Mr. Stats Notes: The Astros from A (Altuve) to V (Verlander) and Remembering Vin Scully


The Houston Astros are the team with the second best record in the American League, second only to the Yankees. But since June 12 — almost two months — the Astros have been the best team in the league. Earlier this week, the Astros made three trades, acquiring 1B/DH Trey Mancini, catcher Christian Vazquez and left-handed reliever Will Smith.

It certainly looks like the Astros are on track to play in the American League Championship Series for a sixth year in a row. They won in 2017, 2019 and 2021, while losing in the even years of 2018 and 2020. What an achievement it is to reach the Final Four year after year.

On Sunday at 12pm ET, in a game streamed on Peacock, the Astros will take on the Guardians. Cleveland won the ALCS in 2016 and haven’t been back since.

Most of the Astros from 2017 are no longer with the team. But the second baseman — Jose Altuve — and the starting pitcher — Justin Verlander — are still around. And that’s why no one should assume the Yankees are going to be in the Fall Classic come October.

2022 MLB on Peacock schedule: How to watch, live stream Sunday morning baseball games online

Jose Altuve and Houston’s Hall of Fame second basemen

The Houston Astros have been around since 1962, or 61 seasons. They had Joe Morgan for 10 seasons (120 OPS+ with Houston). They had Craig Biggio for 20 seasons (112 OPS+). And they’ve had Jose Altuve for the last 12 years (126 OPS+).

That’s nearly as impressive of a line as the Boston Red Sox left fielders (Ted Williams, Carl Yastrzemski, Jim Rice). 

Altuve was named to his 8th career All-Star Game this year, which is a franchise record, besting Biggio, who was selected 7 times in his Hall of Fame career. Morgan — the best player of the three — made only two of his 10 All-Star game appearances representing the Astros.

Altuve was signed by Houston as a 16-year-old non-drafted free agent out of Maracay, Venezuela. He was there with Houston before they were good. In his first couple of seasons, the Astros were terrible. In Altuve’s rookie season, the Astros lost 106 games. In his second season, they lost 107. In his third season, they lost 111 games.

Would anyone have figured that the 5-foot-6 second baseman on the worst team in baseball would go on and hit more postseason home runs than anyone in history outside of Manny Ramirez?

Altuve has 23 postseason homers, trailing only Manny’s 29.

But he’s been far from a World Series hero. In 20 World Series games, Altuve has an OPS of only .695. His OBP in the World Series is a pathetic .255. He has struck out 19 times and walked just twice in 20 World Series games.

RELATED: Braves send postseason star Smith to Astros for RHP Odorizzi

In 2019, with the Astros up 3-2 against Washington, Altuve went a quiet 1-8 AB in Games 6 and 7.

Altuve’s OPS in his Division Series play is 1.077. His OPS in the ALCS is .971. And then it drops to .695 in the World Series.

cWPA (Championship Win Probability Added for Offensive Player) shows that in the five ALCS series, Altuve’s cWPA was 33.9%. In the World Series, Altuve’s cWPA is -8.4%. In the 2019 World Series, Altuve was -24%. In the 2021 World Series, it was -4.6%.

In this regard, Altuve again mirrors Biggio, who, in his 40 postseason games, had an OPS of only .618 and his cWPA was -16.6%.

And while I’m picking on the World Series performances of Altuve, it must be noted how he’s performed in earlier rounds of the playoffs.

Like the 2017 ALCS vs. the Yankees, when he went 8-15 AB, with 2 HR in the four games in Houston (all wins) and 0-10 AB in the three games in New York (all losses).

Or the 2019 ALCS vs. the Yankees, when he was the MVP of the series, hitting a dramatic walk-off home run in Game 6 to win the Series. You remember, when he was shy about taking his shirt off rounding home.

And if you think Altuve’s postseason history is checkered, just check out Verlander.

Justin Verlander’s amazing career.

Verlander was the 2006 Rookie of the Year in the American League. The 2006 NL Rookie of the Year, Hanley Ramirez, was a fine player. But Hanley last played in early 2019, and his last good year was 2017.

