World Series Winners: What It Takes to Claim Baseball's Ultimate Prize

By Ross Bernstein

Demonstrating that claiming the most sought-after moniker in baseball is truly an epic journey, this record explores what separates World Series victors from those who come up short. More than 50 current and former Major League Baseball players, managers, and coaches from the last 50 yearsall of whom have World Series championships under their beltsare interviewed, including Jack Morris, Lance Parrish, Kent Hrbek, Jim Kaat, and Dave Winfield. Packed with never-before-published stories, this chronicle includes hilarious tales from the clubhouse and dugout as well as inspirational and educational anecdotes. Answering questions such as How are great teams built? How do you keep players motivated when momentum seems to be turning against them? and What are the key qualities that every leader must possess? this investigation illustrates how championship baseball teams offer valuable lessons that can be readily applied to everyday life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triumph Books
• Release date: Jun 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781617496509

Book preview

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For Sara and Campbell…

Contents

Foreword by Paul Molitor

Introduction

1. What Does It Mean to Be a World Series Champion?

2. What Was Special About That Championship Team?

3. Defining Moments of a Championship Season

4. World Series–Winning Managers

5. Winners Share Their Favorite Championship Moments

6. Memories and Musings from a Magical Season

7. Life Lessons Learned by Winning the World Series

Notes

Foreword by Paul Molitor

Winning the World Series as a member of the 1993 Toronto Blue Jays and getting a chance to hoist that beautiful Commissioner’s Trophy was the pinnacle of my 21-year career. The longer you play, the more you realize that winning a championship is the reason you play this game. When you first get to the major leagues, a lot of it is about having that dream of just making it to the show come to fruition. From there you spend time trying to get established, working on what it takes to stick around. When you’re young you figure it’s just a matter of time before it happens, and then the longer you go without one, the more you become sort of desperate to win it. So for me to finally get there in my 16th season, it definitely made me appreciate it even that much more. To finally be able to call yourself a world champion and to enter into that elusive winner’s circle is a pretty special thing. I feel bad for all the guys who never won one because it’s the ultimate. Again, it’s why we play this game. But the reality is that it’s pretty rare. Heck, I played for 21 seasons and only got one, so you never know. I’m just glad that it finally worked out for me. I’m grateful.

Toronto had an incredible team in ’93. The Blue Jays had just won it the year before in ’92, and they were determined to get the job done again. I came in that off-season and could see right way that the organization was committed to winning. Everybody was on board, starting with the front office. When the team went out and traded for Rickey Henderson that July, it was a big deal. It showed how committed the organization was to winning. We had Devon White and Robbie Alomar at the top of the lineup, yet they still went out and got the best lead-off hitter in the history of the game. That was quite a statement. It was a nice piece to add to a team that was trying to accomplish something so rare—winning back-to-back world championships.

We had a lot of great ballplayers on that team. In addition to Rickey, Robbie, and Devon, we also had Joe Carter, John Olerud, Jack Morris, Pat Hentgen, Dave Stewart, and Duane Ward, just to name a few. We were stacked, both hitting and pitching, with a group of veterans who had a lot of experience. We also had a great manager in Cito Gaston. Cito was the right man for that team. His leadership was just tremendous. He understood us, and he respected us. He knew when to get involved and when to back off, which is not always an easy thing to do as a leader. He just treated us like men, which we really appreciated.

I can tell you too that one of the big motivating factors on that team was for us to establish ourselves as a dynasty. The guys who were on the ’92 team really wanted to win back-to-back titles. It hadn’t been done since the ’77-78 Yankees, and it was talked about a lot in the clubhouse. To repeat is huge in sports. It sort of validates you, and collectively we had a lot of resolve to accomplish that. Everything just fell into place for us. We got past the Yankees in the regular season, the White Sox in the playoffs, and then the Phillies in the World Series.

Without a doubt, over my entire 21-year career, the highlight came on the crack of Joe Carter’s bat off of Mitch Williams for the unbelievable walk-off home run in Game 6 of the World Series against the Phillies. I was standing on first base at the time and had the best seat in the house. I took off and was hoping to score if it hit the wall, but when I saw Pete Incaviglia looking up and knowing that it was gone, it was like I was floating around the bases. It was surreal. It was a moment that I’ll always have. There I was, rounding second and then enjoying that last 180 feet to home plate where I was embraced by my teammates in one of the greatest moments in the history of baseball. The ensuing bedlam was something I will never forget either. The fans just about brought that dome down that night. It was incredible, so loud and so intense. The way it ended was just magic. To enjoy that moment with my teammates, to celebrate what we had accomplished that season, it was almost indescribable. The moments that followed in the locker room were special, as was the parade with all the fans in the great city of Toronto. What a thrill. It was beautiful.

