© Chris Gilbert
The blog was fortunate to be on hand at the Ravine last night to witness the ring ceremony, Yoshi’s 10 Ks, Jack Flaherty’s almost-triumphant (and almost no-hit) return only to be foiled by yet another heroic Freddie blast, Edman’s defensive masterclass, and Dodger-legend Manny Margot getting thrown out at the plate in yet another big spot against us. But above all, last night was about the Mookie magic.
“Magic” undersells it significantly; but regardless of what manner of paranormality you ascribe to it, the moment was undeniably historic: Mookie’s 10th inning walk-off blast cemented him as only the 7th player in the expansion era (1961—) to hit multiple go-ahead homers in the same game after the 8th inning or later, joining fellow Dodger luminaries Todd Hollandsworth and Andre Ethier in the process.
As cool as that bit of history is, I’m even more partial to MY history with Mookie which began on April 10, 2014 — his home debut for the Portland Sea Dogs (Red Sox AA).
We were just kids starting our careers in Portland, Maine, of all places— thousands of miles from our respective (and infinitely warmer) homes of Los Angeles and Nashville.
While he was a hyped, ‘can’t-miss’ prospect, I’ve always been more of a deep sleeper, cutting my teeth writing newspaper ads for Sam’s Club, and lamenting the fact that the Dodgers had no plans to visit Fenway anytime soon.
Needing baseball in my life, I glommed onto the Sea Dogs, luxuriating in their $8 tickets, and practically living at the stadium which was only 10 minute walk from the office.
So when Opening Day rolled around, I was there despite the frigid early April temps. As usual, Mookie showed up too, going 2-4 with 2 runs (bringing his early season average at that point to a torrid .464)— the highlight being a wind-assisted triple that turned into a little league homer on a throwing error. Mookie’s extreme hustle that day earned him a forever fan in me en route to the Sea Dogs’ eventual 6-4 win over the “hard hittin’” New Britain Rock Cats, and the start of what turned out to be a legendary Sea Dogs season (88-54), though neither of us would be there to see it through ’til the end.
As fate would have it, both Mookie and I would get called up to Boston at around the same time — him to Fenway, and me to an ad agency in the financial district.
While I went to several Red Sox games during my time in Boston (2014–2017), I prioritized going to see the visiting aces from around the American League— Tigers era Verlander, White Sox Sale, King Felix’s Mariners, Oakland Sonny Gray— having no real interest in the Red Sox outside of Mookie, and always wearing my Dodger hat no matter the opponent, much to the bemusement of the locals.
By Mid 2017, I was once again on the move — this time to New York City. And while this period was successful for the Dodgers broadly, Mookie tried to torpedo our budding friendship with his performances en route to the 2018 Championship at our expense.
As heartbreaking as it was to see Mookie lift the trophy at that juncture, I knew he (and by extension they) truly deserved it, unlike the fraudulent Houston team whose name violates the blog style guidelines a-la Voldemort.
I lamented his cruelty, I wept for the re-opened wounds of 2017. “How could you do this to one of your day ones?” I thought. Were we cursed?
Then, it happened. After yet another disappointing end to the season in 2019, my phone exploded early February 2020 into waves of texts from my Sox faithful friends — most of them too explicit to be reprinted here.
They knew then what we now know: that by adding Mookie, it was more a “when” not an “if” the boys in blue would break the World Series drought that had dominated much of my lifelong Dodger fandom to that point.
Now, with two much better-looking rings on his hand—and both of us reunited in Los Angeles— Mookie seems hungry as ever for the next.
