By Merv Moore
Sports Director & Head Baseball Coach
Well folks, it’s that time of year again. The air is crisp, the leaves are turning, and suddenly everyone remembers that baseball is still a sport.
That’s right—October baseball is here, and with it comes the annual ritual of casual fans pretending they’ve been paying attention since April.
Let’s be honest: the MLB postseason is the greatest reality show on earth. It’s got drama, underdogs, villains, and more plot twists than a telenovela.
Sponsored Links
And just like a telenovela, you don’t really need to have watched the first 162 episodes to understand what’s happening. You just need to know who’s crying, who’s cheating, and who just hit a home run while staring directly into the opposing dugout.
This year, we’ve got the usual suspects. The Dodgers are here, spending more on their bullpen than some small countries spend on their military.
The Yankees are in the mix, because of course they are—it’s basically a constitutional requirement. And then there’s that one team nobody saw coming, probably from a city you can’t locate on a map without Google Maps and a prayer.
You know, the team that accidentally won 90 games because their star player had a “revenge season” after being dumped via text.
What makes the postseason so beautifully absurd is the sudden expertise of every fan. In October, everyone becomes a baseball savant.
Your uncle who still thinks OBP is a type of wood stain will suddenly lecture you about bullpen leverage and defensive shifts. Your friend who last watched a game in 1998 will confidently declare that the key to winning is “small ball,” a term they learned five minutes ago from a Twitter meme.
And let’s not forget the umpires! In the postseason, every strike zone becomes a philosophical debate.
Was that pitch a strike? According to the rulebook, no. According to the umpire’s gut feeling and possibly a lingering grudge from a 2017 incident involving a stolen parking spot? Absolutely.
Then there are the players themselves, who transform overnight from regular athletes into mythical heroes or tragic figures.
A guy who hit .220 all season suddenly becomes Babe Ruth because he hit one clutch single. A pitcher with a 5.00 ERA becomes un-hittable because he grew a playoff beard. (Note: It’s not the beard; it’s the fear of shaving and breaking the “magic.”)
And the celebrations! In October, every win is treated like the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Teams dogpile on the mound as if they’ve just discovered cold fusion. Gatorade baths are administered with the solemnity of a royal anointing. Grown men cry, hug, and occasionally break into choreographed dances that will inevitably go viral and embarrass their children.
But here’s the real magic of October baseball: it makes us all believe again. For a few weeks, we forget about bloated contracts, tanking teams, and owners who act like cartoon villains.
We forget that the season is too long and the games are too slow. All we see is the crack of the bat, the arc of the ball, and the sheer, unscripted joy of a sport that can still surprise us.
So grab your lucky jersey, your overpriced beer, and that foam finger you bought in 2015.
Sit back, watch the chaos unfold, and try not to yell “I knew it!” when the team that spent half a billion dollars wins it all. Or when the underdog comes out of nowhere and reminds us why we fell in love with this ridiculous, wonderful game in the first place.
October baseball isn’t just a tournament. It’s a mood. It’s a vibe. It’s the only time of year when a sacrifice bunt feels like a Shakespearean soliloquy and a stolen base feels like a bank heist.
Magic? You bet it is. Now pass the peanuts and let the nonsense begin.
Photo: Arturo Pardavila | CC BY 2.0
Marvin “Merv” Moore is the head coach of the Bohol Coconuts Baseball and Softball Club. He has coached in both Europe and Asia, and helped start the Mister-Baseball and BaseballdeWorld international baseball websites.
