Padres pitching issued at least one walk in each of the first five innings, ignored runners, and created multiple opportunities for the visitors to seize control in regulation before the Reds finally obliged in extras. Sal Stewart’s two-run homer off Yuki Matsui in the 11th harkened back to the days when clouts off the bats of Rich Aurilia, Wily Mo Peña, or even Javier Valentin determined outcomes for the visitors from Cincinnati. It was one of those games where the winning team celebrates relief more than victory, and the losing team takes solace that first pitch tomorrow is only a little more than 12 hours away. This game reminded me so much of my first seasons with the Padres that I almost drove to home to a condo in Pacific Beach that I last had the keys to when Bruce Bochy was manager.

I was excited for this game, too.

The Reds have thoughtfully assembled a stable of homegrown arms over recent years, devoting top picks in the amateur draft to pitching. Chase Burns, the second overall selection in the 2024 Draft, was facing the Padres for the first time in his career. With a fastball that reaches triple digits and a nasty power slider, Burns is pitching his way to Philadelphia, site of next month’s All-Star Game.

In the bottom of the first, he disposed of an aggressive top of the lineup in six pitches. With an approach that could be described as “Avoid The Slider,” Padres hitters were ready to swing.

Fernando Tatis Jr. offered at the first pitch — a 97 MPH heater on the outer part of the plate — and popped it harmlessly to Reds first baseman Nathaniel Lowe. Jackson Merrill took a first-pitch strike — because he had to after Tatis’ at-bat — before going down swinging on a 1-2 slider. Manny Machado followed Tatis’ cue and skied the first pitch he saw — a fastball coming in at 99 MPH — into right field. What could we learn from a six-pitch frame against three batters who accounted for 77% of the career plate appearances in a lesser experienced Padres lineup? That it was going to be one of those nights.

After all, it was the first time in MLB history — the Elias Sports Bureau doesn’t track this kind of information, so just go with me here — that the player honored with a bobblehead was placed on the Paternity List on the same day as the giveaway. While Xander Bogaerts and his wife awaited the arrival of their second child, “Bogey Goes Boom” Bobblehead Night at Petco Park left most in attendance shaking their heads.

Burns operates from the third base side of the rubber. His arm is loose and whippy; his delivery is explosive; his stuff is electric.

But the second time through the lineup, the aggressive Padres hitters were better grounded. It was as if they collectively realized that they had given the young pitcher too much credit the first time around. After shortstop Sung-Mun Song — starting at shortstop for the absent bobblehead — struck out, Tatis lined a 1-2 slider into center. Merrill then ambushed the next pitch into the right field corner. Two of the Padres most dynamic athletes were underway. While Tatis sprinted around the bases, Merrill matched him stride for stride before diving head first into third base.

The spell that Burns held over the home dugout in the first inning had burned off like June Gloom on a sunny afternoon. For the second time in the inning, the Padres got the best of Burns on a 1-2 slider: Machado protected the plate, kept his hands back, and poked the ball over the drawn-in infield for a knock and an RBI. The game was tied. And it would remain tied for a while, despite three stolen bases from Reds shortstop Matt McLain, despite a one-out, bases-loaded opportunity for Padres catcher Freddy Fermin, despite Jason Adam walking the first two batters of the Reds eighth, despite Machado’s leadoff double later that inning and Gavin Sheets’ textbook ground ball to the right side to advance the runner. Despite Manny Machado coming to bat with the bases loaded and one out in the bottom of the ninth.

It was one of those nights at Petco.

There’s always been baseball on my birthday, and I generally remember more about the games than the candles.

My parents, sister, and I were driving home — probably from Pizza Hut — on the Friday evening when I turned 12. We tuned into the Orioles game in the late innings and heard them secure their first win of the season. In case anyone doesn’t remember those 1988 O’s, my birthday is way too late in April for any team to be winning for the first time.

Many birthdays later, during my first year working in baseball, a couple friends visited me in San Diego. With two outs in the top of the ninth of a 4-3 game and Shawn Green on first, one friend, who didn’t follow baseball closely, asked if we’d need to play the bottom of the ninth if the Diamondbacks failed to score. Before anyone could answer, Trevor Hoffman surrendered a double to Tony Clark. The game was tied.1

Then there was my first year in Arizona, when some coworkers brilliantly pranked me with a scoreboard message. It was hilarious in 2011.

It’s a different kind of funny today. In the immortal words of George Thorogood, “Everybody funny. Now you funny too.”

On the day after my 50th — the first day of the rest of my life — I was on the field coaching my son’s team. Alas, the 8u Yanks never managed to put one in the win column, but a lot of kids and parents deepened their love of the game this season. For that, I am grateful.

Fifty years in, almost every relationship involves at least a little baseball.

Look, I realize it was a birthday and not an Academy Award, but it still feels right to thank my mother and father for raising me with love (period) and the space and opportunity to form my own relationship with the game. My dad for the hours of catch in the backyard and for mastering — like Superman in a phone booth — the art of changing out of a suit and tie and becoming baseball ready in a few minutes, for being my coach and setting an example rooted in a father and son, two gloves, a ball, and a transistor radio; my mom for safely getting me where I needed to be and being the voice I always heard cheering me on, for keeping my baseball pants as white as possible, and for making baseball more than a game of fathers and sons, for making it a family value. They supported every decision along the way, and I’m grateful.

The Orioles game is probably on at their house right now.

In the evening after that final game of the 8u season, my son was processing his emotions. There were a lot of heavy sighs and dramatic pauses for a kid who wasn’t answering a question about his homework. He had already expressed to Mrs. WTP that his real sadness stemmed from the season coming to an end.

“Dad, do you promise you’ll play baseball with me on Saturday?” he asked, the words fighting past the pain of a tomorrow with no game on the calendar. “You see, the thing is,” he continued in a way that’s usually reserved for informing me that he’s not yet tired and/or still hungry, “I can’t be a human without playing baseball.”

Cancel the paternity test, Geraldo. The boy is mine.

Trying to put back into the game all that it has given to me guides me on many of my best days. Thank you all for being a part of it.

Even you, Nolan Ryan.

The Express

Someone thought it would be a fun quirk in the 2013 schedule if the Diamondbacks hosted the Rangers for a Memorial Day doubleheader before both teams traveled to Texas for a two-game series. And when Didi Gregorius delivered an eighth-inning home run off Yu Darvish, sparking a holiday sweep for Arizona, the arrangement became more palatable.

Then we arrived in Texas. After a scheduled off day on Tuesday, the weather in Arlington jeopardized the Wednesday game. A heavy thunderstorm rolled through around an hour before first pitch. The grounds crew couldn’t get the tarp down, and the field took on a lot of water. Too much water, in fact.

Scheduled D-backs starter Brandon McCarthy, intelligent and usually articulate, was quoted as saying: “It was a wasted off day for nothing.”

Though I’m still not exactly sure what that means, I can attest that those sentiments were shared throughout the visiting clubhouse at Rangers Ballpark.

Before the game was canceled, there was a discussion. Kirk Gibson and I walked down the third base line to meet the top Rangers decision makers: GM Jon Daniels, manager Ron Washington, and team president Nolan Ryan.2

By then, I had already reviewed our remaining schedule as well as the Rangers schedule. Nobody wanted a second doubleheader in the same week. That said, the calendar didn’t accommodate another logical trip to Texas. We knew August 1 would be desirable to the Rangers; they were already hosting the Angels over the final days of July. For the D-backs, an August 1 game meant flying from Tampa Bay to Arlington to Boston over the course of 24 hours: three road games in three different cities on three consecutive nights.

I think we preferred a date a couple weeks later, when the team could have broken up an eastbound itinerary with a quick stop in Texas. That date had its own complications.

The game was soon to be postponed due to “unplayable field conditions.”

It was determined that the makeup date would be August 1. The man I had rooted for throughout the ’80s and ’90s seemed to make this decision for all of us, while somehow also making it our decision. Nolan Ryan was so gentle in controlling the conversation that I didn’t even feel bullied until a couple days later.

I regret the green shirt, and I regret not being better prepared to push back at the Rangers’ preferred makeup date.

It was May 1, 1991. I had just turned 15, and the 44-year-old pitcher was carving up a Blue Jays lineup that included Devon White, Roberto Alomar, John Olerud, and Joe Carter. The game that night was broadcast only by Canada’s TSN.

Hours earlier, Rickey Henderson had become MLB’s all-time stolen base leader. I believe ESPN had aired that game.

Whether I had been in my room doing homework or was already I was in the family room with my dad, once coverage of Nolan Ryan — deep into the bid to complete his seventh no-hitter — appeared on ESPN, I was staying put.

These memories were sparked as I read Tim Brown’s fantastic book NOLAN: The Singular Life of an American Original.

It comes out galloping. The pace is quick as Brown navigates Nolan Ryan’s Texas.

Early on, the book spends a lot of time in Texas. (So did its subject.)

I’m certainly no cowboy, and I liked how the initial chapters made me feel a bit insecure, a bit uneasy because of my lack of understanding of Nolan Ryan’s Texas.

Once Brown begins to walk the streets of Alvin, Texas, Ryan’s hometown, a slower tempo — one designed to go the distance — sets in. “Any story about Nolan Ryan is a story about Alvin,” the author announces.

It bears out. The earliest chapters are as much about Texas as the pitcher known as Tex. There’s a codependency between the state and the star, and a toughness that runs through both of them.

Ryan’s 292 career losses trail only Cy Young and Pud Galvin on the all-time list. Young threw his last pitch in 1911; Galvin in 1892. Brown frames the modern-day record through the soul of Texas: “A true Texan sees past the box score and into the heart of a man.”

Once that’s understood, we proceed and it’s a lot of baseball. Fantastic baseball.

There’s a magical chapter that examines Ryan’s legacy, at one point calling on a story from Justin Verlander to help frame it. Brown takes us into the home dugout at Oracle Park as Verlander watches — essentially as a fan — Reds starter Hunter Greene attempt to complete a game. Verlander is a derivative of Ryan and a torchbearer for the way a starting pitcher used to approach his assignment. While reading Brown’s biography of Ryan, I was left wondering how many big league biographies Nolan had helped author.

While you’re waiting for the book to arrive, let me recommend reading a deleted chapter from the original manuscript called “Nobody Knows a Pitcher Like His Catcher.” You can find it by clicking here (on Tim Brown’s Substack); enjoy it, and begin to appreciate how good the book must be if this was the chapter that didn’t make varsity.

P.S.

I got a root canal yesterday, the second of my career. The needles and drilling aren’t a lot of fun, but they’re not the problem. I struggle with the accessories that go in my mouth and over my face. I can psyche myself into forgetting how to breathe pretty quickly.

After a false start of sorts, we — my endodontist, his assistant, and I — decided that a little nitrous would help me relax. Less than 10 minutes later, life was much better. I drifted away, carried by the soundtrack of the room, featuring Neil Young, King Harvest’s “Dancing In The Moonlight,” and Pink Floyd (seriously). Cozy on laughing gas, my mind ventured to the local softball field where my daughter’s team would practice in just a few hours. While Dr. Andrus (no relation to Elvis that I know of) removed the inflamed pulp of my tooth, I was dreaming up drills to encourage backing up bases.

Was this my Hunter S. Thompson moment? Could this be Fear and Loathing in 10u Softball?

Ouch. I felt that. “You’re waking up,” Dr. Andrus said. “Good timing.” That was it? We were done already? One hour earlier, I wasn’t sure how I would make it through the procedure. Then, in one flip of the switch, I had tripped my way through an entire softball practice plan and regained the ability to eat hot and cold food.

