Coming off Shohei Ohtani’s unforgettable (unmatched, perhaps even unimagined) post-season performance in Game Four of the National League Championship Series and looking toward another Dodgers’ foray into the World Series (the Dodger franchise has more than 20 World Series on its resume), Baseball Roundtable and former major leaguer John Paciorek are pleased to revisit (and update) a past Paciorek guest post. (Side note: The original story was posted October 6, 2013, on the blog “Paciorek’s Principle of Perfect Practice – Simplicity” (@johnpaciorek.com).
The post focuses on an iconic (as well as unexpected and inspiring) World Series round tripper from another Dodger hero – a walk-off blast by a hobbled Kirk Gibson to win Game One of the 1988 World Series. It’s a tale that has been told many times, but (in The Roundtable’s opinion) never as well as by Paciorek. He describes the passion, tension, determination, strategy and ultimate impact of that single Gibson at bat in prose shaped by the insight of someone who has been in the batter’s box, understands the impact of pain on athletic performance and has studied the physics and psychology of hitting a baseball.
So, here’s Paciorek’s most recently updated post, detailing how he observed, analyzed and interpreted the Kirk Gibson/Dennis Eckersley encounter.
Kirk Gibson’s Improbable and Inspiring World Series’ “Moment”
By John Paciorek
Photo: All-Pro Reels on Flickr (Original version) UCinternational (Crop), CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Wow! Shohei Ohtani’s performance in the fourth (and clinching) game of the National League Championship Series will forever be etched into the memories of baseball fans everywhere – this fan included. In the Dodgers’ 5-1 win over the Brewers, Ohtani started on the mound and struck out three batters in the first inning, before leading off in the bottom of the first with a home run to right field. Ultimately, Ohtani fanned ten batters in six scoreless innings on the mound and went-three for-three with three home runs at the plate (including one that cleared Dodger Stadium’s right field pavilion). And, for those whose memories go deep into numbers, he threw the eleven highest velocity pitches in the game and hit the game’s the three hardest and farthest hit balls (per MLB.com’s Sarah Lang).
Ohtani’s big game gave me reason me to once again reflect on some of baseball’s big games and big moments. From a very personal point of view, making it to the major leagues as an 18-year-old was a “big moment” not just in my baseball career, but in my life. And, my “big game” was my first (and only) MLB game – going three-for-three, with two walks, four runs scored and three RBI.
As I reflect objectively on MLB’s big games and big moments, I am drawn to the World Series, where a handful of players have produced some of the national pastime’s biggest (and most consequential) games and moments – accomplishments delivered under great pressure on baseball’s biggest “stage.”
We’ve seen big games like Don Larsen’s 1956 Game Five World Series Perfect Game; Reggie Jackson’s three home runs on three consecutive pitches in Game Six of the 1977 Series; and Bob Gibson’s 17 strikeouts in Game One of the 1968 World Series.
Baseball has also seen some great World Series “moments” – instant flashes of greatness burned into the national pastime’s history in a flash. Among the most magical of these moments, I would count Bill Mazeroski’s game-winning, walk-off home run in Game Seven of the 1960 World Series (giving the upstart Pirates the Series win over the Yankees); the final pitch of Yankee Don Larsen’s 1956 Game Five Perfect Game, a called third strike on pinch-hitter Dale Mitchell of the rival Dodgers (Yes, Larsen makes the big game and big moment lists); Red Sox’ catcher Carlton Fisk desperately waving his twelfth-inning 1975 Game Six game-winning home run fair; Willie Mays’ running, back-to-the-ball, over-the-shoulder catch of a drive to deep centerfield off the bat of the Indians’ Vic Wertz in the first game of the 1954 World Series; Babe Ruth’s called (or maybe not) shot in the in Game Three of the 1932 World Series; and Jackie Robinson’s steal of home in Game One of the 1955 World Series.