Verlander was the 2011 MVP in the American League. The three players that finished behind Justin were all good players — Jacoby Ellsbury, Jose Bautista, and Curtis Granderson — and all have been out of baseball for years. The N.L. MVP in 2011 was Ryan Braun, who beat out Matt Kemp, and Prince Fielder.   

Verlander has great career numbers, despite making just one start in the 2020 and 2021 seasons combined (Opening Day of 2020). He leads all active pitchers with 240 wins. Aside from former teammate Zack Greinke (222 wins), no other active pitcher has even 200 victories.

Here are my favorite Verlander numbers. He has thrown 50,635 regular season pitches in his regular season career. Add another 3,109 postseason pitches. That’s 53,744 pitches, many of them stress pitches with seasons on the line.

The only thing I can compare that to is Tom Brady, the NFL’s all-time leader in regular season pass attempts (11,317) and postseason pass attempts (1,855).

The other statistic I wish to point out with Verlander is where he veered completely away from any Brady comparison.

Justin Verlander has started seven World Series games. He is 0-6, with a 5.68 ERA in the Fall Classic. 

He was often pitching in his home park. He was usually pitching for the better team. He had the lead in five World Series games and couldn’t hold one.

In 2006, Verlander’s Tigers were 95-67 and playing the St. Louis Cardinals, who finished the regular season just 83-78. Verlander lost Game 1 by a score of 7-2, outpitched by Anthony Reyes, who was 13-26, 5.12 ERA in his entire major league career. Verlander lost Game 5 of that series to Jeff Weaver (8-14, 5.76 ERA that 2006 season; 104-119, 4.71 ERA for career).

He got another opportunity to start World Series games in 2012. In Game 1, he was outpitched by Barry Zito. Verlander gave up a home run to Pablo Sandoval in the first inning, and another home run to Sandoval in the third inning. After 4 innings, Verlander’s night was done, having given up six hits and five runs. The Tigers lost the game 8-3 and were swept in the series.

That brings us to Verlander’s pair of starts in the 2017 World Series. After Clayton Kershaw had won Game 1 at Dodger Stadium, Justin Verlander tried to even the series up before sending the series back to Houston. Verlander again gave up a couple of home runs (Joc Pederson and Corey Seager) and trailed 3-1 after the sixth inning. This was the one World Series game Verlander’s team would win, coming back against Kenley Jansen in the ninth, and beating the Dodgers 7-6 in 11 innings.

In Game 6, with a chance to nail down the series, Verlander took the ball at Dodger Stadium and lost the game, 3-1. Justin pitched well until the sixth inning, when he gave up the go-ahead runs.

In 2019, Verlander lost Game 2 by a 12-3 score. Kurt Suzuki hit a home run in the seventh inning off Justin, as the Nationals broke the game open. Justin gave up another four runs in his six-plus innings.

RELATED: Verlander 1st 13-game winner, Astros beat Mariners 3-1

And then, Game 6 of the 2019 Series, pitching for a chance to give his team the World Series title, Verlander lost again. He gave up two more home runs (Adam Eaton, Juan Soto). 

It seems unreal that Verlander would pitch so poorly in the World Series. If I was an apologist, I might point out that Verlander didn’t exactly have great run support.

Verlander’s run support in the World Series (when he was in the game)

2006 Game 1     1 run

2006 Game 5     2 runs

2012 Game 1     0 runs

2017 Game 2     1 run

2017 Game 6      1 run

2019 Game 2      2 runs

2019 Game 6     2 runs

Verlander had the lead in five of his seven World Series starts:

2006 Game 1: The Tigers took a 1-0 lead in first. Verlander lost the lead in the Top of the second.

2006 Game 5: The Tigers took a 2-1 lead in the fourth. Verlander gave the lead up in Bottom of the 4th.

2017 Game 2: The Astros took a 1-0 lead in the third. Verlander lost the lead in the Bottom of the 5th.

2017 Game 6: The Astros took a 1-0 lead in the third. Verlander lost the lead in the Bottom of the 6th.

2019 Game 6: The Astros took a 2-1 lead in the first. Verlander lost the lead in the Top of the 5th.

Will Justin get another chance to win a World Series game? Will Altuve get enough postseason games to challenge Manny Ramirez for the all-time record? Are we headed for another Astros-Yankees American League Championship Series?