With the right combination of nitrous and compassion, anything is possible.

I am grateful to Dr. Kevin Andrus and his assistant Chloe. They made a bad situation comfortable. I hope you never need his services, but if you find yourself in San Diego and in need of an endodontist, I’ve got you covered.

On my way out, the receptionist helped me get ahead of my pain with a couple Advil. I washed them down and thought of Nolan Ryan, who spent the tail end of his career slinging the ibuprofen in commercials when he wasn’t firing fastballs. (It was gentler on his stomach than Aspirin!) He helped convince an entire generation that proper arm care was only two tablets or caplets away. Just like Nolan, I felt ready to go another nine innings.

On Sunday, Paul Goldschmidt established himself in the batter’s box like he has throughout his career: firmly entrenched spikes supporting a wide base that allows him to pick up and go with no stride and very little pre-pitch movement. While his crouch and hand positioning have evolved over time, the very Jeff Bagwell nature of his setup remains the same.

The count was 1-2 in the bottom of the seventh when Rays starter Drew Rasmussen turned over a 96 MPH sinker. The pitch dove below the knees as Goldschmidt’s bat, which has connected on 377 home runs, cut through the zone. In a career spanning 16 big league seasons and nearly 9,000 plate appearances, the player affectionately known as Goldy struck out for the 2,000th time.

On that drizzly afternoon at Yankee Stadium, Goldschmidt walked back to the home dugout the ninth player in MLB history to strike out 2,000 times in a career. He joins a list that includes Hall of Famers, polarizing sluggers from the steroid era, three-true-outcome heroes, and a current teammate. (When Giancarlo Stanton returns from the Injured List, two members of the 2,000-K Club will be penciled into the same lineup for the first time ever.)

I had been surprised earlier in the season when I noticed Goldschmidt’s place historically. He had never struck me as an all-time strikeout victim because of the overall quality of his at-bats and his all-fields approach.

In the days leading up to the landmark swing and miss, I spoke to Turner Ward, Goldschmidt’s hitting coach for three years both in Arizona and in St. Louis. I was amused to find that Ward, too, was caught off guard by the slugger’s mounting total.

“When you play that long, you’re going to make outs,” Ward suggests before quickly pointing to the player’s ability to do damage in two-strike counts.

Behold these numbers:

In 2015, Goldschmidt finished second to Bryce Harper in the NL MVP vote.

That season, after falling behind in the count 0-2, all batters in MLB slashed .171 / .200 / .259. In the same situation, Goldschmidt posted .252 / .316 / .408.

But just wait; the MLB slash line in all counts that season was .254 / .317 / .405.

When Goldschmidt found himself down 0-2, he essentially represented a league-average hitter digging in for the first pitch of an at-bat. (Harper, in that scenario, went .245 / .284 / .555. Remarkable.) Hitting with two strikes is a lifestyle choice.

With all those two-strike counts, though, the strike threes accumulate. Goldschmidt has struck out in 37 ballparks. His conquests include every current MLB ballpark, including the A’s temporary home in Sacramento, plus Steinbrenner Field (where the Rays played in 2025), the Oakland Coliseum, Globe Life Park in Arlington, Turner Field, Estadio Monterrey (where the Cardinals and Reds played in 2019), London Stadium (where the Cardinals and Cubs played in 2023), and Rickwood Field (where the Cardinals and Giants played in 2024).

In 2023, while in London, Goldschmidt became the first player in MLB history to play a regular-season game in five different countries. But he’s only struck out in four. During the Diamondbacks two-game series in Sydney, Australia, in 2014, he went 4-for-9 with no strikeouts. Biscuits!

The road to 2,000 began with his big-league debut on August 1, 2011. After notching his first hit earlier in the game, Giants starter Matt Cain sent him down swinging.

“He’s a guy that hits with two strikes a lot,” says Dave Magadan, who was Goldschmidt’s hitting coach in Arizona from 2016-2018. “He’s a guy that sees a lot of pitches. He’s got a plan when he goes up to the plate — he’s looking for a pitch in a location — and he’s not afraid to [run deep counts]. When you’re hitting so much with two strikes and you’re a power guy like he is, you’re going to punch out. But I think he was and is so aware of the situation when he’s up that he does adapt. He will take his shot to right field — runner on third, less than two outs, he’s just trying to get a ball to the outfield.”

Magadan, who served as hitting coach for the Padres, Red Sox, Rangers, and Rockies, in addition to the D-backs, has a wealth of players and experiences to draw from.

“I used to talk about this with David Ortiz and Mike Lowell. A power guy that’s got two strikes on him with nobody on in a one-run game, I’m not really looking for him to hit a ground ball to the right side. I’m still wanting him to look to do some damage and, for that reason, a lot of these guys are going to punch out a little bit more.”

Ward was curious as to Goldschmidt’s strikeout rates in his seven full seasons in the desert versus his six seasons in St. Louis. While pitching was becoming more dynamic and strikeout rates have generally been on the rise, Goldschmidt’s K-rates increased only ever so slightly — and that was due to his offensively uncharacteristic 2024.

Like Magadan’s comments suggest, not all strikeouts are equal. For Goldschmidt, now 2,001 strikeouts into a career that includes an MVP (along with twice finishing second in the voting and once finishing third), five Silver Slugger awards, seven All-Star appearances, and four Gold Gloves, many of the Ks are a byproduct of understanding his strengths, adhering to a plan, and being patient when the situation allowed.

Ward attests, “He was relentless in his approach of what he was trying to do with certain pitchers,” which included a willingness to take strikes. “With his swing, he had to be really selective in what he was looking for to try to hit... and that goes back to the reason he’s so good — because he could look for certain areas and certain pitches, and do certain things.”

Reflecting upon an outstanding career still in progress, Ward asks: “Is he a Hall of Famer?”

To be continued…

The Boss is upset. Very upset. With me.

It started innocently enough. After all, every losing streak starts with one loss. For the 8u Yankees, playing on the sun-baked all-dirt infields in suburban Carlsbad, that first loss was on March 2, by the score of 16-4.

We were 0-1, but it was early March. If you’re playing ball under blue skies that time of year, are there really any losers?1 I’m here to say — 12 games later — the answer still is no. I can name five things off the top of my head that are more important than winning when it comes to seven- and eight-year-olds playing baseball.

Ground rumbles in Trinity, Florida. Customers at several nearby Publix locations report cereal boxes falling off the shelves. A cacophony of car alarms honk, beep, and bellow throughout the Tampa area. In Clearwater, unconfirmed reports of birds falling from the sky reach the local evening news.

I believe I owe you an explanation. The Yankees? Yeah, that was my initial reaction, too. When I opened the league director’s email, I didn’t expect to see it.

All managers had been asked to rank five team names from about 20 options. In four total seasons (fall and spring), I had never gotten anything less than my second choice. So, sure, I can throw a bone to the New Yorkers in my life, in my home; I’ll drop the Yanks in the five-hole. It would never happen. Someone else might be awarded the Angels and D-backs, but no way would I miss out on the Twins and the A’s.

Oh, the naiveté of an east coast boy living in Southern California. What have I done?

Shock, though, quickly turned to enthusiasm. What better way to teach first-graders about the game’s great history than in pinstripes? These kids might not know much, but surely they’d know the Sultan of Swat, the King of Crash, the Colossus of Clout (the Colossus of Clout!)… Babe Ruth! The Great Bambino!

And they did.

The team was unable to come to a consensus as to when exactly Ruth was in uniform, but they at least knew of his might. In fact, when asked when he played, they guessed every decade but any of the three acceptable responses.

What I didn’t realize at the time — our first practice of the season — was that our boys were reminding me that they were, well, young boys. In a league of kids just beginning elementary school, our roster featured 11 first-graders and only one second-grader. About half of the kids were still only six-years-old. Simply running through first base would be a success on most days. Simply running would suffice.2 It was expected to be a (re)building year.

No matter what, we were the Yankees. Ruth, Gehrig, Mantle, DiMaggio. Berra, Jeter, Rivera, Munson. Roger Maris was merely a footnote.3

We were the Yankees, and it was going to be okay. Then the losses started to pile up. The kids didn’t notice at first. It helped that we kept winning the base race — the full-team relay around the bases that takes place after most games. Moreover, these kids are horrific scorekeepers. We lost our second game, 20-13. My son told me in the car that we had won, 19-17. One of his friends said it was 18-14. Who was I to argue?

It wasn’t until the fifth game that the losing caught up to my son. We dropped a 15-14 battle, a game in which the boys knew, heading into the bottom of the sixth, they needed three to tie and four to win. We got two.

And then we won the base race. The game had already been washed away — and then chased with Gatorade.

Last weekend we got shutout, 23-0. The pitching machine really had our number. The good news is that we get another crack at that team on Tuesday in the overcomplicated playoff-seeding two-game pool play! (No, it will not be live-streamed.)

Most weeks, we’ve gotten a little better than the previous week. It doesn’t help the run differential, but that’s not why we play. I’ve come to embrace the variability. I try to remind everyone who will listen how easy the game becomes once you’re no longer in the lineup.

Little by little, we tackle the fundamentals. We play catch. We sometimes round first base.

The Yankees are 0-13. The Boss would not be happy.

At least we’re not the Mets.

One pitch turned an ordinary contest into a game gone wild.

In the bottom of the first, Soler lined a two-run homer into left field. It was the fifth time in 23 career at-bats that the slugger had taken Lopez deep. Soler has faced other pitchers more often, but no hurler has served up more dingers to the Cuban slugger than Lopez.

Indeed, that home run raised Soler’s average against Lopez to .609. (By the way, had anyone else forgotten that Soler led the AL with 48 homers in 2019?)

Back when $30 million meant something in 2012, the Cubs signed Soler out of Cuba to a nine-year deal. He helped the Cubs win a World Series in 2016 and was the MVP of the Fall Classic with the — that’s right — Braves in 2021.

The next time Soler came to bat, Lopez got ahead of him 1-2 before drilling him on the hands with a 2-2 fastball. The batter took his base. Fellow Cuban Yoan Moncada followed with a harmless ground ball to end the inning. The game still seemed ordinary, if not a bit plodding.

I stared up at the scoreboard and flashed back to 2015, when I scouted three of the bottom four batters in the Braves starting lineup. They were all in the South Atlantic League, all with different teams: Left fielder Mauricio Dubon was playing middle infield for the Greenville Drive, Boston’s affiliate; Jonah Heim, whom I wrote about when he was behind the plate for the 2023 World Series-winning Texas Rangers, was catching in Delmarva (Orioles); Jorge Mateo was playing shortstop for the Yankees’ affiliate in Charleston.

When Dubon played shortstop for Greenville, his double play partner was Moncada, now in the opposing dugout. Seeing this collection of players reminded me that the human element is the game. All of those players are now incredibly well traveled. All have fought through failure and battled back from injury. The player I expected the least from has two awards from Rawlings on his mantle.

Dubon won the Gold Glove as the American League’s best utility player in both 2023 and 2025. I saw him play second base, short, and left field back in the minors. He showed the ability to be an average defender at all positions, but I wasn’t sure he’d hit enough to provide sustained value in the big leagues. While his performance over 2,100 Major League plate appearances won’t inspire his manager to pencil him in at DH, his 2,100 MLB plate appearances tell us something!

Both lineups — in fact, most lineups — are sprinkled with well-traveled players. Soler and Lopez were teammates for a couple months in Atlanta at the end of the 2024 season.