With the Dodgers headed for the 2025 World Series, it seems an appropriate time for me to again reflect on a World Series’ moment that belongs on any greatest list and which stirs my emotions every time I think about it – a hobbling Kirk Gibson’s pinch-hit, game-winning, walk-off home run off Oakland’s ace reliever Dennis Eckersley in Game One of the 1988 World Series, a blast that reversed the outcome of the game, set the tone for the Series and made Gibson a forever hero in Los Angeles.
From my perspective, admittedly shaped by my own passion for and involvement in the national pastime, Gibson’s home run is an individual feat in sports history that I don’t think will ever be duplicated (although some renowned sports writers might evaluate it as merely the second- or third-most memorable home run ever hit).
In Gibson’s honor and in recognition of the Dodgers’ third trip to the Fall Classic in the past six seasons, I am pleased to again share my account of Gibson’s historic, monumental achievement from that first game of the 1988 World Series. And, perhaps, to inspire someone from the 2025 World Series’ squads to similarly rise to the occasion.
When classifying the “Greatest Home Runs” in Baseball history, the closest that Kirk Gibson’s 1988 World Series “Bomb” ranks on the top analysts’ charts, even by MLB Productions, is second or third, behind Bill Mazeroski’s 1960 “Walk-off” World Series winner, and/or Bobby Thompson’s 1951 “Shot Heard Round the World,” that gave the Giants the pennant. Of course, the main criteria for evaluating these enduring historical footnotes are still the reminiscence of “that” notorious “City-Team” rivalry and a purely “Under-Dog” sentimentality (the Giants’ 15-game deficit before tying the Dodgers, then winning the pennant; and Pirates’ monstrous negative run-differential with the overwhelmingly favored Yankees).
Photos: From @johnpaciorek.com
Now, if that criterion cannot be upgraded eventually by time and logistics, then a new category must be conceived in order to pay proper respect for what Kirk Gibson did in 1988 when (single-handedly, but surreptitiously) leading the Dodgers to the World Series title. (Space in this category would also have to be reserved for the NFL’s 1972 “Immaculate-Reception,” which would probably rank second as the “penultimate” contributor to those “amazing and inspiring” performances.)
In order to hit a single home run, so many aspects of a batter’s swing must be aligned to satisfy the anatomical, physiological, and psychological constituencies composing each player, as afforded haphazardly by the “Gods of Baseball.” Most athletes, professional and amateur alike, who have legitimately tasted both the “thrill and agony” of most major sports activities will usually attest to the validity of Ted Williams’ famous, yet arguable, statement that, “Hitting a baseball is the single-most difficult skill to master in all of sports.”
Photos: From @johnpaciorek.com
In an essay I wrote entitled, “Einstein and the Home-Run Principle,” my Einstein supersedes the Williams’ statement when he parenthetically observes, “Hitting a home run is the most difficult thing to do in all of sports.” To hit a home run, a batter has to be almost perfect in his application of the “the laws of physics” with regard to the mechanics of swinging a baseball bat with precision and power. To be a consistent home-run hitter the batter must also have an understanding of all the elements that are included in the dynamics of hitting a baseball effectively.
Theoretically, it is possible to hit a home run every time a batter swings at a baseball. However, Einstein and others have found through Quantum Mechanics, when trying to establish the essence of matter, that “at the fundamental levels, causation is a matter of statistical probabilities, not certainties.” Therefore, with all the elements and combinations of variables with which a batter has to deal, from within and from without himself, the “uncertainty principle” gives compelling testimony that mastering the “Rubik’s Cube” of hitting a home run every time is highly improbable. However, the knowledge itself, of such feasibility, enhances the statistical probability of success. Not even Albert Einstein and all the renowned physicists of his time, and “sabermetricians” of this modern era, could have approximated the statistical improbability of what Gibson did on October 15, 1988.
