Houston HIT! They scored seven runs! Curtis hits TWO homers and still loses by four! That tells you everything! Boston answered EVERY TIME. Astros punch? Red Sox counterpunch HARDER.
Petro? Absolute MONSTER. Williams? Big hits. Beltran? Big fly. Lopez? Big fly. They didn’t dink and dunk—THEY BLUDGEONED ‘EM!
And Milwaukee—Cleveland—Anaheim—whoever it is—THEY BETTER BE CAREFUL. Because this is not some cute story. This is Boston’s second ALCS ever, first since 1911, and you can FEEL it! Fenway’s gonna be a ZOO!

COWHERD (closing):
Dynasties are built on timing. This feels like timing. Boston’s not just happy to be here—they’re dangerous. And dangerous teams? They don’t ask permission.

RUSSO (shouting):
CAN THEY GET BACK TO THE WORLD SERIES?!
ABSOLUTELY THEY CAN!
AND IF THEY DO—LOOK OUT! THIS COULD BE THE YEAR, BABY!

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COLIN COWHERD:
Alright, let me start here—this game was baseball chaos, and chaos usually favors the team that has nothing to lose. That was Anaheim today. Cleveland came in up 2–0, thinking closeout, thinking control, thinking business trip. And instead they got dragged into a backyard brawl. Fifteen to fourteen? That’s not playoff baseball—that’s street fighting.
Here’s the takeaway I care about: Cleveland scored fourteen runs and lost. That tells me two things. One, their offense is real—Alay was a monster, twenty hits, relentless pressure. But two—and this is the bigger one—their pitching staff is fragile under stress. You can’t give up fifteen runs with a chance to put a series away. You just can’t.
HARRY DOYLE:
sighs
Well, Colin… this one hurts. I gotta be honest with ya. When you score fourteen runs in a playoff game, you’re supposed to be gettin’ on the plane, orderin’ room service, maybe thinkin’ about who you’re playin’ next. Instead? I’m sittin’ here wonderin’ how in the world we’re still playin’ tomorrow.
They had ‘em. They HAD ‘em. Every time Anaheim popped up, Cleveland answered right back. Alay hits two homers, Amero goes deep, Holloway starts the game with a bang—and it just… didn’t matter.
COWHERD:
Harry, this is where I’m gonna push back a little. This wasn’t bad luck. This was bad sequencing. Correa couldn’t survive the first three innings, Howell gives up the decisive homer, and suddenly Anaheim believes. Playoff series turn on belief. Billy Horn—95 steals during the season—doesn’t beat you with speed tonight. He beats you with a two-run bomb in the eighth. That’s emotional damage.
DOYLE:
And that’s the part that’ll keep me up tonight. Billy Horn’s a blur on the bases—you expect him to swipe second, maybe score on a single. You don’t expect him to turn on one and send it over the fence. When that ball left the park… I just kinda sank in my chair.
You could feel the stadium flip. Indians fans got quiet. Angels fans got loud. And suddenly it didn’t matter that Cleveland had twenty hits. None of it mattered anymore.
COWHERD:
Exactly. Momentum doesn’t care about spreadsheets. Anaheim didn’t pitch well, didn’t defend perfectly—but they kept swinging. Marku was phenomenal—four RBIs, big homer, Player of the Game. That’s what desperation looks like. Teams facing elimination play freer. Teams trying to close tighten up.
DOYLE:
I just wish—just once—we’d step on somebody’s throat. That’s all I’m askin’. You’re up 2–0 in the series. You’re up late in the game. You’re scoring runs like it’s batting practice. And still, here we are.
Now it’s a series again. And Anaheim’s gonna wake up tomorrow thinkin’, “Why not us?”
COWHERD:
And that’s the danger, Harry. Cleveland is still the better team. They still control the series. But psychologically? This game planted a seed. Anaheim now believes Cleveland can be cracked. And once a playoff opponent believes that—you’re in for a dogfight.
DOYLE (quietly):
Yeah… tomorrow just got a lot bigger than it needed to be.