As this column was being written, the Dodgers announced the death of Vin Scully. This announcement hit me hard.

The Remarkably Strong Vin Scully

I worked with Vin Scully in the 1980s during his run as play-by-play announcer for NBC’s Game of the Week. He was a wonderful person, as gracious a man you could ever hope to meet. And so much has been written about him being a remarkable wordsmith.

But what is not being remembered is his strength. “It takes strength to do what we do,” he would tell me. And now that I am the age Scully was when I worked with him, I understand what he meant.

Scully called Dodgers baseball games for 67 years. For many of those years, he also did network broadcasts of golf and NFL football games. When I worked with him, he would leave the Dodgers after Thursday’s game and travel to the site of the NBC Game of the Week. After the Saturday afternoon game, he would travel to wherever the Dodgers were playing for Sunday’s game.

Trust me, it takes a strong man or woman to do this week after week, year after year.

In late September of 1989, the Pirates/Cubs game from Chicago was the Game of the Week. It started at 2:25pm local time and went more than 3 hours. I was lucky enough to jump in the limo that was taking Scully to O’Hare Airport. Getting into the car close to 6pm, none of us had a lot of time to spare for our Saturday night flights. Only Scully was travelling to work the next day, a 1:05pm start in Los Angeles.

The limo broke down on the highway.

Do you know what Vin Scully did? He got out of the car, with his luggage, and stuck out his thumb to hitchhike. Remember, none of us had cellphones. Rather than staying in the car and waiting for help, this strong man needed to make his flight. Soon, it would be “time for Dod-ger baseball.”

Now, I didn’t have a cellphone, but I had a camera. And I jumped out of the car and snapped some pictures of this crazy sight. By the way, the New York Post reported the story on Monday about Scully attempting to hitch a ride.


It takes incredible strength. He announced games through family heartache. He announced games knowing his partner Don Drysdale had died, but was unable to break the news to his audience until Drysdale’s family was notified. He announced games when he didn’t feel well. He announced games when the car broke down.

No one announced more games. And no one was stronger than Vin.

On Aaron Judge and 62: As sports evolve, no two records are alike


A decade ago, I wrote a story for Sports Illustrated about my great uncle, a former Major League Baseball player and member of the Hall of Fame: Johnny Evers, of Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance fame. The story was transformative for me in many ways, unlocking a past I had only understood enough to brag about, which is to say hardly at all. The work still lives with me. But here is a tangential point: In the course of researching and reporting the story, I spent time in Cooperstown at the Hall of Fame, a truly magical place (whether or not you have an enshrined relative you never met, but especially if you do). Every museum is a time machine if you allow it to be, and I very much did. And do. Always.

I was given access to the Hall’s research area, a spellbinding backroom full of what seemed like 100 times the material on display to the public. There was a treasure trove relating to my uncle, who was born in 1881, played in the big leagues from 1902-’17, participated in five World Series and most famously, was immortalized in a poem that outlives him significantly. Among the items preserved was a pair of game-worn baseball spikes of indeterminate size, packed carefully in a box. The shoes were made of crusty leather atop a hard sole, with long (scary) metal spikes attached. They looked like perhaps a primitive gardening tool, but certainly not athletic footwear. It was impossible to look at them and not think: Somebody played major league baseball in these things?

Likewise, there were many pictures of my uncle in full uniform, with a tiny mitt stuffed over the fingers of his left hand, barely enlarging it – a wardrobe item designed only marginally to enhance the fielder’s ability to catch balls, and more practically to protect his hand should any catching occur. Again, the thought: Somebody played major league baseball using this glove?

These images returned to conscious thought this week in the roiling aftermath of Aaron Judge’s 62nd home run Tuesday night in Arlington, Texas. Not roiling as to the significance of the moment, or its emotional purity – 62 home runs in a single MLB season is a milestone deserving of sanctity and joy and Judge is a manifestly great – dare one say Ruthian? – baseball player. As ever when it comes to cherished sports (or uncherished sports records, but single season home runs is just about as cherished as it gets), the unvarnished celebration of this moment abated quickly and attention was turned aggressively to comparing it to the marks it surpassed, and those that it did not.