Mazeroski’s “Big Moment” home run earned him a spot in the hearts of Pirates’ fans … and a statut. Photo: daveynin from United States, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
The resounding joy that New Yorkers experienced in 1951 and preserved for decades was not altogether incalculable, since Bobby Thompson had not more than three days earlier lit up Ralph Branca with a home run that presented, as an ominous note, a precursor of what was to come. And Bill Mazeroski’s feat that ended the 1960 World Series, although dramatic, cannot have been totally unexpected. Pinch hitter Hal Smith, had earlier hit a three-run homer to stake the Pirates to a two-run lead until the Yankees tied the game in the top of the ninth, thus extending the heart-pounding “see-saw” battle that had already seen four home runs leave the field of play and 18 runs cross the plate. A game-ending home run almost seemed an inevitable or at least appropriate way to end the contest. “Maz” was 1-for-3 as he led off the bottom of the ninth. Yankee pitcher, Ralph Terry, made the huge mistake of getting the pitch up to the short, but powerfully built, Pirate second baseman, who took advantage and slugged the ball over the brick wall 408 feet from home plate. It was truly a magnificent, endearing and enduring moment for the Pittsburgh community and all baseball fans outside of the Bronx – worthy indeed of memorial status.
All that being said, encomiums to those two distinct episodes in baseball lore should pale in comparison to the near “mythical” grandeur that highlighted the glorified instant of Gibson’s exalted “blast,” as well as propagated the ecstatic drama that preceded his culminating heroics.
Gibson’s advent into professional baseball is as mysterious as that of the legendary “Roy Hobbs,” without the tragic prelude. Upon completing a successful college football career, it was suggested that he not waste his athletic talent in the “off-season,” and play “a little” baseball for his Spartan baseball team at Michigan State University. In that first and only year of college baseball, he played so well (.390 batting average, 16 HRs and 52 RBI in 48 games) as to warrant being picked in the first round of the 1978 MLB Draft by the Detroit Tigers. He was with the Tigers for nine years and was a key figure in attaining a World Series title in 1984.
After being determined as one of the ballplayers being “blackballed” by MLB franchises in the notorious “Collusion Scandal” of 1987, Gibson left the Tigers and, in January, joined the hapless Dodgers of the National League, whose dismal ‘87 season needed something of a “Hobbsian” spark to generate new life into a ball club in disarray.
Early in Spring Training, a few opportunities presented themselves and set the stage for an immediate change of direction in team attitude and focus. This would eventually lead the march to a much-improved status and uncontested standing in the National League West while winning the Division by seven games. Frivolity and practical jokes took a back seat to Kirk’s ultra-professional and business-like mentality, and the team flourished from beginning until the season’s end. Gibson’s season-ending stats earned him National League Most Valuable Player honors, while helping the Dodgers win 21 more games than the season before. Statistically, Kirk contributed a .290-25-76 line, with 31 steals in 35 attempts.
Beyond the numbers, it was Gibson’s uncommon “personal leadership” and otherwise intangible, undaunted presence that invoked the “mythical hero” image his teammates and adversaries had learned to admire and would attempt to emulate. In the NLCS, although injured, Kirk still performed heroically in clutch situations, and his timely home runs in the fourth and fifth games of the National League Championship Series gave the Dodgers the edge they needed to take the National League Pennant and advance the Dodgers into an improbable World Series entitlement.
Kirk purportedly had done all he could to get the Dodgers to that World Series, but “they” were presumably going to have to get to the “Promised Land” without him, for the injuries he incurred along the way were too severe for any “mortal” to overcome. All the world would have accredited the Dodgers with a valiant effort for just making it to the “Final” Series. Everyone knew that, even with Gibson, there was slim (if any) chance for them to beat the powerful Oakland Athletics, whose superior arsenal of player personnel had amassed an incredible record of 104 wins to 58 losses. And even with Gibson’s premier status with the “Baseball Gods,” the “Arrogant- A’s” knew that “one player does not a team make.”
With Gibson being an “absolute” scratch from the line-up (he wasn’t even at the pre-game introductions ceremony), the first game of the World Series began unexpectedly with a first inning two-run homer by Dodger Mickey Hatcher. The “A’s” came back with four runs in the top of the second and held a two-run lead until the Dodgers scored again in the sixth. The game stood at 4-to-3 (Oakland leading) in the bottom of the ninth.