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COLIN COWHERD:
So let me say this upfront: if you’re watching baseball in 1934 and you think an 11–2 lead means anything anymore, you’re not paying attention. This league is an offensive carnival. Balls are flying. Pitching depth is thin. And games don’t end—they just pause.
San Francisco jumps out 11–2 after three innings and you think, “Alright, next game.” Nope. Milwaukee storms back with seven unanswered runs and suddenly it’s white-knuckle time. That’s modern playoff baseball—even in this era. Leads are fragile. Composure is currency.
But here’s the separator: when the game got chaotic, the Giants didn’t panic. They absorbed the punch, steadied themselves, and then reasserted control. That’s a championship trait.
CHRIS “MAD DOG” RUSSO:
COLIN—COLIN—STOP RIGHT THERE. I’m losin’ my mind watchin’ this thing! You’re down ELEVEN TO TWO, alright? ELEVEN TO TWO! You’re supposed to be dead, buried, send flowers to the family! And the Brewers come roarin’ back like it’s a Sunday doubleheader in July!
They made it a GAME! They made the ballpark shake! And then—AND THEN—they just… let it go again! You cannot give up FOUR MORE in the eighth like that! You can’t! Not in October!
COWHERD:
And that’s the difference between contenders and almosts. Milwaukee showed heart. They showed fight. But San Francisco showed closure. When momentum wobbled, Jesus Satiago steps in and reminds everyone who he is.
Thirty-nine years old. Three home runs. Five RBIs. This wasn’t nostalgia—this was authority. In a league obsessed with youth and velocity, the old guy just owned the night.
RUSSO:
THREE HOMERS! THREE! I don’t care if you’re 19 or 49—that’s LEGEND stuff! And every one of ‘em felt like a gut punch to Milwaukee. Every time the Brewers thought, “Okay, we’re back,” BOOM—Satiago again!
And don’t sleep on Tyler Adams either! First inning—BANG—three-run shot, tone set! That matters! You can’t just look at the final and say “Giants offense.” It was timely, Colin. TIMELY!
COWHERD:
Exactly. Milwaukee piled up hits—twenty-one of them—but San Francisco’s damage came in clusters. That’s how series swing. And now here’s the big picture: Giants up 2–1, one win away from the NLCS, and they’ve already survived the Brewers’ best emotional counterpunch.
If you’re Milwaukee, you emptied the tank and still lost. If you’re San Francisco, you learned you can win ugly.
RUSSO:
And lemme tell ya somethin’—that’s TERRIFYIN’ for the rest of the league. Because if the Giants can score sixteen, give up eleven, sit through a rain delay, watch the other team come back from the dead—and STILL walk outta there in control?
That’s not luck. That’s a team that knows who it is.
COWHERD:
One more win, and San Francisco’s back in the NLCS. And if this league is about offense, experience, and nerve—then the Giants just checked all three boxes in one insane afternoon.