Winning it with Toronto after spending my entire career in Milwaukee was a little bittersweet, though. I can still say to this day that if I had my druthers and I won a world championship, I wish it would have been as a Brewer. I’d spent 15 years in Milwaukee and loved it there. I developed so many friendships and had so many wonderful memories there. Leaving there was tough, but I felt like I needed to move on. I felt like at that stage of my career that I would have a legitimate chance to win it in Toronto, and fortunately it all worked out for me. I’ll forever be indebted to the organization for the opportunity to be a part of that team.

I’d been on the other side of it too, back in ’82, when I was with the Brewers and we lost to St. Louis. I remember how great it felt to beat the Angels to get to the World Series, but as great as that was it felt just as bad to lose to the Cardinals after we got there. We came up short, and that was tough. I was very disappointed and very emotional about it. I was a young player at the time, and we all thought we’d get back several more times. We had a good nucleus of ballplayers and were pretty confident in ourselves. For whatever the reasons, though, we never made it back. We came close in ’83 but didn’t get in, and then things just kind of went backward from there. We never did get that opportunity again. Hey, that’s baseball. You just never know in this game.

Hall of Famer Paul Molitor celebrates after his Toronto Blue Jays won the World Series in 1993.

Truth be told, I didn’t start out real well in Toronto and even questioned myself as to whether or not I had made the right decision to leave. It gnawed at me for a while until things settled down and I found my groove. It’s never easy leaving something that’s comfortable in life, but every now and then you have to take a little bit of a leap of faith to better yourself. So looking back, I have no regrets. I loved playing in Milwaukee, I loved playing in Toronto, and I loved finishing my career in my home state of Minnesota.

It was such a memorable season for me on so many levels. One of the things I appreciated the most was when I finally felt like the fans had embraced me. I started off slowly but eventually found my groove that season. I will never forget the day I got my 200th hit. They put it up on the scoreboard at the Sky Dome, and the fans gave me an incredible reaction. It really touched me emotionally. Having gone through the transition of coming from Milwaukee and being accepted, it was such a warm embrace that I will always remember fondly.

Perspective is so important in this game. I think about guys like Ernie Banks, a real legend in this game, who never got the opportunity to win one. Is he any less of a player or of a man because he didn’t get that World Series ring? No, of course not. It shouldn’t define you. I couldn’t have been any happier and more satisfied in winning the World Series. No kidding. But would I have been an unfilled man if I hadn’t? I can’t say that I would. Baseball is what I did. It’s not who I am. I think you learn over time that it has its place, but it’s not the end all, be all. It’s nice and it brings a lot of nice perks, but this is a team game and no one man can win a championship. A lot of things have to happen during the course of any one season, and on top of all of that, you have to get a little bit lucky and have a few bounces go your way. That’s why winning them is so rare and so special. Like I said, it’s the ultimate. No one can ever take that away from you. You’re a champion for life.

— Paul Molitor, Seven-Time All-Star Infielder with the Milwaukee Brewers, Toronto Blue Jays, and Minnesota Twins

Introduction

Ray, people will come, Ray. They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. ‘Of course we won’t mind if you look around,’ you’ll say. ‘It’s only $20 per person.’ They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they’ll walk out to the bleachers, sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come, Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.

— Terence Mann (aka James Earl Jones) to Ray Kinsella (aka Kevin Costner) in the iconic movie Field of Dreams

Yes, I get goose bumps whenever I hear that voice whisper If you build it, he will come…, and yes, I can’t help but shed a tear or two when Ray Kinsella finally gets to have that catch with his old man at the end of the movie. I can’t help it. I love baseball. Hopefully you do too, and that’s why you’re reading this right now. I fell in love with the game growing up in the small, southern Minnesota town of Fairmont, nestled just a few miles from the Iowa border. My passion came from my Grandpa Jay, who used to recruit Triple A ballplayers to move to Fairmont from throughout the country to play for his adored Martins, a 1950s powerhouse town ball team that played in the old Southern Minnie League. Gramp would get them good-paying jobs at his furniture stores, and many who came for the summer would wind up falling in love and spending the rest of their lives there. Several Southern Minnie alums would go on to play in the big leagues, including Moose Skowron, who played for nearby Austin and went on to win five World Series rings as a member of the New York Yankees.

When the Washington Senators moved to Minnesota and became the Twins in 1961 it eventually spelled the demise of the Southern Minnie. Grandpa Jay, as I later found out, was devastated. He still needed to get his baseball fix though, so he started to follow my brothers and I from ballpark to ballpark throughout Martin County and beyond. I played the game all the way up, from T-ball to Kiwanis to Little League to American Legion & VFW and on to the high school varsity. Grandpa Jay was at most of my games, rooting me on and always giving me advice on how to hit to the opposite field or when to try to stretch a single into a double. He’d sponsor my teams, buy us uniforms, and even bring sodas for us to drink afterward. He loved being out there more than I did, I think.