Throughout the game, there were brief TV glimpses of Kirk Gibson hobbling around in the dugout as he was traversing the distance from the training room and back, trying to massage and loosen his painful joints and hamstrings. Ever-optimistic, Tommy Lasorda seemed to be coaxing his beleaguered star, to see if any type of “miracle” was in the offing.
Vince Scully repeatedly commented that there was “absolutely” no chance of Gibson making an official appearance. With TV and radio broadcasts coming into the locker room, Gibson heard one of Scully’s commentaries – and it was as if providence were beckoning for him to consider an alternative thought. In sudden contemplation of all that was transpiring before him, Gibson realized an inexplicable surge of unwarranted confidence streaming through his consciousness. As in a biblical reference to Jacob wrestling with the “man” inside, Kirk’s vision of princely accommodation could not be suppressed.
The decision was made; his mind was determined; “the die was cast”; but only the portentous action itself was forestalled. “Will I look like and be a fool? What in hell could I possibly do? I can’t even walk! What or who do I think I am?” would have been the common queries instigated by mortal fear that must be wrested away from that mind intent on fulfilling a noble purpose. The question might have been “Can inspiration – and inner grit – overcome reality.?”
After Dodger pitching blanked the Athletics in the top of the ninth, the otherwise stalwart performance of Oakland pitcher Dave Stewart ended when statistically prudent “A’s” manager Tony LaRussa replaced his starter with the league’s premier “closer,” Dennis Eckersley. (Eckersley had led MLB with 45 saves – in 45 save opportunities – during the regular season.) It looked like a sure win for Oakland, since “Eck” was destined to face the bottom of the Dodger line-up (though somewhat of an ominous sign, in hindsight). Eckersley got the first two outs in rapid succession and was about to face a formidable former teammate who was set to pinch-hit for the number-eight batter in the line-up.
Meanwhile, in the Dodger dugout, Lasorda learned that Gibson had begun a personalized mental and physical rehabilitation process, which immediately spurred Lasorda’s ever-percolating mind to envision a preemptive scenario of his own. After appointing Mike Davis to pinch hit for Alfredo Griffin, he surreptitiously placed Dave Anderson in the on-deck circle, to make Eckersley and LaRussa think that they could afford to be a little cautious with Davis (a potential threat) and contemplate a successful “ending” to the Game One Saga by pitching to the weak-hitting Anderson.
All potentially constructive Dodger strategy lay in the proposition that Gibson regain a semblance of his former self. Yet, even if he could overcome the acute pain and obvious debility, what could he hope to achieve in this condition? Bob Costas would later remark that while he was in the stairwell of the Dodger dugout, he could hear the groaning, anguishing strokes of a batter desperately trying to ready himself for one last at bat, even “one last swing,” while teammate Orel Hershiser was feeding baseballs onto the tee for Gibson’s convenience.
Although most of his teammates must have sensed the futility of Gibson’s somewhat contrived heroism, they probably also could not have expected anything less from “The Man” – who had proven himself so many times before. They all must have thought the “good prospect” all but possible. However, their past experience would at least warrant a “statistically” derived-at chance of success. “YOU’VE GOT TO BELIEVE” would have been the genuine inspirational sentiment pouring into the ears of the players from the mouth and heart of Tommy Lasorda and the Great Dodger in the Sky.
Gibson is now sitting at the end of the dugout bench, fully dressed, and armed with helmet and “hickory,” speculating the purview the situation has presented. “I have inspiration and commitment to do something, but what, and how far can my own determination carry me? Will Davis get on base to set up my ‘grand entrance,’ and what emotion will the fans exude? And will it give me that final burst of adrenaline to be propelled to heights previously unknown?”
