The Los Angeles Dodgers have managed to claw their way into dynasty status with a jaw-dropping 5–4 victory over the Toronto Blue Jays on Saturday night—solidifying their position as the first team to repeat as champions in a staggering quarter-century. Really, who knew winning could be so monopolistic?
In today’s modern baseball, where pennants are bought at the same store as overpriced nachos, the Dodgers have become the poster children for the “if you can’t beat ’em, buy ’em” philosophy. Many critics argue they’ve “ruined” the sport. Spoiler alert: they haven’t. Nevertheless, watch as fans celebrate the Dodgers’ triumph while simultaneously sharpening their pitchforks, particularly when Shohei Ohtani graces the field with his toothy smile and jaw-dropping talent. The Dodgers have become the ultimate villain, but not through dirty money alone. They also grow their own stars, turning minor leaguers into major players, like catcher Will Smith. Kudos to them for demonstrating that “planting seeds” still works in baseball, even if those seeds come pre-fertilized with cash.
Ah, but isn’t it rich? Watching one team enjoy an inordinate amount of good fortune is a joy that can only be compared to having an insect remarry your ex in your face every holiday season. The difference between “making your own luck” and going through life like a character in a fairy tale is glaring. Should I envy the Dodgers for becoming the destination spot for top talent? Well, not really; I just need a break from the absurdity of their good fortunes. The universe seems to have conspired to grant them every golden ticket in this World Series. Really, who said suffering builds character? Clearly, it’s just purgatory for baseball fans.
Over a grueling 162-game season, the cream usually rises to the top, or at least to the fourth tier of mediocrity. According to Statcast, the Dodgers possessed the sixth-best betting average. So, like clockwork, they ended up… um, exactly where they were supposed to. The postseason is a quirky dice roll where randomness rules. If the best teams don’t always take home the trophy, you can bet people will raise their pitchforks. But let’s be real: when the playoff gods smile on the Goliaths, it’s fair game to discuss the absurdity of the divine intervention they received. And with the Dodgers, it seems the universe sent them a gift basket of good fortune this postseason. Bon appétit!
Where does the saga begin? It’s worth noting that the Dodgers’ good luck story kicked off with the Philadelphia Phillies gifting them a spot in the National League Championship Series like a rookie handing out participation medals. As the World Series stormed into its final act, Los Angeles had the charm of a lucky penny rolling around under a couch. Only two games stood between them and oblivion. As they trailed 3–1 in Game 6, you could feel the cosmic energy brewing. Tyler Glasnow jogged in like a superhero summoned to save the day, only to face the tension-filled moment of a possible tying run sliding in unceremoniously. What luck they had, considering the aging left fielder, Enrique “Kiké” Hernández, had managed to save an otherwise doomed play and catch not just a ball, but also a miracle.
The following night, the plot thickened like gravy on Thanksgiving. The Dodgers found themselves trailing 4–3 in the top of the ninth, but they had one ace up their sleeve: Ohtani was due up third. Panic ensued among the Blue Jays as their best pitcher, Jeff Hoffman, faced Rojas—an at-bat that should have felt like a walk in the park. But instead, Rojas, the forgotten ghost of the Dodgers’ lineup, sent the ball soaring into the heavens, tying the game. A cinematic twist if I ever saw one—who knew a man worth a pittance could conjure such magic?
As fate would have it, the Blue Jays found themselves clinging to a glimmer of hope only to see it evaporate in front of their eyes. With one out and the bases loaded, the Dodgers were on the brink of disaster. Yamamoto, their best pitcher—and oh boy, he deserved a cape—dodged disaster, but not before we were treated to a slapstick sequence that could make any sitcom proud. Rojas, back when he thought he could do no wrong, tripped, and somehow the game continued against all odds as if the baseball gods were pulling strings.
And in classic grand finale tradition, the Dodgers hit a home run in the 11th inning, courtesy of none other than catcher Smith. Who needs luck when you have good ol’ dollars? Meanwhile, the Blue Jays faced management blunders worse than showing up to a potluck empty-handed. With a bad call for a sacrifice bunt sealing their fate, Alejandro Kirk, a heavyweight at the plate and a sloth on the bases, delivered the final nail in their coffin. Game, set, match—the Dodgers walked away not just with the World Series trophy but also an open invitation to disdain from every baseball fan outside L.A.
So, it remains abundantly clear: nothing builds a baseball dynasty quite like a hefty bank account. From high-priced pitchers to the artistry of luck, the Dodgers have it all. But despite my constant poor luck for my own underperforming team, I see a flicker of hope: One can always look at the Dodgers and think—well, it can always get worse!