Forgive me if I wasn’t anticipating a brawl.

In fact, the final pitch that Lopez threw last night — with two outs in the fifth — was initially memorable because of its path to the catcher’s mitt.

The elevated 97 MPH four-seamer zipped over the plate such that Jonah Heim could barely draw leather on it. The glancing touch of his mitt did little to slow the ball, and it one-hopped the backstop before returning directly to the catcher. Angels baserunner Nolan Schanuel advanced from first to second on the wild pitch, but the rebound made the play much closer than initially expected.

My daughter, whose favorite position on the softball field is behind the plate, took notice, and we began discussing the many things that can happen on a wild pitch.

Our conversation stopped abruptly. Soler charged towards Lopez, who appeared to invite the confrontation. A brawl ensued. Braves manager Walt Weiss wrangled Soler, while Trout calmed Lopez. This is the part where we say that cooler heads prevailed.

Mateo was pinch hit for in the top of the seventh. The sixth inning had ended on an ugly play that included a throwing error from Mateo, who was shaky on a ground ball earlier in the game, and Angels left fielder Josh Lowe being thrown out trying to advance to third. I bring this up only because Mateo is not in the starting lineup today (not necessarily unusual), and I hope he wasn’t dinged up in the fight.

Earlier this week, when writing about the ABS Challenges and vitriol directed towards the home plate umpires, I smugly made some professional wrestling references. I come to you today to promise that I won’t tackle these issues any more this season. If Oprah has taught us anything, it’s that manifestation is not a power to be trifled with. I am sorry. I love baseball. I especially love good baseball.

On Monday night, Angels starter Jose Soriano ran his record to 3-0 after dominating the Atlanta lineup. He allowed a run for the first time this season, but the sinkerballer went eight innings, allowing only three hits while striking out 10 and walking none. It looks like his next start will come on Sunday in Cincinnati. The Reds have had a hard time scoring runs so far this season. It’s only April, but I like the idea of Soriano entering the AL Cy Young Award mix.

We had already successfully ventured via driverless car from our hotel to the Exploratorium. After a couple hours in a fantastic children’s museum where art and science converged and delighted, the drive home promised to be a continuation of the experience.

Then the Waymo panicked. Lacking the patience to negotiate a pedestrian-heavy sidewalk and continue through a slightly less traditional egress, the robot showed its human side. It got nervous. It had second thoughts. Perhaps it even questioned decisions that led to this moment. After all, the Orion spacecraft was only a week away from its journey around the moon, and this hunk of metal was chauffeuring tourists around San Francisco.

It ditched us. A message immediately flashed on my phone: Ride canceled. I only wish it had said: “It’s not you, it’s me.”

A second attemp…

Read more

I thought I had gotten lucky; there was no need to wake up at 2:55am for first pitch. It didn’t take long to realize, however, that middle-of-the-night baseball is free from the usual evening distractions. And, man, I missed that quiet time with my coffee.

Aaron Judge struck out in his first four at bats, but his teammates got the best of starter Logan Webb, as the Yankees cruised to a 7-0 Opening Day road victory against the Giants. In the top of the second, six consecutive Yanks reached base. Trent Grisham capped off the rally with a two-run triple, and that was pretty much it for the debut of Giants rookie manager Tony Vitello.

I’ve been thinking about Vitello lately. He had a rough start to Spring Training, highlighted by a downright odd media session. It seemed reasonable to wonder if he had cut the cord from the University of Tennessee, where he had spent the previous eight years as the head coach. (Did Vitello say “Go Vols” while making his way down the line during pre-game introductions?)

But then exhibition games began, followed by the World Baseball Classic, and the attention on the new skipper died down.

Vitello. Vitello. A familiar name to some not because of baseball but from the dinner special at your favorite Italian restaurant.

Just last week, Da Flora Restaurant in San Francisco’s North Beach posted that Vitello Tonnato was back on the menu. The veal dish is served at many other restaurants around the city, including A16 and Acquerello, two restaurants I remember well from my days in food and wine journalism.

Vitello. Veal. The controversial meat that comes with both ethical questions and a lemon-butter-caper sauce. I think we are all familiar with the issues — malnourished veal calves confined to tiny living spaces that restrict movement, only to make a date with the butcher well in advance of their first birthday. And we think managers are on the hot seat.

Yankees starter Max Fried neutralized the home team’s lineup throughout his 6.1 innings of work. Even when Giants batters took good swings, the results didn’t follow. Fried located pitches and fooled hitters just enough to stay off the barrel. He was efficient. He was rarely stressed. He only faced three batters without having anything less than a five-run lead. You could say Vitello and the Giants were sent to slaughter early.

The Giants manager was barely a part of the evening, though. The score removed any high-leverage managing from the equation, and the broadcast seemed — let’s say — distracted.

If you’ve ever listened to the SmartLess podcast, you know that Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos comes up in conversation with the three hosts somewhat regularly. He’s even been a guest on the show. In the game’s early innings, the thought occurred to me that the gang from SmartLess might have more control over the production of the game than the commissioner.

Then came the seventh inning stretch.

Narrated by Jason Bateman.1

The campaigning has likely already begun for the Emmy for Best Spoken Word/Voice Over in a Live Sporting Event.

This past Saturday, my family and I saw the Savannah Bananas play at Petco Park. That’s a story for another day, but for now I’ll say that it left me ready — very ready — for Opening Day. The Netflix game left me ready for today’s games.

Baseball is back, and it’s a good day. Tony Vitello will have the day off to wrap his head around his first big league game. Then he’ll be back at it on Friday. A controversial choice, I hope he’s given more time than his name would suggest.

Last October, in a more formal ballpark, it was only the bottom of the second. But in a scoreless Game 5 of the ALDS, only exits the vernacular.

Enter: The 2025 WTP Player of the Year.

If we relied upon the player’s foot speed to deliver news that he had received this honor, then this story is arriving right on time. And if the arrival caught you off guard even just a little, well, that’s the way Josh Naylor plays the game.

Want to get our attention? Dig in against the best pitcher in the league under the bright lights of October.

And so there stood Naylor and Tarik Skubal.

I watched this at-bat and the subsequent stolen base so many times over the winter. It’s a reminder of the power of instincts and freedom.

The reigning AL Cy Young Award winner, who had his title renewed by voters about one month later, attacked Naylor away.

Away, away, away, away, away.

Every pitch of the at-bat was on the outer-third of the plate and beyond.

Three of the five pitches, including the 100 MPH sinker that Naylor volleyed for a double, are outside the strike zone. The thumbnail below shows the moment right around contact. Notice how Naylor’s head is down — eye on the ball! (The video is embedded immediately below, but if you prefer to click a link, here it is.)

Batted ball data tells us Naylor created an exit velocity of 89.4 MPH, and the ball traveled 283 feet in the air. Or was it Skubal who created the velocity while Naylor simply arranged the exit?

On the deciding pitch, Naylor eliminates any unnecessary movement. As he gets his front foot down, his head remains incredibly still. He is balanced. He’s in a position to be successful. His swing is so controlled that even his lower half checks itself.

Seeking additional insight about the double, I asked longtime hitting coach Turner Ward for his thoughts.

“I would love to know if there’s a drill he does,” Ward says. “A stop drill.” Ward is referring to a drill, most commonly practiced off a tee, in which the batter “puts all hits energy into the ball but stops at impact.” It’s frequently used to hone mechanics and expose flaws. For Naylor, it became a two-strike approach. Wisely so.

During the regular season, opposing batters in a 1-2 count against Skubal hit .130 with 88 strikeouts in 169 plate appearances. He only allowed five doubles to lefties all year.

The pitcher made a good pitch. Skubal had had success against Naylor earlier in the series working him away. Against any other hitter, it could have been strike three. Or maybe it’s just a ball, taken outside. But taking a 1-2 pitch against Tarik Skubal is easier done from the comfort of our living rooms. Once we suggest Naylor should just lay off it, we as observers demonstrate we’ve lost touch not just with the men in the arena but with the arena itself.

Ward, who served as Major League hitting coach for the D-backs, Dodgers, Cardinals, and Reds (in an assistant capacity), thought about something he regularly said in hitters’ meetings: “Making contact matters.”

Skubal fanned almost one out of every three batters he faced last season. He struck out 13 of the 20 Mariners he faced on October 10 in Safeco.1

“When you’re facing the best of the best, sometimes you gotta do things you wouldn’t ordinarily do, like get into your two-strike approach immediately,” Ward says. This philosophy may sound defensive, but Ward stresses that it allows the hitter to gain an advantage.

“It’s a great example of where making contact matters. He gets rewarded for using the pitcher’s power and getting his barrel to the ball, and he’s able to make something happen.”

Contact was only the beginning of Naylor making something happen.

It would be romantic to write that as he took his lead off second base — fresh off that one-out double against the Tigers’ ace — Naylor saw something that made him believe he could swipe third. After all, he was 8-for-8 in his attempts to take third base during the regular season. But this is the same player who, six days later, made the third out at third base after foolishly attempting to run on Blue Jays right fielder Addison Barger, ending a sixth-inning rally in an eventual loss in Toronto.

What we know is that Naylor is not discouraged by what others might consider limitations. His relative sprint speed in the 2025 season was in the third percentile; for every 100 Major Leaguers, 97 were faster than him. (Nevertheless, he stole 30 bases in 2025 and was caught only twice. With the Mariners, he was a perfect 19-for-19.)

In a postseason that included, by my count, players failing catastrophically to execute fundamentals three different times,2 Naylor skipped off of second base unworried, like a kid who’s been told that the most important thing is having fun.

On the 1-1 pitch to designated hitter Mitch Garver, Naylor took his lead and never stopped. Skubal’s focus was on the plate. Just like on the 1-0 pitch, he never checked the runner. Further complicating matters, the crowd noise in T-Mobile Park may have drowned out any hopes of the pitcher hearing an alert from a teammate.

Second baseman Gleyber Torres, already shifted as far up the middle as the rules allow, closed in on the base as Naylor hopped further from safety. Had Skubal peeked, we very likely would have had nobody on and two outs. Who knows how the game might have then unfolded?

Part of the thrill of watching Naylor is the fine line he walks between bases. It was even more exciting in a postseason that illuminated the blurry line between brilliance and carelessness.

Fallibility.

Twice in the ALCS against the Blue Jays, Naylor made poor decisions on the bases: once, as previously mentioned, not only testing Barger’s arm but forsaking a cardinal rule of the game; another time while jumping wildly at and making contact with the relay throw on a double play ball, resulting in an interference call (Rule 6.01(a)(5)). The latter play inspired opposing pitcher Shane Bieber to colorfully ask Naylor what he was doing, speaking on behalf of many viewers as well.

It begs the question: Was Naylor’s decision to skip away from safety towards third base against the Tigers also a horrible decision? He was only a turn of the head away from being erased. But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt — he reached 30 stolen bases by going 8-for-8 in attempts of third. I don’t want to deny his preparation nor his instincts.

Still, there’s a dark side to his daring.

In a society that demands perfection from its public figures and in a sport that’s turned hypercautious3 through big data and precise measurements, Naylor is beauty. The beauty not only of baseball but of sport, humanity, and authenticity. His measured recklessness on the base paths is the antidote to the five-inning starter; his dirty uniform, a reminder of the passion and hustle that still eludes algorithms.

Acquired in July from the D-backs, Naylor’s impact on the Mariners was enough to warrant a $92.5 million, five-year contract this past November to keep him in Seattle. Teammates laud his baseball intelligence and savvy.