Gibson was afforded no additional time to mentally peruse the circumstances of the present situation, for Eckersley had just walked Mike Davis. Taking a deep yet unstrained breath, Kirk’s electrifying and confident image popped onto the top step, then out of the dugout to the thunderous roar of the now ecstatic and frenzied crowd.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” thought Gibson, as he must have restrained the urge to shed at least a tributary tear of ineffable joy that he and his patrons could feel in this present moment of triumphal hope. Lasorda’s unending chants of “new promise” inspired his team and the Dodger Faithful to loftier heights of exaltation, as Gibson finished his preliminary swings. His slow, deliberate, but majestic walk to the plate must have been a nerve-wrenching ordeal for the Oakland pitcher, even though he exuded confidence, rather than impatience, to get the game over.
One could only speculate as to what order of thoughts must have been aligning themselves in Gibson’s mind as his footsteps proceeded into that rarefied cubicle of variable distinction. Before assuming his characteristically “Spartan” batting-stance, his back cleat scratched the hardened dirt for a foothold to secure a base from which his afflicted body might launch its purposeful attack.
He was finally ready, and none too soon for the exasperated Eckersley, who let his arm commence with the business at hand, firing a blazing, side-arm, tailing fastball, for which Gibson must have felt a tad unprepared. All observers couldn’t help but notice the constrained, oblique wrenching, late response Gibson’s off-balanced body and bat conveyed as it almost completely missed the ball. The second pitch gave the same explicit message, and the fans as well as Eckersley himself must have sensed that “The Gibber” was no match for “The Eck.” Gibson was behind 0-and-2 in what seemed like a “heartbeat,” and Eckersley seemed determined to finish him off on the next pitch.
Eckersley’s disdain for Gibson’s futile attempts was obvious as he was about to throw another fast ball, same speed, to the same spot (away). The fact that Gibson looked bad, but progressively better on each swing did not escape Eckersley’s discerning eye. Gibson knew that his body needed only a short quick turn, but even that was too slow to get his arms activated.
On that third fast-ball, Kirk was prepared to shorten the turn and throw his arms and hands more quickly. The result was a swing with little power, as his arms and hands were too far out in front, and his wrists rolled over way too soon. He was grateful that he even made contact for an otherwise worthless dribbler that forced him to run (hobble) toward first before the ball fortuitously struck the edge of the infield grass and abruptly darted foul, thus extending his at-bat. (That had to hurt!)
After his first pitch to Gibson, it became obvious to Eckersley, as well as the “brain-trusts” in both dugouts, that Kirk was not the optimum threat for which everyone fancifully hoped or cautiously suspected. But he was quickly portending to be a formidable adversary, even in his seemingly “powerless” condition. “Eck” recognized that with all the pitches Gibson was subtly calculating, making superficial contact with every one, it might only be a matter of time before he can put one in play, perhaps to the detriment of Oakland. Therefore, he can’t let Davis steal second base. Before his second and third pitches, he made three throws to keep Davis close.
With two strikes on Gibson, the Dodgers might be desperate. Eckersley’s fourth pitch was a ball outside, going a little farther to see if Gibson would bite beyond the fringe. He didn’t. Since “Eck” didn’t throw over before the fourth pitch, Davis attempted a steal on the fifth. Gibson had his best swing yet, but fouled it back. Eckersley didn’t think Davis would steal on consecutive pitches, and he was correct, but threw “Ball Two” in the process. Before his seventh pitch, he threw to first base again. But on the following pitch to Gibson, the ball was further outside, and Davis successfully stole second base, much to the consternation of LaRussa, Eckersley and the “A’s” dugout as the count rose to 3-and-2.
The situation had not developed the way Eckersley intended. Gibson’s impotent, yet “frisky,” at bat posed a conundrum whose immediate solution never materialized. So, there was only one direction in which to go!
As Dennis Eckersley was truly an adroit “student of the game,” he (like the many who had come before him) usually observed Warren Spahn’s masterful advice when administering to their trade: “It is the batter’s duty to have good timing and rhythm to perform effectively, while it is the pitcher’s duty to off-set that rhythm and timing with variable speeds and placement of pitches.”