This led to SEO-on-steroids headlines and posts that sucked in some combination of the names Judge, Maris, McGwire, Sosa, Bonds, and Ruth (and even a little Mantle, for good measure) and launched impassioned discussion as to the proper framing of Judge’s record. The New York Times’s Scott Miller wrote a good story describing the issues in this baseball-centric discussion, which are familiar to most fans of a certain age, or possibly many ages. (But it all goes far beyond baseball).

In short: 95 years ago in 1927, Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs in a season, a record that stood for 34 years, until surpassed by Roger Maris in 1961. Maris, less popular than his teammate, Mickey Mantle, and thus deemed less worthy by some, hit his No. 61 in the 162nd game of the season, whereas Ruth hit his 60 homers in a 154-game season, prompting baseball commissioner Ford Frick to suggest a “distinctive mark” in the record book to highlight that difference (which was co-opted to mean an “asterisk,” even though there was never an actual asterisk on the books). In 1998, Mark McGwire (70) and Sammy Sosa (66) each shattered Maris’s record and hold five of the top six totals in history, but their dinger spree took place during the so-called steroid era, and before MLB began testing for PEDs. As did Barry Bonds’s, including his all-time record of 73, in 2001. One more complicating factor: Ruth did his work in a segregated sport; baseball was all-white until Jackie Robinson joined the Dodgers in 1947, and mostly white for many years after that.

Hence: The number of the real single-season home run record (or for that matter, the career record for homers and many other achievements) comes with room for miles of wiggling and volumes of discussion, with little hope for consensus. There are simply too many moving parts, too much change across time, too little commonality that connects performance from different eras (and sometimes, we now understand, an “era” can be as little as a couple decades).

This is the problem – or maybe it’s not a problem; stay with me – with all sports records. A “record,” exists to perform two fundamental tasks: One, to quantify performance. No problem there. Two, to compare one performance to other performances, both in the present and, historically. Problem. And it’s the word historically that’s being asked to do far too much work in this universe. The paradox is this: As fans and other chroniclers of sports, we lust after means to compare excellence (or the lack thereof) among generations, but the evolution of sports (and humans, not always ethically) makes that almost impossible. A record is a record only in the precise instance, and under the precise historical conditions under which it is achieved. Every future record is set in a different world, altered by the games, the players, and the existence of the previous record itself.

Back to my Uncle Johnny. His place in the Hall of Fame has been hotly debated over the years by people who debate such things (and bless them), and fairly so. There’s little doubt he was an excellent player for his time. But the game he played would be scarcely recognizable as baseball to modern fans, beyond the geometry of the playing field itself (and that, not entirely). I wrote this in 2012:

There are practical differences between major league baseball in the first two decades of the 20th century and the game as it is played today. All of the players were white (Uncle Johnny was born 16 years after the abolition of slavery.) Fielders wore tiny gloves, barely larger than modern ski mittens. The fields were much more uneven than today’s. The period from 1900 (or earlier) to approximately 1919 was called the Dead Ball era for good reason: Baseballs were kept in play, and over the course of games they were beaten to a pulp.”

Whatever my uncle accomplished, he accomplished within the norms of his time, a very different time. He is one small, and to me, very personal example. I would like to see Francisco Lindor field ground balls in the hole with my uncle’s glove, which is very much not Lindor’s problem and not a valid basis for evaluating his work. Keepers of the game over time have developed analytic means to create useful comparison by encasing players within their own era. This is good, but when it comes to records, imperfect. Because records are best when unencumbered by messy complexity. We just want to know: Bonds or Judge?

This is not remotely limited to baseball. Very much the opposite: It’s everywhere in sports.

At the 1964 Summer Olympics, Bob Hayes of the United States won the 100 meters in an official handheld time of 10 seconds flat, extrapolated by statisticians to an electronic time of 10.06 seconds, a world record at the time. Notably, Hayes ran his race in lane one at the Olympic Stadium, assigned by random draw, which is outrageous, but hewed to norms of the time. The track was made from dirt and cinders and Hayes’s lane had been raked just before the final, after it was rutted by competitors in the 20-kilometer walk. Four years later in Mexico City, Jim Hines of the U.S. ran 9.95 on an all-weather track, a record that stood for 28 years.