Is he a throwback? Does he play the game the right way even while making the third out at third base?

Naylor was one of only 14 players last season hit at least 20 homers while stealing at least 30 bases. Consider, though, that he had entered the season with 25 career stolen bases. He was coming off his first All-Star season during which he hit 31 home runs and drove in 108 for Cleveland.

The Guardians, almost always looking to trade a player before he reaches free agency, sent Naylor to Arizona last offseason in exchange for young pitcher Slade Cecconi. (Cecconi made 23 starts for Cleveland last season and won’t reach free agency until after the 2030 season.)

He was a first-round pick (12th overall) by the Marlins in 2015 out of St. Joan of Arc Catholic Secondary School in Mississauga, Ontario. (Is the hockey game on in the Mariners’ clubhouse?)

One season into his pro career, he was traded to the Padres in a deadline deal when — brace yourselves — the Marlins were making a postseason push and San Diego was playing for next year. Naylor made his big-league debut with the Padres in 2019 before being sent to Cleveland at the 2020 trade deadline, when the Friars received pitcher Mike Clevinger to fortify their playoff rotation.

Naylor came into his own with the Guardians, posting career highs in 2023 with a .308 / .354 / .489 slash line. In Arizona he was solid, but in Seattle he transcended.

Is he late? No way. Josh Naylor is right on time.

It was an honest assessment from Joe Paterson, former left-handed reliever and present-day regional director at a national insurance company.

Following the 2010 season, the Giants did not add Paterson to their 40-man roster, thereby leaving him “unprotected” in the Rule 5 Draft. That December, he joined a group of players whose path to the big leagues accelerated overnight.

Designed originally so that teams couldn’t hoard prospects in the minors, the Rule 5 Draft is the last event of baseball’s annual Winter Meetings. It’s how Hack Wilson found himself on the Cubs. It’s how Clemente became a Pirate.

Usually the story doesn’t feature a Cooperstown ending, but no one really ever expects to win the Powerball either.

The parameters around the draft aren’t as complicated as they may sound. Eligible players in last month’s Major League phase must have turned pro at the age of 18 or younger in 2021 or at 19 or older in 2022. Any player selected must then remain on the Major League roster for the entire season.1

In 2022, under a new Collective Bargaining Agreement, the cost of a Rule 5 selection doubled from $50,000, where it had been since 1985, to $100,000. If the player is returned to the organization from which he was selected, then half of the cost is refunded. Baseball hasn’t had a bargain like that since Ten-Cent Beer Night in Cleveland.

“I knew that if there was gonna be a path to get onto someone’s roster, it would most likely be via the Rule 5,” says Callix Crabbe, who found himself blocked in the Brewers system by big league second baseman Rickie Weeks and prospect Hernán Iribarren.

After a strong season in Triple-A Nashville in 2007, Crabbe headed to the Dominican to play winter ball. He recalls having additional motivation to perform: “My agent at the time… reached out to me and said, ‘Hey look, when you go down to the Dominican, if you continue to play well, there’s the potential that you could get snagged up in the Rule 5 Draft.’”

In a low-risk attempt to address a need on the fly, the Padres took Crabbe in that year’s Rule 5. Happy to be selected, Crabbe’s enthusiasm grew when he realized who one of his new teammates was. “I was even more excited because Greg Maddux, who was a childhood favorite of mine, was on the roster.”

The 2008 Padres had high expectations, which also motivated Crabbe. It was a roster that boasted a strong, veteran pitching staff, but the infield lacked depth.

“I remember coming into Spring Training, saying to myself that I had a chance… I was telling myself: Play as hard as you possibly can and just literally no fear. No nerves, just go get it done,” he says. Crabbe also credits his manager for encouraging him from the first day of camp.

“Coming in, Buddy Black was awesome to me. He told me that he saw me being someone like a Chone Figgins,” says Crabbe. (In an unexpected twist, Crabbe and Figgins are now good friends and golf buddies.)

Black encouraged his Rule 5 player to showcase his versatility, demonstrate his abilities, and steal a base when he could.

Crabbe also credits Tony Clark, who joined the Padres as a free agent for the 2008 season, with taking him under his wing. “He really provided me with the comfort and the ability to walk with some confidence,” Crabbe says of the current executive director of the MLB Players Association.

The final roster spot was down to Crabbe and infielder Luis Rodríguez, who had spent parts of the prior three years with the Twins. “It was pretty much a fight until the end,” Crabbe says. “We were playing an exhibition game in Anaheim and they ended up sending down Rodriguez. And so I felt like it started looking in my favor when that happened, but I still didn’t know… I was working out and [bench coach] Rick Renteria came in and grabbed me and, when I went in, KT, Buddy Black, and Rick were in the office, and then they broke the news to me.”

Ultimately, the Crabbe’s time in the big leagues with the Padres was brief, but his small sample size yielded some of the game’s most memorable splits:

He was 2-for-4 with a double and one RBI vs. Randy Johnson.

Against the rest of the league, he went 4-for-30 with no extra base hits and one RBI.

“I hit .500 against Randy Johnson, which is something that I will be able to take to the grave,” Crabbe says.

It’s worth noting that he drew four walks against six strikeouts during his six weeks in The Show. He showcased some of that defensive versatility, too, logging innings at second base, shortstop, left field, and right field.

This season, Crabbe will begin his fifth year as a minor league coach in the Pirates system. He’s currently a hitting coordinator, overseeing the complex league (essentially rookie ball) and the Dominican academy. He was previously the assistant hitting coach for the Rangers from 2019-2021.

Do those 21 games and 34 at-bats in the big leagues make a difference in his coaching world now?

“I think it does a ton. I think, one, it creates a level of trust... and, secondarily, it gives me a perspective to help [players] problem-solve because that was kind of like what I always had to do. I was never the type of player that just showed up and was able to do things quite easily, so I had to put together a system so that allowed me to show up every day and give myself my best chance to be successful… I talk to players regularly about developing consistent routines and being willing to allow your failures to be the feedback that you need to continue to get better,” Crabbe shares.

“And just for designing a progressive program that can help someone get better, I think having gone through mainly every level of baseball and then getting a chance to play in the big leagues — even though it was a short amount of time — it does provide me with a Rolodex of options that I can provide to them when it comes to a training environment.”

As is often the case with Rule 5 draftees, Crabbe was returned to his original team. I followed his progress that year back in Nashville and for the next few years as he bounced between Double-A and Triple-A in the Mariners and Blue Jays organizations. I wondered if the Rule 5 journey impeded his development. Facing this question, his tone shifts slightly, still friendly but more direct. This is clearly something he’s given thought to:

“I think it was a perfect opportunity for me. Where I think I fell short is, once I got back to the minor leagues, I did not reconnect with any goals. I had one basic goal and that was to try to get back to the big leagues, but I didn’t necessarily come back with a great structured plan, so that’s what I can leverage as a coach. I got back down [to the minors], and I thought it was all about performance. I just gotta do well to get back to the big leagues, and that is why I didn’t.”

Joe Paterson

The Rule 5 Draft wasn’t on Joe Paterson’s mind when he woke up on the morning of December 9, 2010. He had only recently returned home from the Arizona Fall League, having spent six weeks in the bullpen of the champion Scottsdale Scorpions.

“That fall league team,” he remembers, “it seemed like everybody but three of us were put on 40-man rosters.” Indeed, on a team that included Bryce Harper, Brandon Belt, Charlie Blackmon, A.J. Pollock, Charlie Culberson, and some higher-profile pitching prospects, Paterson began to understand his value within the Giants organization.

“I do remember during that time just being like, ‘Oh man, that can’t be good.’ I also remember, honestly, I was super delusional. In 2010, I was the lefty in [Triple-A] Fresno for the Giants, and there was a time where it really looked like they needed a lefty [in San Francisco]. And I just could not figure out how that was not me. And then they went out and got Javier Lopez [at the trade deadline]. When I went to the Fall League, I ended up getting number 49, which was his number. And I remember thinking that can’t be a good sign either.”

Since the Scottsdale roster included Diamondbacks players, multiple scouts and other members of the Arizona front office watched many of the games. Paterson appeared in nine games that fall; it’s safe to assume that at least one D-backs official was in the seats each time he threw. Over 10 innings, he struck out 14 batters while only walking two and allowing six hits.

In an age before high-speed cameras captured and analyzed every event on the field, Paterson’s Fall League circumstances — that Giants prospects and D-Backs prospects were on the same team —serendipitously increased his visibility.

The decision to select Paterson is a look back in time, one that feels much longer than 15 years ago in terms of how the game has evolved. As with so many things, it’s all about timing.

Paterson became Rule 5 eligible during a transitional year for the Diamondbacks. Kevin Towers had just assumed control of baseball operations as GM. KT loved retooling bullpens and knew it was one of the fastest ways to improve a team. He also believed that you didn’t need to spend big to construct an effective bullpen; there were enough reclamation projects, waiver claims, veterans looking for one last chance, and live arms in independent leagues to cobble together outs. KT’s bullpens were a refuge for forsaken relievers and a collection of various arm angles, velocities, and outpitches.

At those 2010 Winter Meetings, the groundswell in the D-backs’ suite reached a point where KT was convinced that Paterson was the right pick. For a final blessing, he called his good friend and former minor league teammate Pat Casey. At the time, Casey was in the midst of a 24-year run as head coach at Oregon State, where Paterson pitched for two years — and was on the mound to record the final out of the 2007 College World Series.

I remember KT saying something like, “Hey Case, I’ve got you on speaker phone. I’m in our suite with the entire baseball ops team.”

Casey endorsed the left-handed reliever, speaking briefly on his character as a teammate, competitor, and human. KT hung up and announced, “Looks like Joe is gonna be a D-back!”

The suite erupted in a celebratory cheer. Was there a chance he could have been selected before we took him? Yes, but we were fairly confident that neither of the two teams ahead of us — the Pirates and Mariners — had interest.

In retrospect, that moment in the suite galvanized a front office. It was the shared experience that bonded longer-tenured D-backs and newer arrivals. Did it directly impact the ensuing 94-win season? I guess that depends on how much you believe in culture.

“I tell people when they ask, you know, what it’s like? Man, I could dream about playing Major League Baseball, but it’s one of the rare things that far exceeded, you know, times 10 what I ever thought it would be,” Paterson recalls. The thrill of the big leagues still hasn’t worn off for him, more than a decade after his last appearance.

His calling card — in a season in which the Diamondbacks and Brewers were on a postseason collision course — became his ability to neutralize Prince Fielder. After allowing an harmless single to Fielder in their first meeting, Paterson struck out the slugger in their next three regular-season showdowns. As an encore, he fanned Fielder once more in the NLDS.

The following year, Paterson entered in relief of Opening Day starter Ian Kennedy to face Giants lefty Aubrey Huff with two outs in the seventh. After getting ahead 1-2, Huff fouled off five consecutive pitches before grounding out to first baseman Paul Goldschmidt. Mission accomplished.

“And then I think I went… I don’t know… I went a long time without throwing in a game. I think it was a week-plus — and I wish I could get in a time machine and go back — but I remember it starting to get in my head, and then kind of thinking, ‘Am I going to have it when I go back out there?’ And then once I went back out, I couldn’t record an out. I felt totally different. And the wheels just fell off.”

Paterson remembers correctly; that next appearance came on eight-days’ rest. After three consecutive bad outings later in April, he was optioned to Triple-A Reno, where he remained for the rest of the year. He resurfaced very briefly each of the next two seasons.