As for Gibson the batter, he had neither rhythm nor timing when he first came to the plate. But through the course of his gauntlet-like “trial-by-pitch” he had developed both to a rather significant level. Now, it was thought by “Eck,” to end this dilemma. He knew what he had to do. He’d done it before, with great success. And he will do it, NOW! The game wasn’t necessarily on the line, if his strategy failed. Gibson would walk, and the Dodgers would still have a runner in scoring position, presenting merely a secondary condition that would quickly be dismissed. But “Eck” was confident, he could not fail. “This is absolutely the ‘last hand’.”
All the “cards” being dealt, Eckersley landed (in Poker parlance) a fourth “Ace,” while Kirk had a pair of Jacks and the 7, 8, 9 of Clubs. Kirk could have kept the pair and thrown the other three away, but instead threw the Jack of Hearts, keeping its “Brother-in-Clubs.” The statistical probability for Eckersley’s success was astronomical! Kirk Gibson seemed to have been abandoned by the “gods” and his mythological legend was about to become irreparable. The most he could hope for was simply a mimesis of that “Luis Gonzalez” swing and flare a base hit that might tie the game. But in Eckersley’s mind, a game-ending out was all Gibson was “gonna” get!
There’s the tying run on second base. Eckersley is in his “stretch.” The count is 3-and-2. “Eck” is about to deliver the most potent pitch in his arsenal. The Dodger dugout is ecstatic. Now, with the fleet-footed Davis in scoring position, a base-hit would tie the game, and that is all and the best they could expect from their forlorn hero. But Eckersley had other plans! And what was Gibson himself thinking?
Just before Eckersley was to deliver his “secret” pitch, Kirk abruptly stepped out of the batter’s box, as if to regain his composure under this momentous circumstance. But, in that instant, a higher source seemed to beckon him to recall an otherwise innocuous fact that Gibson had read in a report prepared by an astute and meticulous “scout” (Mel Didier) before the playoffs began. After pondering the present situation, all statistical possibilities seemed to be aligned in a favorable position. And the curtain was about to fall with a dramatic conclusion on one of these conquering heroes, each with his own weapon of invincibility in hand (reminiscent of the final poker-hand in the movie, “The Cincinnati Kid”). But which will project the image of “The Man?”
Kirk looked toward the mound, then stepped into the “Box,” knowing he had all the information he needed (his final card was dealt). But is his faith in his belief strong enough and will his mind’s commitment to act unflinchingly, in spite of his apparent bodily condition, enable his warrior-heart? 55,000 spectators are about to find out as well.
Neither antagonist is smiling, but each exudes an indefinable confidence, even while knowing well that “one will fail today.”
Eckersley takes his stretch and prepares his “Load” for delivery. Gibson makes a final, but ominous, mental query designating his unquestioning tact as “the die is cast” once more, “Sure as I’m standing here, partner, you’re going to throw me that ‘back-door’ slider, aren’t you?”
As the pitch leaves his hand, Eckersley recognizes the ball’s trajectory to be perfect, right where he wanted it. With all the pitches he had thrown, he knew Gibson would see the ball moving directly toward the outside. He also thought Gibson’s quick sense would assume that, since his side-armed fast ball “tails,” the pitch’s destination would obviously move farther outside for a ball. He was expecting Gibson to momentarily relax and not have enough time to respond to the pitch’s abrupt deviation of speed and direction, until it was too late – the “Aces” were “face-up!”
“Sure enough,” realized Gibson, upon first glance! His “absolute faith,” and patience allowed him to wait. He’d not yet lifted his front foot as he did previously while expecting Eckersley’s fast ball. An extra nano-second of time was in his favor. “Now, all I have to do is get my timing right, to be able to explode at the precise moment!” In his extremely “closed stance,” as he discerned the ball’s outside trajectory, he waited until he could detect its subtle and abrupt turn toward him. Then his front foot exaggerated its deliberate stride toward third base, as his body was “gathering” its forces to uncoil as his foot planted into the ground.
Eckersley couldn’t help but notice that Gibson’s physical demeanor was uncommonly composed as he unobtrusively glided in the direction from which the ball was finally descending (as if he knew what was coming). “Eck” saw Gibson’s foot plant, his body uncoil, his arms extend and – in a final explosive lunge of shoulders, hands, and wrists – observed the bat contact the ball with an uncanny perfect synergy that launched the round projectile with improbable force in the direction from which it came.
