Mr. Stats Notes: La Russa vs. Francona


The American League Central division is a tight race between three teams, with two of them meeting this weekend live on Peacock when the White Sox take on the Guardians in Cleveland Sunday at noon ET. This series — and their lone remaining series in Chicago beginning September 20 — will go a long way  toward crowning a Central champ.

Last year, the White Sox won the division by 13 games over Cleveland. This year, three teams (Guardians, White Sox, and Twins) were separated by just 2 games heading into Thursday.

Few people expected Cleveland to contend for the division this year. Andres Gimenez has been good all season, and on a tear recently, batting .393/.469/.571 in his last 16 games entering play Friday. And the bullpen has been solid, with James Karinchak, Sam Hentges, and Nick Sandlin holding consecutive scoreless inning streaks of 10+ IP each. The Cleveland bullpen overall has been one of baseball’s best in the second half (2.45 ERA in August).

RELATED: Guardians score 6 runs in 8th, rally past Tigers 8-4

The White Sox sputtered through much of the season, but have won 22 of 36 going into Thursday. Chicago had an eight-game losing streak in April and were 6.5 games back of first place on July 5. But they’re closing fast as we reach the three-quarter pole of the season — LF A.J. Pollock and RF Andrew Vaughn have gotten hot, and the pitching has been led by Dylan Cease (among the MLB leaders in ERA and K/9) and closer Liam Hendriks.

I wish I had a better feel for which of the three A.L. Central teams was going to win the division. It might come down to the final three games of the season, when the White Sox host the Twins in early October. The Guardians may have an advantage in that their last 9 games of the season will be at home, the last six coming against the lowly Royals.

But I can’t be certain if I favor the Guardians or the White Sox. Cleveland has 21 years of managerial experience at the helm in Terry Francona. Francona has won 1,845 games (including Wednesday, when his Guardians scored six runs in an inning after striking out three times!) and another 40 postseason games. He’s won two World Series championships. And guess what?  He doesn’t have nearly the experience that Chicago manager Tony La Russa has. Francona is 63 years old. LaRussa is in his 61st year of professional baseball. LaRussa has won 2,882 games (about 1,000 more) and 71 postseason victories. Tony has won three World Series championships (and don’t get him started about 1988 and 1990).

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After watching the recent Field of Dreams game in an Iowa cornfield, I considered other dream games I’d love to play out. It made me wish that this year’s tightly contested A.L. Central could be decided by a best-of-seven series played between former players of Francona and La Russa. In this dream series, the players would all be young and healthy and in the shape they were in when playing for Tito or Tony.

And which team would you favor?

Team La Russa

LF:  Rickey Henderson

SS:  Tim Anderson

RF:  Larry Walker

DH: Jose Canseco

1B:  Mark McGwire

C:   Carlton Fisk

3B:  Scott Rolen

CF:  Jim Edmonds

2B: Tony Phillips

At the training site for Team La Russa, I’m envisioning that the camaraderie and respect is apparent right away.

La Russa gathers the campers out from the different cornfields and gives a talk explaining his roster and lineups. “Those of you who have passed away in real life are going to get a little more playing time.  So, Tony Phillips will start at second base. Where’s Hendu (Dave Henderson)? You’ll start Game 1 in centerfield, but then I’m going to start one of the left-handed hitters — Jim Edmonds or Ray Lankford in the other games.” Henderson laughs, and jokes, “great, I’ll get Pedro!”. Tom Seaver is more than happy to be selected to start Game 3 and a potential Game 7.

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La Russa spots one more player: Bob Welch. Bob, I didn’t forget about you; you’re going to start Game 4. I really love this kid I have now — Dylan Cease — but you deserve it. You won 27 games for me in 1990. Welch interrupts, “28 wins if you count beating Boston in the ALCS,” and the team erupts. Welch continues, “After this series, Tony, I have to get back quickly. I’m pitching for Tommy Lasorda’s team as well.”

Ozzie Smith tells the skipper that Tim Anderson should start at shortstop. The Wizard of Oz didn’t play regularly in 1996 for LaRussa, and he’s not going to play regularly now.

And La Russa has a sticky situation with his catchers. He tells Hall of Famer Carlton Fisk that Fisk will start with his old Chicago batterymate Seaver. In the other contests, Yadier Molina gets the call.

