On Tuesday, October 27, 2020, the Los Angeles Dodgers won the World Series. As Clayton Kershaw, Mookie Betts, and Cody Bellinger rushed towards the pitchers mound to celebrate with their teammates, 640 miles away I was celebrating with my mother — a lifelong Dodgers fan who literally watches every game (except for when they play the Diamondbacks, get your shit together Spectrum!). When Julio Urias threw the final strike, my family leaped in celebration. My mom looked relieved, overcome with joy and pride for the team she loves so much. The team who she knew could always win, the same team that came within a few innings of glory twice in the last few seasons but came up short. That team was finally World Series champions.
However, this story is not about the Dodgers winning the World Series. As much as I would like to boast of my favorite team’s accomplishment, this story is a testament to their resilience and the invaluable lesson that they taught me.
Saturday, October 24, just three days before the Dodgers capped off a historic season in triumph, they were up 7–6 in Game 4 of the World Series. This game was beyond stressful. Both teams went back-and-forth, matching run for run throughout the final innings. Thanks to the soon to be World Series MVP Corey Seager, the Dodgers clenched on to a one run lead going into the bottom of the 9th inning. Victory was left in the hands of Kenley Jansen, a player who has shown moments of greatness throughout his career but rarely on the big stage.
As Kenley slowly moved through the 9th, allowing two base runners, he finally got the Dodgers to within one out of taking a commanding 3–1 series lead. Standing in his way was the Tampa Bay Rays’ last remaining bench player, Brett Phillips. Jansen quickly burned two cutters by him. One strike left. This is what I told myself as I nervously adjusted my Dodgers hat for the hundredth time in the inning. With a 1–2 count, Jansen hangs a cutter. Phillips sees it and is able to hit a blooper to centerfield. Chris Taylor, playing for the injured reigning NL MVP Cody Bellinger, charges the ball trying to mitigate the damage in one of the most important games of his life. He bobbles the ball. One run scores. Taylor quickly recovers and sends a dart to homeplate. Randy Arozarena is hung out to dry between third-base and homeplate. But just as everyone, including Arozarena, think that this game is going into extra innings, Will Smith bobbles the throw home. Jansen did not cover the plate behind Smith. Arozarena scores. Walk off, Tampa Bay.
I was fuming! My Dodgers hat, which I had nervously been adjusting throughout the bottom of the 9th, was on the floor. I yelled obscenities at my screen, screaming in sheer disbelief as Arozarena smacked homeplate with satisfaction and Phillips ran around the outfield with the rest of the Rays clubhouse. While I was watching, cursing, and sulking over the Rays come back celebration, my mom quietly reached over and grabbed the remote and shut the TV off. “We don’t watch the opposing victory formation.“, she said with a stoic demeanor. She was already looking to Game 5.
Now, we all know how the story goes from here. The Rays would not win another game. The Dodgers would douse their momentum from Phillips’ Game 4 heroics and would be crowned World Series champs, ending at 32 year drought.
Fast forward to now, a little over a week has passed since the Dodgers’ historic victory. The champagne bottles are empty, I watched all the team interviews, I have enjoyed every ounce of the celebration as though I won the chip myself. However, I can’t get over Game 4. I think back on how different my reaction was from my mother’s. How different it was from the response of the players and coaches. Would they have won the World Series if they acted erratic like me? Had they let the walk off impact them, would they have been able to stop the bleeding and win two more games?
Probably not.
You see, my anger directed at my team was conducive to a road towards defeat. Had Dave Roberts (Dodgers manager) reprimanded Jansen for giving up the hit, or Taylor for bobbling the catch, or Smith for losing the ball before making the tag — he would’ve demoralized the team. Instead Roberts, like my mom, composed his team and was looking to Game 5 and then Game 6.
All three of us experienced the same situation. A heartbreaking defeat. Yet while I let the defeat engulf my hope and faith in my team, my mom and Dave Roberts looked past the emotions, through the apparent hopelessness, and pressed forward. Same situation. Two ways of dealing with it. My way gave into defeat. My mom rose above it. Dave Roberts rose above it as he addressed his team after the game. The Dodgers rose above it and became world champions.
In life we are all met with defeat, heartbreak, and the unexpected. We all have our own version of Brett Phillips walking up to the plate, standing between us and apparent control (sorry, Brett). Sometimes we are fortunate enough that our best pitch gets past the obstacle. But more often than not, we come up short. Don’t be like me at the end of Game 4, giving your defeat momentum with outrage and resent. Be like my mom and the World Series Champions Los Angeles Dodgers. Face your defeat head-on, learn from it, and overcome it.