The 100-meter world record is now held by Usain Bolt, who ran 9.58 seconds at the 2009 World Championships. But the differences between Hayes’s 1964 world record and Bolt’s are myriad and significant: The running surface, the runners’ spikes, training methods, and even their ages. Hayes was 21 years old, concurrently a soon-to-be professional football player who would never run another 100-meter race of significance. Bolt was a 23, a full-time track and field athlete who would become fabulously wealthy over the course of a career that lasted another decade.

(Track and field is nearly as protective of its numbers as baseball: A few years ago I was talking – on background — with an Olympic sprinter about performances and steroids and noted that Ben Johnson had once run 9.79 seconds to win the 1998 Olympic 100 meters, but of course was disqualified when he tested positive for a banned steroid. I suggested that we don’t really know Ben’s personal best. The sprinter said, “Ben’s PR is 9.79. He ran that time.” The subtext is that Johnson may have been running against others with pharmaceutical assistance, much like Lance Armstrong was cycling against opponents are dirty as he was, just not as a good on the drugs. This stuff gets complicated. In sum: If you want to say that Bolt was faster than Hayes because of their difference in their times, that’s fine, and most likely true, but also perilously simplistic. What shoe technology has done to track and marathoning is far more extreme).

Football is less protective of its records than baseball, and more attached to rings and spectacle. But it’s not as if records are cast aside in the NFL. Just last weekend, Aaron Rodgers was celebrated for throwing his 500th career touchdown pass, a category not entirely dissimilar to home runs in baseball. Long balls of a different type. Only five quarterbacks have thrown 500 touchdown passes: Tom Brady (716), Drew Brees (608), Peyton Manning (579), Brett Favre (552), and Rodgers; the longest-retired is Favre, in 2010.

The record had previously been held by Fran Tarkenton (353, retired in 1978), Johnny Unitas (297, retired in 1973) and Y.A. Tittle (246, retired in 1964). But passing records in the NFL have been dramatically neutered by changes in the composition of gameplay. The modern game is significantly tilted to benefit passing offense, with rules implemented over time that empower every entity of the pass game, from quarterbacks (can’t hit them) to receivers (can’t jam them for long) to linemen (they can hold). Twenty-four of the top 25 single-season passing yardage totals have all been achieved since 2007, the only exception being Dan Marino in 1984, a 5,084-yard season that looks more impressive with every flip of the calendar.

But the larger point is that passing records are almost meaningless without significant context. (Rushing records are the opposite, affected by the same shift to passing: Only one active player, Adrian Peterson — technically active, but has not played a down in 2022 — is among the NFL’s top 50 career rushing leaders. Only Peterson, Derrick Henry, and Jonathan Taylor are among the top 25 single-season totals).

Basketball, meanwhile, has undergone steady gameplay progression from lane-widening to shot clocks to the introduction of the three-point line and, foundationally beneath all of that, inexorably improving shooting inefficiency. Yet the hypothetical that seems to arise most often is how records – college or professional — might have been affected if the three-point field goal had been in use during [name the player’s, most often Pete Maravich’s] career. But this is specious, too, because we can’t simply go back, study film, and count imaginary three-pointers, because the presence of the line alters the geometry and strategy of the game. A modern game, dictated by half-court spacing, ball movement and matchups, is wildly different from previous iterations of the sport.

Examples of misleading records are everywhere. Here is a small example from the skiing world: For many years, Austrian skier Annemarie Moser-Proell was the winningest woman in World Cup history, having won 62 races from 1969-’80. She was eventually passed by Lindsey Vonn of the U.S. who finished her career in 2019 with 82 victories. But Vonn’s total included 28 wins in the Super-G, a downhill-giant slalom that didn’t become part of the World Cup until 1983. Moser-Proell would have raced and won a lot of Super-Gs; in her 12-year career, the women’s World Cup averaged 24 races per year, whereas in Vonn’s it averaged 36, although Vonn was frequently injured and missed part of many seasons. None of this diminishes Vonn’s record, it just complicates it ever so slightly. (And Vonn’s record may be broken soon by Mikaela Shiffrin, who has 74 wins and nary an asterisk).