In his final big league appearance, he mopped up in a loss at Coors Field, allowing four runs in one inning.

Brett Lorin

Like Paterson, Brett Lorin is also making a living away off the mound these days. Unlike Paterson, however, Lorin found himself on an established roster when his Rule 5 moment arrived.

“I needed a big break, and I was waiting,” Lorin admits. “Luckily, the Diamondbacks decided to take me. And it was the break that I needed in my minor league career.”

Lorin remembers learning that he had been selected. “It was early in the morning. We got the call. I was thrilled,” he says, recalling that morning in December 2010. Here’s where it gets good: “My dad ran in… I still lived with my parents at the time, it was the offseason… I was hopeful, but I wasn’t expecting anything. And all of a sudden — boom! — I get the call. I went from not sure where I stood after finishing in High-A to going to big league camp in the spring, which is a huge jump. This was the break that I needed. So at that time, it was very exciting for sure.”

Lorin had already changed organizations once. He was part of the return in a seven-player deal in 2009 that sent shortstop Jack Wilson from Pittsburgh to Seattle.
“You know what? I had a feeling I wasn’t a priority guy for the Pirates, honestly, because I was an All-Star that year, and they didn’t move me up to Double-A the entire year… You start to play GM in your mind. I saw other guys getting moved up. I’m like, I have great numbers this year. How is it possible that I’m not being moved up to Double-A? It doesn’t feel like there’s a plan for me here. In my mind, I was secretly hoping that I would get taken in the Rule 5 Draft because that was kind of my only way out.”

Lorin entered a clubhouse with much different expectations than what Paterson had encountered just one year earlier. After winning the NL West, the D-backs had postseason aspirations and a solidified bullpen with defined roles. “It was a veteran bullpen, and it was hard to crack,” Lorin says. He’s right; with established arms like J.J. Putz, Brad Ziegler, David Hernandez, and even Takashi Saito and Craig Breslow, the roster flexibility just wasn’t there like it had been for Paterson.

“I knew I was going up against some stud pitchers in general. But it was my opportunity, and, you know, it was a chance for me to prove myself.”

Lorin remembers his roughest outing of that spring, but at least now he can laugh about it: “I’d say the funniest memory is, we were playing the White Sox… and I gave up an inside-the-park home run to A.J. Pierzynski.” In that same outing, he struck out Paul Konerko, a moment that built confidence.

“That White Sox team had so much talent on it — like, they were loaded then — but it felt good to know I could get big leaguers out, you know. Obviously that outing wasn’t great, but, in general, it was a good feeling,” he says.

In the end, Lorin didn’t stick on the big league roster, but he takes pride in the fact that the D-backs — instead of returning him to the Pirates — worked out a trade to retain him. A combination of timing, injuries, and maybe — like Lorin said before — not being a priority player within the Diamondbacks organization prevented him from ever getting called up. Nevertheless, he’s grateful for the Rule 5 opportunity.

“This was the big break that I was hoping that would turn into something. Like I said earlier, it really went from sputtering in the minors to having a chance to make the big leagues that next year. You can’t ask for anything better than that.”

And there are 13 players who will enter Spring Training this year with that same shot.

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What’s it like to be a Rule 5 player? Check out the rookie card for Callix Crabbe and tell me if it looks anything like the player pictured in the card at the top of this story.

Callix Crabbe? No way! That’s Carlos Guevara, a right-handed reliever also taken in the 2007 Rule 5 Draft.

I’ve heard Black’s voice in my head all month as the offseason has picked up where the World Series left off.

It feels like somebody boarded a time machine, traveled to the past, and stepped on all the butterflies. Now here we are with a major gambling scandal, labor strife that threatens the 2027 season, ownership instability in San Diego, and accusations of abuse of power and nepotism lobbed at union head Tony Clark. If I’m forgetting something, please don’t remind me.

With continuing drama and unexpected storylines, the industry as a whole should listen to Black. Just not today.

Today, we’re celebrating.

In a recent wave of unorthodox managerial hires, the Padres tabbed Craig Stammen — who made his last big league appearance on October 5, 2022 — as their new skipper. In a recent article from Ken Rosenthal, he referred to the Padres’ “bizarre process” that included Stammen as part of the group interviewing candidates only to emerge as a candidate himself.

By now you should know that if you’re not expecting the unexpected out of the Padres, you’re either lying to yourself, or you’re a San Diego local whose self-defense mechanisms have adapted in the name of survival.

Padres baseball may not repeat itself, but it sure does rhyme.

It was 30 years ago today that a 34-year-old Kevin Towers — my mentor, friend, and the patron saint of Warning Track Power — was named GM of the San Diego Padres.

In 1995, CEO Larry Lucchino was leading the search for the Padres next head of baseball operations. He wanted someone who understood the intricacies of the game to assist with the interviews. He asked KT, then the scouting director, to join him.

Over time, the story has become part of franchise lore. I heard the play-by-play from KT many times over the years: Lucchino reports to Towers that he has decided on his next GM. When KT asks who, Lucchino tells him to guess. After exhausting all candidates, KT is perplexed if not a little annoyed that he can’t come up with the answer. He finally gives up.

Lucchino says, “You.”

I asked Bruce Bochy, who was already in place as Padres manager — a fantastic hire by previous GM Randy Smith — if he had any memories of that day. He shared the following via text:

“Kevin comes back to me and tells me [what happened] and then says I’m not ready to be a GM. I said the hell you’re not! You better take this opportunity!”

Apparently, Stammen had some reservations as well before accepting the job.

KT would have turned 64 last week. His spirit lives on at Petco Park and in all corners of the game.

I’m not here to break down the worthiness of the candidates. I’ve never felt compelled to debate the career of a player who hasn’t worn spikes in 25 years. The game has changed so much in just the last several years, we’re robbing ourselves of the magic of baseball if we rely too heavily on metrics that didn’t even exist when these players took the field. How did these guys make you feel when you watched them? How do you feel about them now, years later, when you see their highlights or hear their names? That’s what I hope we tap into.

The various era ballots acknowledge inherently that the traditional process for induction is imperfect. I’m happy that players get second chances. One day the fans will get what they want and Lou Whitaker will be enshrined. Not this year, though; Sweet Lou isn’t on the ballot. Nor is Keith Hernandez. But for good reason! Let’s navigate the inherent pitfalls and the need for — uh oh — a few victims and patsies.

This process is fascinating. First, the Hall of Fame’s Historical Overview Committee, appointed by the Baseball Writers Association of America, selects the finalists. The Historical Overview Committee, which puts the “HOC” in ad hoc, is made up of 11 veteran historians, five of whom are active HoF voters.

Then, one month from now at the Winter Meetings in Orlando, a 16-person group will vote on the eight candidates, conveniently listed here alphabetically: Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Carlos Delgado, Jeff Kent, Don Mattingly, Dale Murphy, Gary Sheffield, and Fernando Valenzuela.

Can you spot the legitimate candidates? Can you see the cannon fodder? Do you have a favorite?

There’s some basic math that places limitations on just how well the voting can go. Each of the 16 electors (yet to be named) — comprised of Hall of Famers, executives and veteran media members — can vote for as many as three candidates. To earn election, a candidate must receive 75% of the vote.

Very simply, with 16 voters casting up to three votes each, no more than 48 total votes will be placed. If those maximum votes are distributed evenly among four candidates, then all four of those candidates would enter the Hall. Not likely, though.

When the Contemporary Era Committee met three years ago, it voted in Fred McGriff unanimously. Mattingly received consideration on half of the ballots, falling four votes short of election. Murphy received six votes. Bonds, Clemens, Albert Belle, Rafael Palmeiro, and Curt Schilling all received fewer than four votes.

(The voters then were Hall of Famers Chipper Jones, Greg Maddux, Jack Morris, Ryne Sandberg, Frank Thomas, as well as two Hall of Famers who gained election via era committees: Lee Smith and Alan Trammell; major league executives Paul Beeston, Theo Epstein, Arte Moreno, Kim Ng, Dave St. Peter and Ken Williams; and veteran media members and historians Steve Hirdt, LaVelle Neal and Susan Slusser.)

The Hall of Fame could never admit it, but the best group of candidates doesn’t contain all of the best singular candidates. The worst thing the Historical Overview Committee could do is nominate the eight most worthy players. Why?

There are only so many votes to go around. We don’t want Mattingly, Murphy, Whitaker, Keith Hernandez, and Kenny Lofton fighting over the same three votes. For this year’s bunch, it seems hard to seriously consider the candidacies of Delgado, Kent, Sheffield, and Valenzuela.

I don’t want to be the one to deliver that news to Kent or Sheffield.

The Committee essentially borrows the plot of Spies Like Us. It deploys decoys to ensure the safety of the operation. Austin Millbarge and Emmett Fitz-Hume have no chance of enshrinement. (Glad I’m not sick.)

Adding to the tension, a new rule states that any candidate receiving less than five votes is ineligible from appearing on the ballot again when this era is next entertained in three years. Miss that threshold twice and — poof! — forever ineligible for future consideration. Harsh? I’ll leave that up to you, but it places greater meaning on the results of four of this year’s candidates.

We’ve got a tag-team match between the greatest pair associated with the steroid era — Bonds and Clemens — and two of the best players from the ’80s not in the Hall — Mattingly and Murphy. Is this vote a referendum on all players from the steroid era? I think it will be.

Induction to the Hall would not exactly be a consolation prize for losing Game 7 of the World Series, but Donnie Baseball was a sentimental storyline throughout the postseason. The Blue Jays’ performance reignited their bench coach’s candidacy. My feeling is that the image of Bo Bichette consoling a desolate Mattingly in the aftermath of the Dodgers’ championship will provide the boost to propel the Yankees’ legend to Cooperstown.

Unrelated to his candidacy but essential to his character, there’s this 90-second clip of Mattingly on the Dan Patrick Show, recorded during an off day before the World Series. I’ve watched it a few times already. It’s perspective on life and family that I wish I had heard when I was leaving baseball. It’s wisdom from a man who was a daily presence — in poster form — in my childhood bedroom.

I hope Don Mattingly gets those 12 votes. And then I hope he joins his son, Preston, in Philadelphia.

Banda easily could have become one of the thousands who slips into baseball obscurity, a big leaguer who goes largely unrecognized through daily life. The Dodgers rescued Banda from anonymity. Now I think about him more than ever.

Consider my relief when I recently learned that I’m not alone. Thank you, Mike Brown.

Brown is a baseball lifer. A second-round pick by the Red Sox out of Clemson in 1980, Brownie debuted with Boston in 1982, picking up his first win on the final day of the season with four innings of shutout relief in an extra-inning affair at Yankee Stadium. (Oil Can Boyd allowed a game-tying homer before Brown entered.)

After his playing days ended, Brown worked as a pitching coach in the Cleveland organization, including a stint on the Major League staff in 2002. From there, he went to Japan, where he was the pitching coach of the Hokkaido Nippon-Ham Fighters from 2004-2006. Among his arms, a young Yu Darvish.

“Darvish and Felix [Hernandez] were the most talented 19-year-old pitchers in the world at the time,” Brown remembers.

Brown found his way back to the US, where he began a long run as a trusted pro and international scout for the Diamondbacks. That’s where he and I met.

In 2014, things didn’t go so well at the big-league level for the D-backs. We were in sell mode by the first of July. Though the season itself was rather unpleasant, the team’s performance eliminated all reason for hope and afforded us extra time to dig in on potential trade returns.