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VIN SCULLY:
Good evening, everybody, from a sun-splashed Dodger Stadium, where October once again reminds us that the game of baseball has a way of unfolding like a novel—you think you know where it’s headed, and then a few pages later, everything changes.
Tonight was one of those chapters.
The Dodgers struck first, four runs in the second inning, and for a moment it felt familiar, comforting even. But baseball, like life, rarely stays tidy for long. The Braves answered quietly… then loudly… and eventually, overwhelmingly.
JOE DAVIS:
And Vin, the moment that shifted everything came early in the fourth inning. No one out, the Braves trailing by a run, and Frank Quiroz turns on a curveball from Tyler Wesley. A two-run home run—and just like that, Atlanta had the lead, 5–4, and you could feel the game tilt.
From there, it became a relentless march.
VIN SCULLY:
Relentless is the word. The fifth inning arrived like a summer storm—nine runs, one after another, each swing carrying more weight than the last. And standing in the middle of it all was Jesus Rivera, a first baseman with a calm presence and a powerful bat.
Rivera homered twice, doubled, drove in four, and scored three times. He didn’t rush. He didn’t force. He simply waited for his pitch—and when it came, he did something meaningful with it.
JOE DAVIS:
The Braves finished with nineteen runs on nineteen hits, Vin. Nearly everyone in the lineup contributed. Quiroz with two home runs. Quizhpe with five hits. Baugh, McKnight, Smith—all of them finding space, finding timing, finding moments.
And even when the Dodgers tried to climb back—four runs in the eighth—the Braves never wavered.
VIN SCULLY:
That’s the mark of a seasoned club. Atlanta has lived in these moments before. They’ve learned that October doesn’t reward panic—it rewards patience. When the Dodgers pushed, the Braves steadied themselves. When the crowd stirred, they answered quietly with another run, then another.
And so, when the final out settled into a glove, the Braves walked off the field with a 19–11 victory and a 2–1 lead in the series.
JOE DAVIS:
One win away now from the National League Championship Series, with Game 4 coming tomorrow night right here at Dodger Stadium.
VIN SCULLY:
And that’s the beauty of it. Tomorrow, the story continues. The Dodgers will try to extend the season. The Braves will try to close a chapter.
Where it goes next—well, that’s why we keep coming back.

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HARRY DOYLE:
Well how about this one, folks! The Cleveland Indians — yeah, those Indians, 117 wins, ran away with the American League — are headed to a winner-take-all Game Five because the Anaheim Angels just flat-out refused to die! My goodness, what a ballgame at the Big A!
DICK VITALE:
ARE YOU SERIOUS?! THIS WAS ABSOLUTELY DIAPER DANDY, BABY! I mean, Cleveland comes in thinking, “We’ll take care of business,” and Anaheim says, “NOT SO FAST!” This was HEART! PASSION! BELIEVE, BABY, BELIEVE!
HARRY DOYLE:
The Angels strike first in the second inning, and that’s when things really got nutty. Sergio Perezchica leaves one over the plate, and Ricky Roman absolutely unloads on it — three-run homer! BOOM! Just like that, Anaheim’s up 3–0, and the crowd is going bananas.
DICK VITALE:
OH WOW! RICKY ROMAN WAS UNCONSCIOUS! THREE HOME RUNS! THREE! THAT’S VIDEO GAME STUFF! HE WAS LOCKED IN, DIALed UP, AND READY TO ROLL, BABY! FIVE RBIs! THIS GUY WAS A ONE-MAN WRECKING CREW!
HARRY DOYLE:
Now don’t blink, because Cleveland fires right back. Third inning? Runs. Fourth inning? SIX of ‘em! Amero, Alay, Walters — boom, boom, boom — the Tribe grabs a 9–5 lead and you’re thinking, “Okay, that’s the end of that.”
DICK VITALE:
WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! YOU CAN’T PUT THESE ANGELS AWAY! THEY’VE GOT HEART, BABY! They come back with FIVE in the fifth — FIVE! Roman goes yard AGAIN, Marku joins the party, and this thing turns into a TRACK MEET!
HARRY DOYLE:
From there, it was pure madness. Leads changing, balls flying everywhere, pitchers begging for mercy. Anaheim pours on three in the sixth, two more in the seventh, another insurance run in the eighth — and somehow, some way, they outslug the most dominant team in baseball, 16–12.
DICK VITALE:
THIS WAS OFFENSE WITH A CAPITAL “O”! 21 HITS! EVERYBODY EATING! Guzman’s got four hits! Roman’s got TWELVE total bases! This was TEAM BASK— I mean BASEBALL, BABY! PURE JOY!
HARRY DOYLE:
So now we’ve got it. One game. One ballpark. Friday night at Jacobs Field. The mighty Indians… versus the never-say-die Angels.
DICK VITALE:
GAME FIVE! SURVIVE AND ADVANCE! LOSER GOES HOME! THIS IS WHY WE LOVE OCTOBER, BABY! I CAN’T WAIT!
HARRY DOYLE:
Neither can I. If this series has taught us anything, it’s simple: don’t assume anything… and never count out a team that just won’t quit.