There is another way to consume these record-breaking realities: Records are not just an imprimatur that describes and elevates the record-breaker; they are also a patch of intellectual real estate on which sports’ history is preserved. If Aaron Judge’s record resurfaces Babe Ruth’s segregated past and the complexity of the steroid era, those are good things. If sprinting records preserve Bob Hayes’ memory in some way, that is worthwhile.

Records are incomplete, but not unimportant. They keep the time machine humming.

Mr. Stats’ Notes: Playoff picture starts to take focus


This is the time of year that baseball turns from a marathon to a sprint. The Toronto Blue Jays are steps ahead of other teams for a spot in the postseason. Toronto finished one game out of the playoffs a year ago. Will this year be different?

On Sunday, in a game streamed on Peacock beginning at 12 pm eastern, the Blue Jays will play the Pittsburgh Pirates.

In 2021, the Jays finished one game behind the Yankees for the Wild Card; and 39 games better than the division rival Orioles. Can Baltimore pass Toronto in the final weeks to nab the third and final Wild Card?

It’s time to sharpen up the predictions to pick out some potential October matchups and storylines.

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Wouldn’t it be something if…the Pittsburgh Pirates win the World Series?

Well, not the 2022 Pirates.  But several former Pirates.

The 2017 Pirates team had Gerrit Cole and Jameson Taillon in their starting rotation. By 2018, Cole was gone but Clay Holmes was in the Bucs pen.  If the New York Yankees win the 2022 World Series, it will almost certainly be with heavy lifting being done by Cole, Taillon, and Holmes. Jameson (12-4, 3.97) leads the Yankees in wins. Cole is their ace. Holmes should be the closer.

And if the New York Mets win the World Series this year, they will lean heavily on two other Pirates from those Clint Hurdle-managed teams. The Mets don’t hurdle through the National League without Starling Marte and, to a lesser degree, Trevor Williams.  Marte is slashing .309/.359/.511 with 41 extra-base hits in 93 games since May 1, and for the season his bWAR is 3.7. Williams, meanwhile, has not allowed a run in a career-high 24.0 straight innings. Trevor has a 0.88 WHIP, a .190 opponent’s average and a .483 opponent’s OPS during that span.

Pittsburgh fans can find someone to root for even if the San Diego Padres win the World Series (Joe Musgrove), or the Atlanta Braves (Charlie Morton) repeat.

2022 MLB on Peacock schedule: How to watch, live stream Sunday morning baseball games online

Wouldn’t it be something if…the Cardinals beat the Mets in the postseason (with Adam Wainwright getting the final outs)?

In 2006, the Mets won 97 games. The Cardinals won 83 games. But the two teams met in the NLCS, and in Game 7, the Cards had a 3-1 lead entering the bottom of the ninth. Rookie Adam Wainwright closed it out, slamming the door and eliminating the Mets by striking out Carlos Beltran with the bases loaded to end the game.

Wouldn’t it be something if all these years later, the Cardinals once again eliminated the heavily-favored Mets in the deciding game with Wainwright (9-9, 3.09) on the mound!

And if that happened…

Wouldn’t it be something if…the Cardinals beat the Yankees in the World Series (with Jordan Montgomery eliminating his former team)?

Jordan Montgomery was traded from the Yankees to the Cardinals in exchange for Harrison Bader. Montgomery, in his first five starts for St. Louis, is 4-0, with 1.76 ERA and a WHIP of 0.815. How great would it be for Monty, who started the season as the Yankees’ No. 3 starter, eliminates New York.

Of course, October is a long way away. Perhaps Harrison Bader will run down a long blast by Nolan Arenado or Paul Goldschmidt to save a game for the Yankees.

I know what you’re thinking. Even if the Cardinals make the World Series, the Yankees may fall in the ALCS to the Astros. And if that were the case…

RELATED: Does Pujols deserve more respect?

Wouldn’t it be something if…the Cardinals and Astros meet in the World Series, a rematch of the 2004 NLCS (when St. Louis won) and the 2005 NLCS (when Houston won)?

