For those baseball fans too young to remember Willie Mays and Mickey Mantle when they were playing, you don’t know what you missed when October baseball was all, and only, about the World Series.

From 1903, when the first World Series was created pitting the pennant-winners of the National League and American League, until 1969, when Major League Baseball invented the American League Championship Series and the National League Championship Series, the only baseball played in the same month as Halloween was the World Series.

Freedman

Don Larsen’s perfect game for the Yankees on Oct. 8, 1956 against the Brooklyn Dodgers, Babe Ruth’s called shot home run against the Chicago Cubs on Oct. 1, 1932, and Pittsburgh’s Bill Mazeroski hitting a walk-off home run to defeat the Yankees, 10-9, on Oct. 13, 1960 were singular October memories.

This is not old-fogey complaining, however. MLB’s expansion of the post-season, adding layers of playoffs, has only improved on what we thought was perfection. More playoffs, more suspense. More playoffs, Wild Card clubs included, more drama. Now baseball pretty much owns all of October and other sports should just get out of the way, football included, until later in the fall.

Every time a team takes the field there is hope victory will extend the season, will make up for six months of failing to catch a rival that won a division title.

Look no farther back than 2023 to see what MLB powers envisioned. The World Series was won by the Texas Rangers over the Arizona Diamondbacks. Both teams were Wild Card teams, along the way watching regular-season victors falter.

Do you think fans of the Rangers dwell for a minute on the Rangers’ failure to capture the AL West, the same Rangers who two seasons earlier lost 102 games?

My grandest personal October baseball experiences are centered on 1980 when working for the Philadelphia Inquirer. Not only did the Phillies out-compete the Houston Astros in a compelling National League Championship Series, I had the opportunity to write World Series stories.

The Phillies were founded in 1883, when the National League was still a toddler, and Wikipedia claims in a mouthful the team is the “oldest, continuous, one name, one city franchise in all of professional sports.” But just imagine the level of fan frustration that had built up in the nearly century-long existence of a team.

There were some good runs in the 1970s, but no World Series trophy. The 1980 Phillies, were also known as the bickering Phillies, because dictator Dallas Green was the manager and because the players were always testy.

This was a team of Silent Steve Carlton, who disembarked to the trainer’s room after pitching supremely to avoid talking with reporters. It was also the team of the always-ebullient reliever Tug McGraw. Third baseman Mike Schmidt put together the best season of his Hall-of-Fame career. And Pete Rose was the glue, the guy who raised the team that final notch from near-misses to nirvana.

The last game against the Kansas City Royals was contested at departed Veterans Stadium. When the Phillies won, McGraw was on the mound and leapt sky-high, arms extended in celebration. I own a replica art print painted by renowned baseball artist Dick Perez of McGraw in that victory pose. Sadly, McGraw died too young from a brain tumor.

Fans were incoherent with joy and stood at their seats a long time, although not a full 97 years to match the win-it-all drought. The clubhouse was awash in champagne. My assignment was to write the Schmidt, the Series MVP story. For many, fans who had waited forever to honor the home team, and players who suffered through the almosts of the Seventies, it was a magic moment imbedded in memory.

Outside, when the crowds dissipated, there were mountains of trash littering cars in parking areas, and the streets around the ballpark. Some players, I learned decades later, stayed in the clubhouse almost all night, drinking bubbly and beer, before dashing directly to a city parade party, heads throbbing, smiles plastered on their faces.

Some franchise this October will live out such pleasures, but I will always recall the 1980 Phillies when I think of October baseball.