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San Francisco Giants: 4th NLCS berth
1915 1916 1917 1934

CHRIS RUSSO:
I mean—come on! This is exactly what the Milwaukee Brewers do every October! Every year you talk yourself into it, every year you say, “This time’s different,” and every year—BAM!—it ends the same way! Another Division Series, another gut punch, another walk off the field staring at the grass! Meanwhile, the San Francisco Giants, who’ve been wandering the wilderness for 17 years, just waltz right back into the NLCS like they never left!

GUS JOHNSON:
SEVENTEEN! YEARS! LATER! AND THE GIANTS! ARE! BACK!
SAN! FRAN! CIS! CO!
ADVANCING TO THE NLCS FOR THE FOURTH TIME IN FRANCHISE HISTORY! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

CHRIS RUSSO:
And this game—this game had everything. Milwaukee throws haymakers in the sixth, ties it up, the place is shaking, and you’re thinking, “Okay, maybe—maybe—the Brewers finally flip the script.” But no! No, no, no! The Giants just keep answering! They never blinked!

GUS JOHNSON:
EVERY TIME THE BREWERS ROARED—THE GIANTS ROARED BACK!
PERDOMO! BOOM!
VAZQUEZ! BOOM!
JEREMY DICK—FIVE HITS! FIVE! IN AN EXTRA-INNING PLAYOFF GAME! HISTORY, BABY!

CHRIS RUSSO:
Cesar Vazquez—listen to me—this guy owned the series. MVP, no debate. .667 average, clutch hit after clutch hit, and that second-inning homer? That set the tone. He wasn’t trying to do too much—he was just better than everyone else.

GUS JOHNSON:
SEE THE BALL! HIT THE BALL!
SIMPLE!
DEADLY!
EFFECTIVE!
CESAR! VAZ! QUEZ!

CHRIS RUSSO:
And for Milwaukee… I don’t even know what to say anymore. They score nine runs, they get fourteen hits, Reyes is flying all over the place, and they still lose. Extra innings again. Another season ends with fans standing there in disbelief, asking, “How did this happen?”

GUS JOHNSON:
HEARTBREAK… IN… MILWAUKEE!
ANOTHER OCTOBER!
ANOTHER EMPTY PROMISE!
THE TORTURE CONTINUES!

CHRIS RUSSO:
So now the Giants wait. Dodgers or Braves—it doesn’t matter. They’ve waited 17 years for this moment, and they’re not satisfied just being back.
GUS JOHNSON:
THE GIANTS! ARE! ALIVE!
THE NLCS! AWAITS!
AND OCTOBER—
OCTOBER JUST GOT A WHOLE LOT LOUDER!

