A one-legged hitter.
A walk-off World Series home run.
A Game 1 Dodgers victory swiped from a stunned opponent just one out from defeat.
Did this really happen again?
Did Freddie Freeman just become Kirk Gibson, replaying the franchise’s greatest moment 36 years and endless heartbreaks later?
It sure sounded like it Friday night, the ball blasting off Freeman’s bat in the 10th inning against New York Yankees pitcher Nestor Cortes as if it were a pack of firecrackers.
It sure felt like it, the ball soaring into the right-field pavilion while Dodger Stadium rolled and shook with a roar that could be heard all the way to Times Square.
It sure looked like it, Freeman waving his bat in the air like a wand before dropping it and hobbling around the bases while his teammates danced at home plate as if they had just won a championship.
It sure seemed like it, Gibson 2.0 appearing when Freeman’s grand slam gave the Dodgers a 6-3 victory that was crazily uncanny in its similarities to the franchise’s great World Series moment in 1988.
“Everything was the same outside of the fist pumps,” said Dodger manager Dave Roberts.
Even the delivered dagger appeared to carry the same deadly weight.
Back in 1988, the mighty Oakland A’s were so shook by Gibson’s Game 1 blast that they managed to squeeze out only one more win in a series that marked the Dodgers’ last full-season championship.
Back in 1988, the Dodgers were so energized by their hobbled hero that they played the rest of the series in his honor, forever inspired by Gibson’s unreal act of toughness.
On Friday, the Yankees had to be feeling the same devastation.
They wasted six one-run innings from starter Gerrit Cole. They wasted a mammoth home run from Giancarlo Stanton. They wasted a 10th inning run that resulted from two stolen bases and a fielder’s choice.
Like the A’s, they had this game. Like the A’s, they blew it. And like the A’s, they may be done.
“Might be the greatest baseball moment I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve witnessed some great ones,” said Roberts.
It was arguably one of the greatest baseball moments in October ever, this being the first walk-off grand slam in World Series history.
“It’s kind of amazing,” said Freeman.
When asked to compare the effect of this hit with Gibson’s impact, Roberts said, “I think we win three more games, that’s going to be right up there with it.”
History is going to repeat itself? History has already repeated itself.
Like Gibson, Freeman is suffering from a painful leg injury, in his case a badly sprained ankle that had limited him to no home runs and one RBI in the playoffs.
Like Gibson, Freeman has spent virtually every day undergoing hours of treatment for the injury, and actually missed three playoff games because it was felt he wouldn’t help the team.
Like Gibson, nobody on the other team believed in him, the Yankees intentionally walking Mookie Betts after Gavin Lux walked and Tommy Edman singled and both runners moved up on Shohei Ohtani’s foul fly.
Up stepped Freeman. First pitch. Crack. Woosh. Ball disappears into the sky. Freeman disappears into a mob.
“It felt like nothing, just kind of floating,” said Freeman. “Those are the kind of things, when you’re 5 years old with your two older brothers and you’re playing wiffle ball in the backyard, those are the scenarios you dream about…that’s as good as it gets right there.”
It capped a Dodger escape that included Blake Treinen retiring Aaron Judge on a popout with two runners on base to end the ninth.
“Pure elation,” said Roberts. “You don’t see teams celebrate after a game, a walk-off like that, but I just think it was certainly warranted.”
The Dodgers struck first with one out in the fifth, when Senor October Kiké Hernández lined a ball just out of the reach of right fielder Juan Soto, the ball bouncing into the corner for a triple. Moments later, Will Smith lined a ball to Soto, to score Hernandez.
It only took the Yankees three batters to get even, Juan Soto leading off the sixth with a sharp single to left and, one of three Judge strikeouts later, Stanton crushed a hanging knuckle-curve 412 feet into the left-field corner for a two-run homer.
The Dodgers then came back to tie it in the eighth when Ohtani lined a ball off the center field fence for a double and then raced to third when Gleyber Torres mishandled the relay. Four pitches later, Betts scored him on a line drive to tie the game and set up the heroics for Freeman.
Afterward Freeman was filled with such adrenaline, it appeared he wanted to jump out of his skin.
“I want to run through this table and tackle all of you guys,” he said during his postgame news conference. “This is pretty cool. It’s going to be hard to sleep tonight.”
It was a fitting ending to an evening that began with a tribute to the late Fernando Valenzuela. Three days after his death, in the Dodgers first game in his absence, Valenzuela filled Chavez Ravine with a strength that spilled into Freeman’s blast.
During a pregame ceremony, there were tears, there was a stunningly long moment of silence, there was his family lined up on the third-base line during pregame introductions, and there was a first pitch placed on the back of the mound next to where the number 34 had been painted into the dirt.
Nearly every time the video board showed a fan, that fan would turn their back to the camera to show they were wearing a Valenzuela jersey. Jack Flaherty, the Dodger starter who allowed two runs in 5 ⅓ innings, even wore a Fernando Valenuzela jersey to the game.
When the memorial ended, there was a chant that swept through the stadium like a warm breeze up from the border.
“Fer-nan-do…Fer-nan-do…Fer-nan-do!”
Ten innings later that chant was replaced by another cheer.
“Fred-die…Fred-die…Fred-die.”
Somewhere, Kirk Gibson was smiling.
