For six days, my friends and I texted, talked and e-mailed about how much we were enjoying the World Series. People whom I’d call general fans, as well as us MLB nuts, said, “Great! Fun game. I watched every pitch.”
When it ended with Game 5, all of us, except two happy folks from Milwaukee, said, “Sorry it’s over. I wanted it to go seven.”
What was so appealing about this World Series? Why did it feel like a kind of balm, a nightly therapy, to us and to millions more, too? Even now, why do we love a parade in Milwaukee on Halloween?
Much of it was simply superb baseball, properly played, with all aspects of the sport on display in pleasing proportions.
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But with time, I suspect some of us will also see this World Series as a bit of a barely veiled morality play about civility; mutual respect between franchises of modest means; stars with humility; teams that can’t afford gold toilet seats in their clubhouses; and unselfish team play rather than Me First.
Whatever the combination, the public was ready for it. TV ratings for the Brewers’ five-game win over the Tampa Bay Rays blew far past (low) expectations and rose to the level of well-loved, larger-market World Series of the past. Everybody is happy except for Fox, which, after 14.22 million viewers for Game 5, lusted for the fat numbers that would have accompanied a Game 6 and 7.
The “critical consensus” is that fans loved the competitive balance of seeing the clubs with the 19th- and 28th-ranked payrolls (Milwaukee and Tampa Bay, respectively) finish with the best records in their leagues, then not only beat but sweep the big-bucks bullies. The Rays skunked the Yankees three straight in the ALDS and the Brewers flattened the aging, stunned Dodgers in four games in the NLCS.
Even better, both the new-champ Brewers and the Rays value every aspect of the sport, honoring all of the last 125 years. They aren’t one-dimensional modern teams that, to exaggerate, “swing hard in case you hit it.”
Both teams seek mastery of every facet: steals, hit-and-runs, contact hitting as well as power swings, 100-mph fastballs, bunts, crazy-deep bullpens, acrobatic defense and analytics.
In five games, there were 14 steals, perhaps 20 bunt attempts, but only four homers.
“There hasn’t been a bunt in the last five World Series,” grinned MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred.
But something else important ran through this World Series.
This contest brought us six days of civility.
In the midst of fierce competition, there was respect for the game and mutual respect among all the players without any exceptions.
That civility and dignity, honoring something of value — like a franchise winning its first World Series — extended to the towns that wanted the same prize, desperately.
Brewer fans almost equaled the noise of Rays fans in Tampa Bay games. “Altercations?” This ain’t Philly, the Fenway or Yankee Stadium bleachers, or the Dodger parking lot. Brewer and Rays fans sat next to each other and … cheered. (Or laughed. Or maybe prayed.)
Not one player bragged in a TV interview, except to brag on a teammate. In the entire postseason, the only brief show of bravado was the Rays’ young star Junior Caminero mimicking a broom sweep after dispatching the Yankees.
The biggest star-power name in the Series was the modest, almost shy Jacob Misiorowski, whom manager Pat Murphy nicknamed “Forest Gump.” After a 15-strikeout win this year, The Miz posted an AI-generated photo of his head on Gump’s body, sitting on that park bench.
After getting two Series wins with a 0.84 ERA but “only” going 10⅔ innings in those starts, Miz deflected questions about himself and talked about the joy of fans back in Milwaukee, until he started to tear up.
Brewers manager Murphy, after Milwaukee lost Game 4 in 12 innings after being three outs away from a championship, could have been Belichick-brusque. Instead, he was generous, calm and honest. “This is going to be hard,” he said. “They’ve very good. But winning a world title is supposed to be hard.”
Only once, in five games, did tensions appear to rise, when two players had a brief staredown at home plate. In the 11th inning of Game 4, catcher William Contreras challenged a “ball’’ call on the Rays’ Yandy Diaz (and his 20-inch biceps). As the pair awaited the ruling, they — maybe the toughest customers on each team — locked eyes, their faces a foot apart.
The “moment” went viral. But not because they were angry; rather, in MLB, most staredowns are mock-serious. This time, Contreras was wrong on his challenge. That broke the stare; Contreras gave a little smirk, called the next pitch — and won Series MVP.
Not once did a player on either team criticize a player from the other club. There was no online snark or trolling.
With hindsight, this Series could, in a parallel universe — but not, thankfully, the MLB universe — have been filled with noxious controversy and even conspiracy theory.
In Game 1, the Brewers celebrated what they thought was a game-ending double play. They were into postgame rejoicing. But the Rays challenged, claiming pivot man Cooper Pratt’s foot might have left the second-base bag — by an inch — before securing the ball.
Everyone watched the scoreboard. Would the Brewers win the game? Or would the game continue with Rays at second and third base, trailing 3-2 — in other words, a mere two-run single away from taking the lead. Triple gulp.
Emotionally, psychologically, would Milwaukee have to win twice within minutes?
Minutes passed as about 30 people in the 900-square-foot MLB Replay Operations Center in New York (“The Rock”) collaborated, including an umpire supervisor, a technical captain and two MLB umpires. If the Rays came back to win, that call would flip a Series game, and thus switch which team, based on history, would have a 64 percent chance to win it all.
Some joked about one person alone in a small dark room somewhere making the decision. That’s catchier than a lot of competent people trying to make a hard decision correctly.
The Rays won the challenge. But the Brewers escaped when reliever Trevor Megill composed himself and fanned the final hitter.
“They handled that decision the right way,” Murphy said. “If the Rays had come back to win, I’d say the same thing.”
Everybody in MLB knows he would’ve.
The very next night, Game 2 ended on a controversial checked-swing third strike against Diaz. There’s no replay for that call (yet). It’s the umpire’s judgment. Diaz threw up his hands.
But that was it.
Nobody on either team, either night, challenged the integrity or motives of anybody involved. Everybody respected the difficulty of the decisions that had to be made.
Everyone said, “That’s baseball.” Because that is baseball. You do everything possible to get things right. Then live with it. That’s as fair as life gets; which isn’t 100 percent. If you can’t cope with that deal, then MLB will eat you up.
“We was robbed” is probably older than the Bible. But in the real world of contemporary sports, you almost never hear such sour grapes. Those, especially in leadership positions, who blame the refs or the breaks seldom last long. At least in sports, everybody sees through a loser.
You never deny the result once all the proper processes have been applied. That would steal credit from your opponent; few things in MLB are more dishonorable. No one disgraces himself by saying, “I didn’t really lose.”
MLB has plenty of flaws. But none that big.
Now, the show is over. In its place, the “business of baseball” slinks on next. No wonder I hate irony.
After this World Series, we’re a month or so from a lockout by the owners. Let’s hold the vitriol, against both sides perhaps, for a little while — and let the Brewers, so often tricked over the last 56 years, enjoy their mammoth treat.
For now, cling to this World Series between two small-market teams that were good-to-exceptional at every phase of the game, using each element in its appropriate moment.
Let us hope that everyone in the game remembers this interlude where civility and thrills, intelligence and jubilation, modesty and pride could coexist and do everyone credit.
Then, when the billions are stacked high on the bargaining table, maybe they’ll try to do as little damage as possible to a game that, at its best and most decent, gives so much to so many.
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