He’d go home and couldn’t wait to watch the Twins on TV. Sometimes he’d get to watch the Cubs too, whenever WGN would broadcast their games out of Chicago. He had the first picture-in-picture TV in town. No kidding—he actually stacked up two TVs in his living room so he could double his pleasure. How great is that? He’d crack open a cold Blatz and kick back in his leather recliner for the evening all fat and happy. I later found out why my grandma, Nonnie, was so good at crossword puzzles. Turned out she hated baseball but just wanted to be in the same room as Gramp, so as he’d watch the games she’d sit quietly on the sofa right by her man.

Sometimes he and my dad would take my brothers and me up to see the Twins play at old Metropolitan Stadium. It was a three-hour ride, but it flew by as we talked baseball the whole way up. I remember going to the Park Street Grocery store before we would leave so that I could load up on packs of baseball cards to trade with my brothers. My jaw hurt from chomping on huge wads of that disgusting pink bubble gum that came inside them. I can remember eating hot dogs and drinking root beer as we rooted for Harmon Killebrew, Rod Carew, Butch Wynegar, and Roy Smalley—those were my guys. The Twins stunk in those days, but we didn’t care. It was such a thrill to be outside watching the game on that beautiful green grass. Fun times, and yes, very smelly car rides home…

As a member of the mighty Fairmont Cardinal High School team I was a pretty lousy No. 3 pitcher. And no, it wasn’t as if we had a five-man rotation. It was just the three of us. One of my career lowlights was when I gave up a grand slam during a high school game at the Metrodome. I got pretty good at eating sunflower seeds while I was riding the pines. My biggest asset was also my biggest liability: I could throw extremely hard yet had very little accuracy. It had always been that way too. I have vivid memories of pitching way back in Little League and having hitters stand a good two feet outside of the batter’s box in utter fear of their lives. My mother even had to field calls from other parents who were concerned over their child’s safety. Ah yes… the good old days.

I went on to attend the University of Minnesota, where I was eventually recruited to play with the Minnetonka Millers, a Class A town team full of college kids. After unintentionally drilling a few guys in my first outing of relief, it didn’t take long for my new teammates to tab me with a nickname: Nuke, as in Nuke LaLoosh, the wild pitcher played by Tim Robbins in the classic baseball flick Bull Durham. Not good. The next game I beaned a guy and he came after me. I decided to stick with fraternity beer ball after that, figuring it was a little more my speed.

As luck and fate would have it, my beloved Minnesota Twins won their first-ever World Series in 1987. I was a freshman at the U at the time and lived just a stone’s throw away from the Metrodome when it all went down. What a thrill. I went to a lot of games that fall and completely fell in love with the team. Kirby Puckett, Kent Hrbek, Gary Gaetti, Tom Brunansky, Frankie Viola, and Bert Blyleven—those were my guys. When they won it that October it was one of the most incredible feelings I had ever experienced in my lifetime. No kidding. It was my first championship. I’d suffered through four Vikings Super Bowl losses and gone through the heartache of watching my North Stars lose to the New York Islanders in the ’81 Stanley Cup Finals. Winning was new to me…and I liked it. A lot.

The celebrations that ensued after the Twinkies won it that year were nuts, even bordering on bedlam. When Jeff Reardon got that last out against the Cardinals, everybody just poured into the streets waving their Homer Hankies with pride. All that nervous tension had been released. People were smiling, laughing, and even crying. It was completely surreal. My hand still hurts all these years later from all the gratuitous high- fiving that was going on in the hours following that unbelievable Game 7. We were right there, soaking it all in amid a sea of giddy happiness—singing We Are the Champions alongside thousands of random strangers. It was beautiful. I think the collective blood-alcohol level in the Land of 10,000 Lakes was at about 9 by the end of the evening. I can still remember running through the streets of downtown Minneapolis with my buddies heaving roll after roll of industrial-strength toilet paper that we had just raided from our dorm, Middlebrook Hall. Winning the World Series was like we’d been validated. It was like we had that stamp of loser permanently removed. It was truly profound.

Grandpa Jay was so excited. He’d been waiting 22 years for this moment. You see, his Twins had come close back in ’65, when the Dodgers beat them in a tough, seven-game series. The star of the Dodgers was Sandy Koufax, the most dominant pitcher in baseball that season. When Sandy refused to pitch in Game 1 due to the fact that it was the start of Yom Kippur, the Jewish high holiday, it was extremely controversial. Sandy was a very principled man, however, and it was important to him and to his faith that he not work that day. My grandpa, the only Jewish baseball fan in Fairmont other than me and my brothers, couldn’t have been prouder. Sadly, Grandpa Jay died just a few months after the Twins made us all so proud,