Kevin Towers began fielding calls from teams interested in active Diamondbacks players in mid-June. In early July, Doug Melvin, then GM of the Brewers, expressed interest in outfielder Gerardo Parra. KT and Melvin had been friends and peers for decades at that point. The two men respected and trusted each other; both were interested in a fair baseball trade.

At Chase Field, we had plenty of time to evaluate a handful of Brewers prospects who were under consideration in a Parra deal. In addition to the traditional scouting coverage throughout the season, we sent Mike Brown — one of our go-to scouts when it came to pitchers — to see some of Milwaukee’s young arms. In Appleton, Wisconsin, home of the Timber Rattlers, there was left-handed pitcher Anthony Banda.

Banda was not a complete stranger to the D-backs organization. In the 2011 Draft, he was selected in the 33rd round by Arizona. The pitcher chose to forgo pro ball and enrolled at San Jacinto, a junior college with a strong baseball program in Houston. Banda ultimately signed with the Brewers after they selected him in the 10th round the following year.

As Brown and I were reminiscing about the Banda acquisition, he recalled scouting the young pitcher, then a starter: “We all love left-handers, right?” Brown chuckled, remembering how KT, half-jokingly, had said: “No more right-handed pitchers!”

While scouting Banda in the Midwest League, Brownie saw a soon-to-be 21-year-old pitcher, whose fastball ranged from 89-92, with a good feel for his changeup. He could throw strikes and change speeds. His arm action was long, which increases the likelihood of timing issues that affect control, and his breaking ball was still “iffy,” but Brown saw enough to believe Banda was worth taking a flyer on.

On July 31, 2014, the Brewers received Parra in exchange for Banda and outfield prospect Mitch Haniger. The trade represented the efforts of an entire baseball operations department; it included the work of several scouts and coaches along the way. The outcome, especially the evolution of Haniger as a player as he made adjustments to his hitting mechanics, surprised — and continues to surprise — everyone.

Banda debuted for the D-backs in 2017, posting a forgettable 5.96 ERA over 25.2 innings. The next offseason, he was shipped to Tampa Bay in a three-team deal. For seven years, Banda’s time in the big leagues was interrupted by options, trades, outright assignments, Tommy John surgery, and pneumonia.

All in all, he was designated for assignment six times by six different teams, including the Blue Jays. He didn’t shed his rookie status until 2020, and he became arbitration eligible for the first time this past winter (he signed a one-year deal worth $1 million).

When Banda put on a Guardians uniform in Spring Training of 2024, it marked the 11th different organization he had suited up for. A couple months later, Cleveland traded Banda to the Dodgers. That brings us to today.

For the past two years, I’ve marveled as I have watched Banda bail the Dodgers out of all kinds of trouble. The Dodgers dropped his arm angle and largely eliminated the once-promising changeup from his repertoire. This year, he’s relied on his slider nearly half the time. Meanwhile his fastball averages 96 MPH.

From his home in Florida, Brown has been watching. Turns out we’ve both been subjecting our wives to the same commentary: “That’s Banda… throwing in the back end of the Dodgers bullpen… touching 97, 98. This is ridiculous!”

The game has evolved during Banda’s career. As pitchers become more conditioned to throw harder in shorter bursts, Banda has seized the moment. He’s taken some lumps during the World Series, allowing six runs (including two home runs) in three innings of work. But, in Game 7, none of that matters.

Conveniently enough, Brown was scouting in Japan when a young Shohei Ohtani was on the mound for the Fighters. He remembers 40 scouts in attendance. When someone asked why he didn’t have his radar gun out, Brown’s answer was simple: “He’s the best pitcher I’ve seen in my lifetime.”

The World Series was tied at two games when Brownie and I spoke. As our conversation shifted from Banda to Ohtani, perhaps while gazing into a crystal ball, he concluded: “If you’re looking for someone to throw a shutout in Game Seven of the World Series, he’s your guy.”

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The 2024 regular season began at the Gocheok Sky Dome in Seoul, Korea, when the Dodgers and Padres brought the NL West to the Far East on March 20.

On October 30, Los Angeles finished off the Yankees in the World Series.

One hundred thirty-nine days later, on March 18 of this year, the defending champs and the Cubs opened the MLB regular season in Japan’s Tokyo Dome.

The demands of big league travel — first-class as they are — will test athletes mentally and physically. Recovery is emphasized and appreciated more than ever. In the face of sleep science, the Dodgers have pulled baseball’s version of an all-nighter for the second straight year.

Catcher Will Smith remarked on the postgame show after Saturday’s Game 2 Dodgers victory that it took him one at-bat to get locked in after a six-day layoff between the NLCS and World Series. The wild thing is that, back in March, Smith and his teammates had their first exposure to a prolonged timeout between games of significance. After wrapping up their two-game series in Tokyo on March 19, the Dodgers didn’t play their domestic opener until March 27. And, if you’ll recall, these Dodgers won their first eight games of the season. If any team understands the offbeat cadence of the postseason — yup — it’s Los Angeles.

The Blue Jays came as advertised in Game 1. In Toronto’s 11-run outburst against, they walked as often as they struck out (four times). In the regular season, there were 13 games in which Dodgers pitchers collectively walked a number of batters greater than or equal to the number of batters they struck out. Los Angeles was 5-8 in those games.1

Conveniently enough, on August 10 at Dodger Stadium, Blue Jays pitchers walked 13 — thirteen! — Dodgers hitters (while striking out 10) and still won the game!

The Jays, meanwhile, walked at least as often as they whiffed in 27 regular season games this year and posted a 21-6 record under those criteria. The most notable, at least at quick glance, was a 2-1 win on the road against the Rangers in a game started by Jacob deGrom; Toronto walked four times that day and only struck out once.

On Saturday night, Yoshinobu Yamamoto made it clear that even the best approach is susceptible to even better pitching. In his complete game gem, the Dodgers starter struck out eight without walking any.

As the coaching carousel spins round and round this time of year, it’s worthwhile to mention one key piece of the Blue Jays arsenal who was an offseason addition last year: hitting coach David Popkins. Three weeks after the Twins relieved Popkins from the same duties in Minnesota, Toronto locked him up.

It’s a fickle world out there. Take a look at these two headlines, written about 18 months apart. (My favorite aspect of it all has to be the file photo. Don’t play poker with Popkins!)

It’s been all smiles in Toronto so far. Let’s keep an eye on the hitting coach this week.

If the World Series has you thinking that you picked the wrong week to quit drinking, check out my new project: the Wine Dog Wine Blog. I had long been contemplating a place where I could merge baseball and wine, while sharing some of the stories that continue to shape my life around the game. It’s an odd Venn diagram, but I’ve been called worse.

I also want to mention that the Wine Dog Wine Blog is published through Ghost, a newsletter/blog platform that has, for a variety of reasons, established itself as more reader-friendly than Substack. I hope to migrate WTP to Ghost in the next month or so.

You won’t have to do anything on your end. All existing WTP memberships will be transferred, and paid subscriber details will be securely migrated. The biggest difference is that emails will be coming from a slightly different address. You can get a look of the general feel at the Wine Dog Wine Blog.

Even if you’re not into wine, let me share this with you: The last three World Series-winning managers were all serious wine drinkers.

Bruce Bochy. Dusty Baker. Dave Roberts.

Bad news for the Blue Jays. I haven’t been able to tie John Schneider to a single bottle of wine.

It’s been seven years since anything of consequence occurred at Coors Field in October. Honestly, it doesn’t seem so bad after the last few years. That said, the fans haven’t gone home happy since 2007 when Matt Holliday led the Rockies over the D-backs in the NLCS. Leave it to an 83-year-old Liverpudlian to bring joy back to the Mile High baseball stadium. I’m not afraid to say I enjoyed Paul McCartney’s version of Rocktober much better than the first one.

I’ve been amusing myself for a couple weeks now, thinking about the conversation that could have occurred between McCartney and his tour manager.

Paul: Where will we be on the eleventh of October?

Tour Manager: At Coors Field in Denver where the Colorado Rockies play.

Paul: Who are they?

Tour Manager: The local baseball team.

Paul: Isn’t October usually the time of the baseball tournament? What if there’s a scheduling conflict?

Tour Manager sits silently.

McCartney opened the show with “Help!” — as he has every show on this tour — and at the first word, tears welled up in my eyes. I surprised myself. The emotion only grew stronger throughout the song. I was overcome with Beatlemania. This was it — at least the closest that a GenXer born a month before “Silly Little Love Songs” went to number one could experience. Hundreds of hours of consuming The Beatles over the past 40 years rallied all at once. The ghosts of my father’s record collection — destroyed by the infamous crawlspace flood of the late ’70s — rattled out of McCartney’s Hofner bass and jangled through the Coors Field speakers.

Selections from the Wings’ catalog gave me time to compose myself.

Exchange Rate

Toronto’s presence in the World Series has the chance to impact the game for the better. Anyone who has watched a Blue Jays game this month (with the volume on) has heard that this team puts the ball in play better than any team in baseball. The Jays’ 17.8% strikeout rate led MLB. The Brewers weren’t far behind. Could the analytically inclined teams convince themselves that all-or-nothing approaches leave something to be desired? Can a contact-oriented philosophy permeate the league? The answer may lie within in the maple of the Blue Jays hitters.

On Monday, Ken Rosenthal wrote about Vlad Guerrero Jr’s 14-year, $500 million extension signed in early April. The funny part about the piece to me is that the Toronto officials interviewed spoke about the intangibles and emotional benefits of the deal. Rosenthal quoted Blue Jays GM Ross Atkins as saying, “It’s hard to quantify. It’s definitely a positive to have extended him, for the organization, for him, for the environment.”

In an industry that likes to quantify every rosin bag, I’m delighted that the Jays can acknowledge that a half-a-billion dollar deal is rich with intangibles. Rosenthal (or an editor), meanwhile, felt it necessary to quantify Guerrero’s 2025 regular-season value based on WAR.

The Jays appreciate contact and feelings. How can you not like that?

Obligatory Ohtani

No doubt you’ve seen, read, and maybe even discussed plenty about Ohtani’s three-homer game in which he also twirled six scoreless innings while striking out 10 Brewers. The greatest game ever? Yes, but I’m not interested in a definitive ruling.

I’m curious: How far above and beyond did Ohtani go in providing the single greatest game ever? What if he had only struck out eight batters and we couldn’t punctuate his game line with a 10? What if he had only struck out four, but a lower pitch count allowed him to go deeper in the game? What if he had hit three doubles instead of three home runs? When is enough truly enough? It’s the kind of question that only Milton Berle would know the answer to.

One thing I’m looking forward to seeing in the World Series is how the Blue Jays choose to handle Ohtani in big moments. Three times this October, opposing teams have elected to intentionally walk Ohtani and take their chances with Mookie Betts. The first time was in the bottom of the seventh of Game 4 against the Phillies in the NLDS. With runners on second and third and two outs, the Phils put Ohtani on first to load the bases. Phillies closer Jhoan Duran subsequently walked Mookie Betts to force home the tying run. That was only the beginning of the Phillies rough night.

In Game 1 of the NLCS, the Brewers intentionally walked Ohtani twice. The first time, Betts followed with an inning-ending double play. Later that game, in the top of the ninth, the intentional walk loaded the bases. Milwaukee reliever Abner Uribe, just like Duran, walked Betts. A critical second run crossed the plate, and the Brewers comeback against a shaky Dodgers’ pen fell one run short.

The Jays don’t have the left-handed arms in their bullpen I’d expect to voluntarily challenge Ohtani in key situations. My guess is that’s not part of the game plan. Will this series rest on the shoulders of Mookie Betts? We’re about to find out!