With all spectators and both dugouts watching in apparent disbelief, the ball kept rising and carrying farther and farther in its ellipticity until it finally disappeared over the right-field wall, as Kirk’s final card resoundingly struck the table as a Ten of Clubs – and a “Straight Flush.”
Photo: From @johnpaciorek.com,
Throughout the day not a hint of joy was expressive on the face of Kirk Gibson, only a stoic-facade hiding pain, disappointment, resentment, and disdain for his helpless and impotent condition. As the abrupt follow-through of his celestial swing of bat was completed, and he cautiously embarked on an unrehearsed, and as yet undefined, trek, an observer could detect a gradual change in facial disposition. The remorseful look of indifference was suddenly transformed into a heavily distinguishable canvas of ecstatic jubilation. And in a moment of triumphant glory, he pumped his bent right arm in successive punches along the side of his beleaguered body after the subjugated leather-bound projectile did indeed traverse the height of the outfield fence for an uncontested, historic “masterstroke” (Tour De Force) of amazing ramifications, the conclusion of which would be directly revealed.
The instant of evidentiary proof of Gibson’s success immediately transformed the hopeful, yet solemnly cautious, dispositions of Dodger fans and teammates (who hadn’t really believed in “Santa Claus”) into genuinely faith-filled followers who, at that “holy instant,” probably could have moved a mountain or two. From the dugout, Dodgers were streaming out onto the field, arms flailing and voices shouting “Hallelujah” (from the roof-tops) to their resurrected “messiah,” as he buoyantly circumnavigated the bases in all but reconstructed, glorified form.
His amazing feat did provide a home run of incomparable distinction. And it did win that Game One of the “Series,” in abrupt and miraculous fashion. But the intangible essence of that single act of unfathomable “heroism” also unlocked a momentarily imprisoned spirit of team unity that suddenly “empowered” the Dodgers to claim the 1988 World Series title, even without Gibson playing another moment of any of the remaining four games. Kirk Gibson’s home run was truly the “single-most amazing performance piece in sports history.”
Postscript:
As unlikely as Kirk Gibson’s conquest was, at that momentous October event, what more climactic expression of exaltation could be spontaneously delivered than that spoken by Baseball’s “immortal bard,” Vin Scully, when he exclaimed, as Kirk was rounding the bases, “In a year that has been so ‘Improbable,’ the ‘Impossible’ has occurred.” Truer words were never spoken. No one in the world could have expected Gibson’s humble yet triumphal salute, “I came; I saw; I conquered!” And for the last 37 years, legions of followers have echoed the words of another prominent and renowned sportscaster (Joe Buck) as he commented repeatedly, in breathless exuberance, “I DON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST SAW! I DON’T BELIEVE… WHAT I JUST SAW”!
Nothing in sports history can equate to Kirk Gibson’s “improbable” and “impossible” act of courage and accomplishment. The only historical event that would have shared in equipollence would have been “The Battle of Thermopylae,” if this Spartan warrior had been there to defeat the Persians.
Postscript Number Two:
2024 World Series – Freddie Freeman: – A Bit of Deja Vu
When I first penned (or keyed if you prefer) the above Gibson article back in 2014, I wondered (out loud and in print) if we would ever see a Gibsonian corollary to that 1988 masterpiece, and I later (in 2024) mused about whether if a retelling of the tale would be an “inspiration to someone on the 2024 Dodger team to do the same.” My query was answered by Dodger first baseman Freddie Freeman, who responded with a performance – more sustained – but perhaps as impactful and, in some ways, reminiscent of the Heroic Effort of Kirk Gibson.
During a week of convalescence for a severely sprained ankle between Championship Series, it was questionable whether Freddie would even participate in the World Series. But because of his solid determination, dedication, and discipline, he worked his way back to a playable physical condition.