Mark McGwire will share first base with Albert Pujols, each getting starts. In right field, Tony is planning on starting Larry Walker, although he gave plenty of consideration to Dave Parker. Reggie Jackson, like Ozzie, only played his final season for Tony and decides not to stay. Dusty Baker played only the second half of the 1986 season for La Russa — Dusty’s final year — but he loves taking Reggie’s roster spot for the final outfielder on Team La Russa.

In the ‘pen, there are three Hall of Fame closers, but Goose Gossage will be a set-up man to Dennis Eckersley. John Smoltz, like Ozzie Smith, barely played for La Russa so he’ll be the long man.

La Russa will start Dave Stewart, Adam Wainwright, and Seaver in the first three games. Welch gets the Game 4 start. That means there is no spot in the rotation for Steve Carlton. Carlton barely played for Tony, starting 10 games as a 41-year-old in 1986. But La Russa loves having “Lefty” on the team to pitch to one batter — David Ortiz. 

There’s one other sticky situation in this game. Scott Rolen played — and played exceptionally well — for both managers. La Russa says he would be happy if Rolen played for Team Francona, especially with Albert Pujols (110 games at 3B) or Carney Lansford available.

Oh, and La Russa feels terrible, but on this historically capable squad, it is going to be impossible to find at-bats for LHB Harold Baines and RHB Jose Abreu. In 1984, Baines led the league in slugging, something Abreu did in 2014 under Robin Ventura and in 2020 under Rick Renteria.

“Hey Abreu, go out and win a World Series for me like Big Mac and Albert have done, then we’ll consider it,” the manager joked. Let’s face it, standards are high.

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Meanwhile, at Camp Francona, there was optimism despite the specter of the opposing team.

Team Francona

SS:  Francisco Lindor

RF:  Michael Brantley

LF:  Manny Ramirez

1B:  David Ortiz

DH:  Jose Ramirez

3B:  Scott Rolen

2B:  Dustin Pedroia

C:    Carlos Santana

CF:  Johnny Damon

Terry gathered his troops and took a less serious approach. “For those of you who were with me in 2011, there will be no fried chicken and beer in the dugouts!” which brought a hearty laugh to everyone.

Like La Russa, Francona is more than willing to give extended playing time to deceased players, meaning Darren Daulton will see time in the outfield.

“I hope you had a chance to check the starting lineup. I seem to always have a Jason on my team, and I love it. Jason Varitek (career high .872 OPS in 2004), you’re going to catch most of the time. I’m just going to catch Carlos in Game 1. And Jason Kipnis (931 hits for Francona, third most after Papi and Manny) is going to play a lot in the middle infield. Andres Gimenez might also find his way into the starting lineup. Man, Pedy (Dustin Pedroia), you have some real competition.

Francona needs help from the bench, so his reserves will include outfielder Gabe Kapler (to pinch-hit), and infielders Dave Roberts (to pinch-run) and Alex Cora (to steal signs — only kidding, couldn’t resist). And Rajai Davis is asked to be ready, to hit in a big spot late in a game.

RELATED: Carpenter hits HR, Francona ejected as Tigers beat Guardians

If this team is going to beat Team La Russa, it must be because of the depth of starting pitchers he’s worked with throughout his career. Francona has Curt Schilling and Pedro Martinez to start the first two games, Corey Kluber and Carlos Carrasco to start the next two. “Although we may piggyback Jon Lester with Carrasco in Game 4”, adds Tito.

Jonathan Papelbon is the co-closer, along with Emmanuel Clase. Tim Wakefield, Shane Bieber, John Lackey, Cody Allen, and Andrew Miller round out the staff.

I know Team LaRussa is the stronger team. My goodness, Tony managed 12 Hall of Famers, and that doesn’t include McGwire, Canseco, Parker, Pujols, and Molina. But even if Team Francona fell behind 0-3 in games, I wouldn’t count them out.

Not sure in real life if Francona’s team has as much talent as La Russa’s. The White Sox have an estimated payroll of $196 million. The Guardians have an estimated payroll of $69 million.

But I would never count out Tito.

How to Watch White Sox vs Guardians on Peacock

All-Star third baseman Jose Ramirez and the first-place Cleveland Guardians host 2020 AL MVP Jose Abreu and the Chicago White Sox in a crucial divisional showdown from Progressive Field on MLB Sunday Leadoff live this Sunday, August 21 at Noon ET on Peacock.

How to Watch:

Date Show Time (ET) Platform
Sun., Aug. 21 MLB Sunday Leadoff Pregame 11:30 a.m. Peacock
Sun., Aug. 21 White Sox vs. Guardians Noon Peacock

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.

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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…

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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.

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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.”