This was 10u softball, though — 10u rec league fall ball — where all contact should be celebrated.

We could call it a humpback line drive, we could call it a 70-foot flyball. In the box score, we called it an out.

Prior to that at-bat, there was nobody out and a runner on first. That runner, my daughter, had reached via base on balls.

At this age level, the rules of the game clash with the collective ability of the players. The result is a merry-go-round of stolen bases, frequent advancing on wild pitches, and haphazard base running urged by animated adults.

My daughter took off towards second just after the pitcher released the ball. The first base coach said go, so she went. (We will discuss this a lot more in a future story. As Doc Brown tells Marty McFly at the end of Back To The Future: “But your kids… something’s gotta be done about your kids.”)

The baserunner approached second as the first baseman, who had caught the batted ball, stepped on her base, completing the double play. I summoned my daughter off the field. She returned to the dugout, and I could sense what was coming. I saw her eyes filling with tears. We quickly found relative solitude behind the dugout.

“The game doesn’t make sense anymore,” she said as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She was right. Dropped third strikes, getting doubled off — the new things a child can encounter in three innings can be overwhelming.

The feelings were probably similar in the Detroit Tigers clubhouse last week. Safe to say it still doesn’t make sense at Citi Field.

As the regular season was winding down over the weekend, I checked in on the playoff-bound Padres who were hosting the Diamondbacks, mathematically alive but not well.

The D-backs had mounted an unexpected rally late in the season, long after middle-of-the-order producers Eugenio Suarez and Josh Naylor had been traded to the Mariners, long after starting pitcher Merrill Kelly was shipped to Texas.

Despite a roster ravaged by the trade deadline, Arizona arrived in San Diego with a chance to extend their season.

It started well enough. Before Padres starter Yu Darvish had a chance to settle in, Ketel Marte found a 93 MPH first-pitch fastball to his liking. At the knees and on the inside part of the plate, Marte unleashed a 410-foot rocket into the right field bleachers.

With an early lead and de facto staff ace Zac Gallen on the mound, there was reason to believe in the visiting dugout.

Fernando Tatis Jr., struck out to lead off the bottom of the first before Luis Arraez lined a double into right field.

One of my favorite luxuries brought upon by new technology in baseball is the collection of batted-ball data that reveals hit probabilities based on exit velocity and launch angle. With Arraez on second, Manny Machado scalded a ball into center field. It’s one of those plays that unfolds magically from a vantage point high above the field. The quality of contact was immediately apparent at the crack of the bat. The ball screamed into straight-away center field. Alek Thomas froze, exactly as center fielders are taught to do on a line drive. From the second deck at Petco Park, Thomas’ patience felt cavalier. Why was he waiting to retreat? Did he not know this ball is heading over his head?

“Relax,” Thomas replied defensively. He quickly reached full speed as he charged back on the ball. Thomas hauled it in. As many hitters have shown us over 22 seasons of solid contact, dead center at Petco Park plays like a modern-day Polo Grounds.

Machado’s effort came off the bat at 110 MPH and at an angle of 20 degrees. Entering play on Friday, there had been 32 batted balls that fit those two qualifications with batters hitting a robust .875 with 11 home runs and 13 doubles. Machado’s at-bat represented the fifth time this season in which such contact resulted in an out.

Do you dare challenge the conditions of Petco Park’s center field at night? Perhaps you’d like to take on corruption in Chinatown while you’re at it.

If you won’t take it from me, I think I know someone who will help convince you.

On August 22, the Padres entered the ninth inning with a one-run lead over the Dodgers. Closer Robert Suarez was tasked with preserving the lead. As many good baseball stories begin these days, Shohei Ohtani stepped to the plate. On the third pitch of the at-bat, the soon-to-be-three-time reigning MVP hit a ball 108.5 MPH at 35 degrees. I queried all batted balls hit at 108 and 109 at 35 degrees. There were 10. All 10 were homers.

Ohtani’s bid was caught at the fence.

A few more balls have fit the criteria since then. The season total for such contact is 13-for-14 with 13 home runs.

How do you say “hit the weight room” in Japanese?

By contrast, 112 MPH at 24 degrees to left field by a right-handed hitter results in a grand slam. (Those two variables have yielded seven long balls all seven times this season.) Indeed, in the bottom of the fourth, Tatis connected with the bases loaded. The D-backs 2-0 lead became a 5-2 deficit. Gallen’s effective first three innings were undone. While the grand slam will dominate the highlights, the two-out walk to the nine-hitter with Tatis standing on deck got highlighted on my scorecard.

The more time I spend at Petco Park, the more I appreciate the athleticism of Tatis. On a field of elite athletes, El Niño dwarfs them all.

Back in the field after his game-changing clout, a well-struck drive by D-backs first baseman Ildemaro Vargas sent Tatis retreating. The right fielder ran back, leaped, and came up empty. Yet in a continued motion, he barehanded the ball as it bounced off the wall and quickly fired into second. In real time, it was a great effort that made a sure double slightly less certain. Vargas slid in safely, but Xander Bogaerts honored his teammate’s effort and completed the play, applying the tag to the Vargas’ left hip. The baserunner popped up from his slide, and hung above the base — not a single spike in contact with the pillow. An easy double in any other decade was immediately reviewed and overturned. Vargas vacated his position atop second base before the video review was even finalized. I wondered if he thought the game still made sense.

Today’s Starting Pitchers Tell A Story

It’s notable that, in the four Wild Card games today, three of the starting pitchers were drafted and developed by their teams. Would you be surprised if I told you that those homegrown starters are taking the ball for Cleveland, Detroit, and Cincinnati — the three teams with the lowest payrolls of the Wild Card participants?

The Red Sox acquired their starter Garrett Crochet via trade (with a significant prospect haul). The Yankees, Cubs, Padres, and Dodgers all signed their starters in free agency.

On Tuesday, the division rivals begin a three-game series at Progressive Field. It’s the pennant race baseball we all need during the final week of the regular season.

If Guardians fans had a hard time sleeping last night, that’s understandable. The franchise that inspired “Major League” is on the cusp of a comeback that the city hasn’t seen since, well, “Major League.” (The spirit of Harry Doyle is alive and well, if not also pulling some strings from the cornfields.)

It would also be understandable if Commissioner Rob Manfred had a hard time sleeping last night. In early July, Guardians pitcher Luis Ortiz was placed on non-disciplinary paid leave. Towards the end of the month, All-Star closer Emmanuel Clase joined Ortiz on leave. Both players are still suspended, pending an active gambling-related investigation by MLB.

The initial investigation, which targeted Ortiz, reportedly centered around the pitcher’s influence on single-pitch propositions, such as a bet on whether the first pitch of an at-bat would be a strike. The probe expanded, and Clase was included. It’s never good news when terms like “suspicious wagering activity” arise.

There are dozens of directions this story could take from this here. What’s most interesting to me now is how the Guardians presence in the postseason would force the gambling storyline to the forefront — and how MLB might aggressively attempt to censor dissuade media from reporting on the matter.

Have you seen a single game this year without FanDuel, BetMGM, Draft Kings or the name of any other gambling sponsor attached? (A terrific podcast series from Michael Lewis — yes, the same Michael Lewis who wrote Moneyball — dives into the gambling epidemic, particularly among boys in high school and college in the USA. In one memorable and eye-opening episode, he bankrolls his own son in an effort to teach him a lesson.)

There’s no way that the executives at MLB are rooting for the Guardians, but, at the same time, I don’t think they’re losing sleep over it either. The suspension of two players is merely the cost of doing business. We don’t need the potential 2027 work stoppage to remind us what really controls the game.

A Clase Case of Bad Advice

Have you ever heard of Finlete? It’s a company that pairs baseball players to investors, enabling a player to sell shares of his future earnings to the public. Finlete isn’t the first firm to provide upfront payments to players, but I believe it’s the first to treat the player like a publicly traded company. (At a later date, we’ll dig into the business model and opportunities for both players and the public.)

Guess who was one of Finlete’s first clients? That’s right: Emmanuel Clase.

On Opening Day of 2022, when Clase still wasn’t entitled to much more than league minimum, he signed a $20 million, five-year extension with the Guardians. Only two years earlier, the reliever had been suspended for the shortened 2020 season after testing positive for anabolic steroid Boldenone.

According to a report last October in Sportico by Brendan Coffey, Clase began selling shares of his future earnings during last year’s postseason, in which the Guardians advanced to the ALCS. At the time, he had $13.3 million in guaranteed salary remaining. That remainder also assumes he wouldn’t end up banned from the game.

Clase’s funding drive is closed, but Sportico reported the offering could have raised as much as $3.6 million. According to the Finlete website, it raised $316,936.

Clase was due to earn $4.9 million this year and $6.4 million in 2026, in addition to a worst-case scenario $2 million buyout on a 2027 club option. Why did he need to sell part of his future? And if he’s found guilty of having intentionally thrown balls, was that just another way of diversifying his portfolio?

MLB may not want to admit it has a gambling problem, but, there’s no denying, the league has a Guardians problem.

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Jim’s experiences inspired four WTP pieces over the years. He lived the stories I love to write about: He roomed with Brooks Robinson. He played against Sadaharu Oh in Japan. He was Rickey Henderson’s first big league manager. Earlier this year, he was honored as the oldest surviving player from the 1962 Mets. I never got around to asking him about when John Wooden recruited him to play basketball at UCLA, but his modesty would have dominated the account anyway.

I met Jim in late 2010 after I joined the Diamondbacks. He was an original member of the organization — an original Met and an original D-back.

Before many home games at Chase Field, Jim would find his way into my office. He arrived at the ballpark early. Very early. Sometimes he’d claim he was beating traffic; I never gave it much thought. Now I can appreciate that he just wanted to be around baseball. While the game was speeding off in a new direction, Jim found comfort in familiar surroundings.

With his once-frequent trips to Asia reduced, he focused on the D-backs minor leagues, filing reports with insight and conviction. His desire to contribute was always strong. He carried with him experiences from his time playing for the Orioles, Cubs, Giants, Mets, and Pirates, from slugging 78 home runs over three seasons with the Chunichi Dragons in Japan, from coaching domestically and abroad, and managing in the big leagues with the Cubs and A’s. He amassed a lifetime of relationships built through playing the game the right way, treating people with dignity, and following opportunities.

Being part of the team kept his spirit youthful. For 70 years he worked in baseball. His love of the game was surpassed only by his love of his wife, Beverly, and his family. He and Bev, who predeceased Jim in 2016, were married for 64 years. I witnessed many octogenarian date nights in the scout section at Chase Field. Baseball was always there.

On one occasion when I called Jim earlier this year, he was at an appointment. He couldn’t talk and asked if I could call him back later. I assured him I could and would.

“Thanks, babe,” he replied, with the same inflection that would inspire nine players to hop from the dugout and run to their positions. At the age of 94 and at the doctor’s office, he still spoke the language of the game — the dugout chatter of humbabes and attaboys. I’m convinced it was his first language.

I called him back the next day. He appreciated my persistence, and I appreciated his willingness to entertain my questions. And, honestly, I was thoroughly impressed by the 94-year-old man’s ability to answer his cell phone on the first ring.

Rufus James Marshall blazed his own trail. He is forever a part of the game. He lived an incredible life and will be greatly missed.

“This was about Cal and the city of Baltimore,” Bonilla said from a hotel room not far from the ballpark. “They were in the spotlight, and I couldn’t have been traded to a better place. I had so much fun playing here.”