And, as destiny would be assured by the “Great Dodger in the Sky,” with two outs in the bottom of the last inning of Game One, with the bases loaded and the Yankees ahead 3-to-2, the previously physically afflicted Dodger first baseman set the tone for the World Series by hitting the “Relief” pitcher’s first, left-handed pitch, into the Right Field Pavilion (near where Gibson hit his momentous round tripper) – producing a history-making, never-before-seen ‘World Series Walk-Off” Grand Slam” and another “Game One World Series victory” for the “Indomitable Los Angeles Dodgers.”
As with the inevitable despair felt by Dennis Eckersley, Tony LaRussa, and the Oakland Athletics in 1988, the Yankees were experiencing the same in 2024 as Freeman also hit home runs in the second, third and fourth games, while the Dodger pitching successfully stymied its rivals (except in Game Four). The Dodgers eventually won Game Five in equally dramatic form as 1988, when Walker Buehler captured the spirit of Orel Hershiser in winding up the Dodger pitching duties by mowing down the Yankee offense in the bottom of the ninth to secure a 7-to-6 Dodger World Series Victory and World Championship.
The likely MVP candidate was realized in the person of Freddie Freeman whose 12 RBI performance tied the MLB World Series record – in silent commemoration of the fact that Kirk Gibson didn’t receive that Award in 1988 because he was physically unable to play again after Game One. Even though Orel Hershiser certainly deserved the 1988 Award, he acknowledged the spirit of Gibson energized his own heroic effort.
From Baseball Roundtable
About John Paciorek – and Why He is the Perfect Author to Describe Kirk Gibson’s
Dramatic Day in the 1988 World Series.
As you will learn, as you read through this brief biography of John Paciorek, he has ample reason to understand the impact of injury and the drama that can come from a single day on the baseball diamond.
John Paciorek – signed out of Saint Ladislaus High School in Hamtramck, Michigan (where he had starred in football, basketball and baseball) – appeared in his first major-league game on the final day of the 1963 season (September 29) at the age of 18. The 6’ 1”, 200-pound outfielder had spent the 1963 season with Class-A Modesto Colts. The Colts’ parent club, the Houston Colt .45s (that was the current Astros’ franchise name back then), was suffering through a difficult season. The team was 65-96 going into that final game. Looking to the future, Houston had, in fact, fielded an all-rookie lineup (average age 19) on September 27. Youth was still being served two days later when John Paciorek started his first MLB game. The results were surprising – and worthy of recognition.
Playing right field and batting seventh in a 13-4 win over the NY Mets, Paciorek ended up with three hits and two walks in five plate appearances, with four runs scored and three runs batted in. Perhaps equally surprising is that it was not only Paciorek’s first major-league appearance, it was to be his only MLB appearance. Back pain the following spring, followed by surgery (he played 49 minor league games in 1964 and missed all of the 1965 season), put an end to his MLB playing days. (Paciorek did play in four more minor-league seasons.) Still, you will find John Paciorek in the Baseball Encyclopedia and his is arguably the greatest one-game MLB career ever.
Paciorek went on to teach at Clairbourn Jr. High for 40 years and serve as a multi-sport coach. He is the author of the books (Plato and Socrates – Baseball’s Wisest Fans; The Principles of Baseball: And All There Is To Know About Hitting; and If I Knew Then What I Know Now.
You also can enjoy Paciorek’s prose (and expertise) at his blog “Paciorek’s Principles of Perfect Practice” at JohnPaciorek.com. You can find out even more about Paciorek in Steven Wagner’s 2015 book Perfect: The Rise and Fall of John Paciorek.
A final note. John Paciorek’s insight into the national pastime should come as no surprise. Paciorek comes from a true “baseball family.” He was the first born of eight siblings and was followed to the big leagues by younger brothers Jim and Tom Paciorek. (Like John, Jim’s MLB career was short – 48 games for the Brewers in 1987. (Jim also enjoyed a solid six seasons in Japan’s Central League.) Brother Tom, however, achieved a .282 average over an 18-season MLB career.
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