Albert Pujols was the MVP of the 2004 NLCS versus the Houston Astros. Albert batted .500 (14-28 AB) with 1.000 SLG, 1.563 OPS, and 4 HR in the series! Imagine if he has a surge in the very late stages of his career. In the 2005 series, he hit a ninth-inning blast off Brad Lidge that’s a signature highlight in a career full of them.

I know, the Cardinals are a long shot. The Mets have a much better chance of reaching the World Series. So:

Wouldn’t it be something if…Buck Showalter finally makes the World Series in his 21st year as a Major League manager…and loses the Series when the Yankees bring in a reliever named (check notes…) Zack Britton to slam the door on Buck’s Mets?

Well before Timmy Trumpet, Showalter once had an elite reliever in his stint with the Orioles, Zack Britton. In 2016, Britton saved 47 games in 47 save opportunities. The Orioles won 89 games in 2016, and played in the one-game Wild Card in Toronto. The elimination game was tied 2-2 after five innings. And six innings. And seven innings. And eight innings. And nine innings. And ten innings. Buck kept waiting for his Birds to score a run, to bring in the great Britton to close out the Jays. Trouble is, he never did get Zack into the game, and eventually Ubaldo Jimenez lost the game for Buck in the 11th.

Just a thought. If there’s an opportunity to get Edwin Diaz late in a tie game on the road, do it. If you go down, go down with your best.

RELATED: Rogers: Mets are ‘built for postseason’

Wouldn’t it be something if Buck Showalter finally makes it to the World Series against the Astros and Dusty Baker? One of them has to win, right? Please tell me someone has to win.

Is it even remotely possible that Dusty’s team blows another series lead? Baker shouldn’t have lost the 2002 World Series to the Angels, or the 2021 World Series to the Braves. He shouldn’t have blown a 2-0 series lead to the Giants in a 2012 best-of-five series. He shouldn’t have blown a three-run lead with five outs to go in Game 7 of a 2003 series to the Marlins. And only Dusty — poor Dusty — can have a lead after four innings of a winner-take-all game, bring in Max Scherzer — and still lose the game and series, as Dusty’s Nats did against the Cubs in 2017.

Wouldn’t it be something if the 2022 World Series were a rematch of the 2017 World Series? Only this time, Clayton Kershaw pitches on a level playing field, if you know what I mean. Man, it would be great to see Clayton start a game in Houston.

Remember what happened when Kershaw started Game 5 of the ’17 series in Houston? Clayton was unhittable in Game 1 of that series at Dodger Stadium; but in Game 5, Kershaw blew a 4-0 lead in the fourth inning, and a 7-4 lead in the bottom of the fifth.

I know Kershaw found redemption in the 2020 World Series in Arlington, Texas against Tampa Bay. But I want more. I want Clayton to shut down Altuve, Bregman, and Gurriel in Houston. In a World Series. Wouldn’t that be something?

And if the Astros defeated the Dodgers, I would feel so glad for Dusty Baker, who would have a World Series championship as a player for the Dodgers (in 1981) and as a manager against the Dodgers (41 years later, in 2022).

RELATED: Astros ace Justin Verlander placed on IL with calf injury

Wouldn’t it be something if someone other than the Astros or Yankees made the World Series?  Wouldn’t it be something if the Mariners defeated the Yankees?

Time for a little history lesson. In 2001, the Mariners had a historic regular season, winning 116 games. But they lost the ALCS to the Yankees in five games. In Game 5 at Yankee Stadium, with the Yankees blowing out Seattle 9-0 and eventually eliminating them 12-3, the Bronx crowd chanted “Over-rated” at the Mariners.

Classy, I know. But wouldn’t it be something if the tides were reversed a generation later, and the heavily-favored Yankees fell in Seattle, with the Pacific Northwest crowd serenading the Yankees with the “over-rated” chant?

Wouldn’t it be something if…Rays manager Kevin Cash refuses to take out a starting pitcher that is on his game?

Wouldn’t it be something if…Bryce Harper finally was part of a winning playoff series? Harper appeared been in four Division Series as a member of the Nationals, and lost all four. 

Wouldn’t it be something if…Francisco Lindor makes the World Series against his former Cleveland team and manager Terry Francona?

As the rock group Green Day sang, “Wake Me Up When September Ends.”