Bonilla was traded to the Orioles less than six weeks before the record-breaking game. He first suited up for the O’s on July 29, 1995, and spent 61 consecutive games batting cleanup, ahead of Ripken.

When the Mets informed Bonilla of the trade, history was not the first thing on his mind: “I had a lot on my plate during that particular time, so I was pretty much trying to get settled in and learn all my new teammates. And obviously they were all wonderful teammates. They all could really play the game. So that was an exciting part. But you know what, when you’re new to a town and you’re trying to get everybody situated, I didn’t really have a lot of time to think about it.”

In reality, Bonilla really didn’t need to think about it. The Streak walked (or jogged) alongside him in the field and the lineup. Bonilla made 24 starts at third base that season in Baltimore.

“You know what it was? Cal was so easy to play with,” the six-time All-Star said. “He was almost like a teacher out there. He taught me some things I hadn’t quite acquired. Obviously, Tommy Sandt and the gang in Pittsburgh taught me a lot about playing third base, but I really got some on-the-job training with Cal when he was playing shortstop and I was playing third.”

How exactly?

“He would position me. He taught me about angles. He was really a lot of fun to play with, and I say that with enthusiasm because I was learning. I really wanted to be a good third baseman. Obviously I could hit, but they had me playing all over the place — right field, third base, a little bit of first — but I really wanted to learn how to play the position, and Cal was amazing at teaching.”

With his feet on the ground, Bonilla could begin to soak in the atmosphere.

“You could feel the build up because everybody was excited about it. And I’m not just talking regionally. I mean, this was national. Everybody was excited. Listen, you thought that was an untouchable record, and to this day I still don’t know how he did it.”

As Bonilla recalled the 22-minute standing ovation that fans bestowed upon Ripken once game 2,131 became official, he emphasized the relationship between the fans of Baltimore and their shortstop:

“He’s so beloved in town that they could have literally stood there an hour clapping for him. People would have stayed, and, knowing Cal, we could have ended that game right there, and he would have signed autographs for everybody in that stadium.”

That would have been 46,272 autographs to be precise. On a few occasions during our conversation, Bonilla returned to the support of the fans. He had never played for a packed house like the Camden Yards crowd every single night, he said. He was looking forward to returning.

“It’s one of my favorite places. It was so much fun to go to the ballpark, and it was — believe it or not — it was the only place I’ve ever played where I walked to work. I lived across the street in the condominium complex, and I walked to the park every day… I walked home after games. It was so refreshing. And I never experienced that in all my years playing ball. It’s kind of like the stories you read when the Brooklyn Dodgers, they all lived in Brooklyn, and they would walk right to Ebbets Field… that’s the kind of nostalgia I had. And it was like, man, I’m walking to work every day to play a game I love,” Bonilla said.

The joy in his voice was apparent. He’s excited to celebrate his teammate — and the city — tonight.

“It’s still a record that people just don’t quite understand how impressive it really is.”

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As reported originally by The Athletic, the Yankees manager wondered: “What planet does that guy get sent down that’s a shortstop? I don’t know that planet.”

Yeah, so that first sentence came together about as cleanly as a routine grounder to the beleaguered infielder. But Boone isn’t in his role to teach public speaking. With microphones in front of him for hours every day, the man is entitled to a clunker.

I just wasn’t sure if the statement was genuine or a kiss of death. Volpe has committed a league-leading 18 errors so far this season. (Reds shortstop Elly De La Cruz leads MLB with 22.) Though this isn’t the time of year to begin searching for upgrades.

Boone’s comments came on Thursday, prior to the Yankees first of four on the road against the White Sox. At the time, Volpe was plodding through an 8-for-75 stretch. After his manager’s comments, …

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Nick Pivetta set out last Tuesday to end the Padres’ four-game losing streak. In the midst of a two-week stretch against division rivals, San Diego had already swept and been swept. It was Pivetta’s career in microcosm.

But after eight seasons of uneven performance, the right-hander has thrown together a career year in San Diego at the age of 32. He’s averaging fewer than one baserunner per inning, and his ERA and related pitching stats — no matter your preferred metrics — are among the best in the game.

He faced Rafael Devers in the top of the first inning, a matchup that offered a portal into the summer of 2015. As I wrote about after the Giants acquired him in June, I scouted Devers while he was on the Greenville Drive in the Red Sox system. Pivetta, on the other hand, proved elusive.

My coverage that year included the Harrisburg Senators and Reading Phillies. During the 2015 season, Pivetta pitched for both clubs. After starting the season with Potomac in High-A, he was promoted to the Nationals’ Double-A city in early July. A few weeks later, Pivetta, a decent prospect at the time, was sent to the Phillies in exchange for closer Jonathan Papelbon.

Ten years later, I was finally seeing him pitch in person.

In the series opener against the Giants the night before, Padres starter Nestor Cortes was ambushed as Heliot Ramos and Devers launched back-to-back homers to start the game. On this night, Pivetta gave up a leadoff blast to right field off the bat of Jung Hoo Lee. Turned out to be all the offense the Giants would muster.

My favorite part about visiting the press level and media dining room prior to a game is the table where scouts gather to eat. Not too long ago, it took multiple tables to accommodate the group. In big league parks these days, though, you rarely need more than a four-top. The Petco Park press dining area is decorated with televisions broadcasting live games and with pictures and murals commemorating the past.

When dinner is served, a veteran evaluator is usually holding court at the informal scout table. For a group that loves to talk baseball, there’s something about the pre-game meal that taps into a deeper connection to the game. Stories tend to reflect a more innocent love of the game — more mural than live broadcast. Whereas postgame gatherings often involve a few beers and analysis of that day’s events, dinner is storytime. Conversation around the table is a history lesson, an ephemeral documentary that streams only once, just for the gathered audience.

I find two scouts I worked with at various times in my career. Once upon a time, talking baseball and life with these guys was a perk of my job. Today, I appreciate it differently. It’s great to see them both.

In the bottom of the first, Luis Arraez drilled a trackable 0-2 slider into right field for a double. It was a sure two-bagger off the bat with Giants right fielder Drew Gilbert shading the left-handed hitter a bit the other way. The only question was whether Fernando Tatis Jr., who had reached on an error, would try to score.

With nobody out and Manny Machado due up, there was no reason to force the issue. Padres third base coach Tim Leiper knew it, and he held up his lead runner. Tatis obliged.

The decisive moment while approaching third isn’t about the base coach; it’s about the aggression with which Tatis runs. He wanted to score. He committed on contact to give himself a chance to be waved home. From my higher vantage point within the stadium, base running can be better appreciated. Can I call balls and strikes from the press box? No. But outfielders’ jumps and routes, infielders’ pre-pitch movements, and baserunners’ effort levels reveal themselves without inhibition.

Tatis went first to third with incredible power and energy. It was almost violent when he slammed on the breaks after recognizing Leiper’s stop sign. There was minimal deceleration before achieving a complete stop, yet he was under complete control. Athleticism shows up in different ways.

Machado brings his teammate home on a slow roller to third base. Arraez is stranded after strikeouts from Ryan O’Hearn and Xander Bogaerts. The game is tied at one after 1.

I take the empty seat at the table. I’m next to a scout I worked closely with in Arizona. There are three other men at the table: one is a scout I know well, one is recognize and introduce myself to, and the final gentleman — immediately to my left — silently lets me know he’s not part of the scouting corps. He’s wearing shorts and a Giants hat, and he’s slightly turned away from me such that I don’t see his full profile. He’s part of another conversation, and I shift my attention to my friend and former colleague to the right.

With the bases loaded and two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Tatis takes his lead off of first. He arrived via a four-pitch run-scoring walk. The Padres have scored twice so far this inning, claiming a 3-1 lead.

Arraez can set Tatis free with a gapper. It would be the hit to break the game open and allow Tatis to score from first. Alas, Arraez hits a soft line drive into left field that’s easily corralled by Ramos. Tatis never got underway. The Padres lead, 3-1, after four innings.

A called strike three on a fastball down the middle gets shortstop Christian Koss looking and ends the Giants half of the sixth. It will also mark the end of Pivetta’s night after 109 pitches. His final line is the reward for an outing that required winning pivotal at-bats and making pitches when he had to. Pivetta faced 24 batters, allowing only three hits, walking two, hitting one, and striking out 10. The lone blemish was delivered by leadoff hitter Lee, whose 400-foot drive to right gave the Giants a fleeting advantage.

Two conversations unfold simultaneously at the table. My friend quiets as he reaches a natural end to his story. The other person — in shorts and a hat — becomes the only voice at the table. It’s as if a studio engineer behind the soundboard turned down all the other instruments. Only isolated vocals remain. They’re instantly recognizable.

Let’s do a little math. Pivetta pitched six innings, meaning 18 of the 24 batters he faced did not lead off an inning. Of those 18 Giants hitters, he only faced five of them with nobody on base. That’s a stressful night at the office.

I saw a pitcher who challenged hitters with his fastball and wasn’t afraid to throw strikes. His command was spotty, but his four-seamer has good plane and good ride. He won’t be seeing any lineups like this in October, but no doubt his performance tonight inspires words like “gritty” and “gutsy,” a couple of the ingredients postseason heroes are made of. I’d like to be part of the conversation at the bar after the game as scouts discuss Pivetta’s repertoire and execution.

Bottom of the sixth and — with another run in already — Machado laced a hit into right field. Tatis advanced to second. Before I can describe just how hard Machado has been hitting the ball, Tatis stole third on absent-minded reliever Carson Seymour, whose last name was proven a lie by the Padres’ ambitious baserunner.

The voice is in the middle of a story about Gaylord Perry, whose name was brought up under the category of Hall of Famers who made stops in San Diego during their careers. This is the voice that narrated Orioles games throughout my youth, the voice of evening car rides with my parents and sister during my childhood, the voice who, alongside Joe Morgan, joined my friends and me for a game every Sunday night for more than 20 years. For a moment, I laugh at myself: I’ve been sitting next to Jon Miller for 10 minutes. You know, the guy in the shorts and hat. Of course. I snap out of it; Miller is painting the picture of a doubleheader on May 31, 1964. It was game 2 of a doubleheader at Shea Stadium. Juan Marichal had gone the distance for the Giants in a game 1 victory. Perry was in his third season, and, according to Miller, the Giants were growing frustrated with him. He had yet to find his Cooperstown trajectory. His future was uncertain. Locked in a 6-6 tie, San Francisco needed relief. Perry provided it. He entered in the 13th inning and threw 10 — ten!! — scoreless innings. Del Crandall and Jesus Alou drove in runs in the top of the 23rd; Perry got the win and Bob Hendley came in for the save.

This game has gone the way we might expect it to. If these two lineups faced each other on this day 1,000 times, this outcome — a Padres victory in which the more talented team with the better starting pitcher controlled the tempo and scoreboard — should be the most frequently achieved.

As I considered that previous sentence, I began thinking about the final score — the most obvious representation of the game — versus the nine-inning journey. I wondered how those who heard the game through Jon Miller’s words experienced Giants baseball.

For most of the evening, I felt the warmth of Miller’s chronicles. In the middle innings, I fact-checked the story about Perry’s relief outing, not because I didn’t trust Miller’s memory but because I wanted to marvel at his accuracy. His is not a fountain of knowledge reserved only for airtime. It’s a passion he loves to share. It’s how, at a table with a few scouts killing time before first pitch, he led us from Perry pitching at Shea to McCovey roaming the outfield at Candlestick.

The guy in the shorts and the Giants hat.

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