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COLIN COWHERD:
Let me start here: great teams get pushed. That’s not a flaw—that’s a test. And the Atlanta Braves just found out something about the Dodgers that you only learn in October: when you put them on the edge, when their season is actually on the line, they don’t play pretty… they play urgent. This wasn’t about perfection. This was about survival.
VIN SCULLY:
On a mild October afternoon in Los Angeles, with a soft breeze drifting in from right field, the Dodgers played a game that had the feeling of a long conversation with fate—one they simply were not ready to end.
COWHERD:
Look at the first inning. This is classic playoff psychology. Atlanta comes in confident, maybe a little comfortable with the series lead—and bang. Five runs. Dodgers punch first, punch hard, and suddenly the entire dynamic flips. That’s what home-field urgency looks like.
SCULLY:
The inning unfolded gently at first, then all at once. A double here, a runner advancing there, and then Dave Lebron stepped in with two out, the crowd rising as one. His swing sent the ball skimming into the gap, and by the time it settled, two more runs were home and the Dodgers had seized the afternoon.
COWHERD:
And Lebron—this is why catchers matter in October. Tough position, physical grind, and yet he’s your offensive tone-setter. Four RBIs, two doubles, a homer. That’s not noise—that’s impact.
SCULLY:
Lebron’s bat told the story with quiet authority. Three hits in four trips, each one arriving just when the Dodgers seemed to need reassurance. He did not hurry the game; he simply waited for it to come to him.
COWHERD:
Now, Atlanta deserves credit. They didn’t fold. That’s a serious lineup. They kept chipping away—walks, doubles, pressure. But here’s the thing: when you spot a team like the Dodgers an early lead, you’re asking to play uphill baseball for nine innings.
SCULLY:
The Braves answered patiently, inning by inning, run by run. They never rushed the moment, and by the ninth they had drawn close enough to make the crowd glance nervously at the scoreboard. But the Dodgers, steady and composed, had built just enough distance to hold on.
COWHERD:
So now we get what October always wants—a Game 5. No spin, no narrative fluff. Just talent, nerves, and nine innings to decide who’s real. Atlanta goes home knowing they let an opportunity slip. The Dodgers go east knowing momentum is a fragile thing—but belief travels well.
SCULLY:
And so the series moves on, as all good stories do, to one final chapter. Saturday in Atlanta, where the season will ask one last question and accept only one answer. In baseball, there is no better stage—and no kinder judge—than the game itself.

[jg2977]

Anaheim Angels: 4th ALCS berth
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COLIN COWHERD:
So here’s the uncomfortable truth about sports—and Cleveland just lived it. Regular seasons can lie to you. They can flatter you. They can make you feel safe. The Indians went 117–45, ran away from the American League, looked like a machine, and for two games at home it felt inevitable. And then October did what October always does: it exposed the thin line between dominance and disaster.
This is why we watch.

MIKE FRANCESA:
Yeah, and lemme tell ya somethin’, this one’s gonna sting for a long time. You don’t win 117 games, you don’t line up the pitching, you don’t have home field, and then go out like this without people askin’ questions. That’s not bad luck—that’s a collapse.

COWHERD:
Because Anaheim didn’t sneak by. They didn’t steal one. They didn’t get lucky. They walked into Cleveland and took the series. Three straight wins. That’s not a fluke—that’s a mindset. And it ended with Danny Cespedes.

FRANCESA:
Cespedes was brilliant. Ninety-one pitches. Complete game. One run. Four hits. No walks. That’s old-school, get-on-the-bus energy. That’s a Cy Young winner remindin’ everybody why he’s got that trophy sittin’ on the mantle.

COWHERD:
This is the part contenders don’t like to hear: when the lights got bright, Cleveland tightened up—and Anaheim relaxed. The Angels played loose, aggressive, fearless baseball. Cleveland played not to lose.
That never works.

FRANCESA:
The Indians couldn’t string nothin’ together. No pressure. No traffic. Four hits in a win-or-go-home game at home? That’s unacceptable. Period. And I don’t care how cold it was or who was pitchin’.

COWHERD:
Meanwhile, Anaheim has a star turn into a hero. Juan Garcia wins Series MVP, bats .500, drives in runs like it’s batting practice. This team didn’t panic when they went down 2–0. They adjusted. That’s playoff DNA.

FRANCESA:
And don’t gloss over this—this is the first Angels ALCS appearance in 26 years. Twenty-six. That’s generations of frustration washed away in one week. They earned this.

COWHERD:
So now the narrative flips. Cleveland goes from “team of destiny” to “what went wrong?” And Anaheim? They go from scrappy underdog to a legitimate threat heading into a showdown with Boston.

FRANCESA:
And Boston’s gonna know they’re in a series. You get pitchin’ like this, confidence like this, and nothin’ to lose? That’s dangerous.

COWHERD:
Bottom line: the Indians won the summer. The Angels won the moments. And in October, moments beat math every time.

FRANCESA:
That’s playoff baseball, folks. The standings don’t matter anymore. The scoreboard does. And Anaheim just flipped the whole American League upside down.

[jg2977]

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