The Padres-Dodgers rivalry quickly became one of the best in baseball

LOS ANGELES — Baseball's greatest rivalry came with warnings that went unheeded. The elements have been there for some time, but it took the first two games of the National League Division Series for everything to get to the brink. The Los Angeles Dodgers, winners of 11 of the last 12 NL West championships, “the dragon on the highway,” and the San Diego Padres, the plucky little brothers with a preponderance of talent (and a recent success story in which they… beat the Dodgers in the championship). postseason), meeting in a five-game series with epically high stakes. The collision was inevitable.

Now, after 18 innings, it is a spectacle of the highest order. There were an incredible number of home runs, more than a few simmering feuds, borderline criminal fan turnout and a tied series heading into San Diego for Game 3 on Tuesday. The Padres' Game 2 win Sunday night at Dodger Stadium was a massive mess, a nine-inning opera full of arguments and innuendo and just the right amount of childish back-and-forth. There was more drama than a 10-2 game of can assert itself.

It started immediately when Fernando Tatis Jr.'s home run in the first inning landed in the Dodgers' bullpen and none of the relievers or staffers moved or even acknowledged a baseball flying their way. In the bottom half of the inning, Jurickson Profar stole a home run from Mookie Betts (now 2 for 31 in his last three postseasons as a Dodger) as he walked into the third row of the left field stands near the foul pole and gave it to a fan snatched from the waiting gauntlet. He quenched his thirst for the spotlight by backing away from the stands long enough for Betts to complete nearly three-quarters of his home run streak before turning toward the infield and throwing the ball back in.

“I had no idea he caught it,” Padres center fielder Jackson Merrill said. “When he threw it in I thought, Oh my God – what are we doing? It's the first inning and it's going like this? I love it. No matter what (Profar) does, we have his back. But if I were Mookie, I would have been pretty angry.

Merrill had a chapter to himself. One inning he unleashed his Freddie Freeman-esque opposite-field swing for an RBI single, and the next he jumped to the wall to steal a double from Kike Hernandez, and two innings later he hit an opposite-field, two-run homer, one-out six hits for the Padres in Game 2. He finished with three hits and three RBIs.

“That kid definitely doesn’t look like he’s 21,” said Padres shortstop Xander Bogaerts, once a 21-year-old postseason phenom himself. “He is a great boy, a credit to his family. He’s special and he’s been that way all season.”

It all felt highly charged, if rather tame, until the precipitating – or reigniting – factor in so many baseball feuds came: the simple act of a thrown ball hitting a star player. Dodgers starter Jack Flaherty hit Tatis in the left thigh with a high-velocity sinker as Tatis took the lead in the sixth inning. It wouldn't have been a big deal if Tatis hadn't rounded the bases with arthritic slowness after his home run in the first inning and then doubled in the third inning. But he had done it, and so it was.

After the ball hit his leg, Tatis' journey to first base was long and arduous, almost epic. As it continued, Profar, who annoys the opponent like it was his job, came on the play and had a lively discussion with Dodgers catcher Will Smith, with whom he has always had lively discussions. Manny Machado, who was on deck at the time, indicated he felt the pitch was intentional.

Flaherty said he didn't hit Tatis intentionally; That would have been stupid under the circumstances: The Dodgers lost 3-1, trailing Profar, Machado and Merrill. “I think their whole side thought I hit him on purpose, but that doesn't make any sense. Dude, I understand what it looks like… but this is not the situation to hit someone,” Flaherty said. Apparently unfazed, Machado said, “Get him out. If you can’t get him out, don’t hit him.”

The sequence of events is largely irrelevant, except that it resulted in Flaherty, who gets a little heated, and Machado – who is, well, the same – continuing to air their differences after Flaherty punched Machado. While warming up before the end of the sixth, Machado threw a baseball into the Dodgers' dugout, throwing it with enough force to attract the attention of both the umpires and the Dodgers' dugout. Again, none of this represents the pinnacle of intellectual achievement, but it does serve as entertainment.

“If that’s what he wants, he’s not going to get beaten up,” Flaherty said. “Everyone caught me and him doing it by accident. Everyone wants to look in and point, like, 'Oh, I started it.'

“It sucks. Everyone catches the end.”

At about the same time, Profar finished his warmup throws in left field by tossing the ball to a fan, who threw it back onto the field in a manner that suggested misplaced playfulness rather than violent intent. However, it spurred two other encouraged fans to throw baseballs at Profar, which caused him to become justifiably angry. Padres manager Mike Shildt became almost equally enraged when beer cans and other trash were pelted at Tatis in right field and the Padres were briefly taken off the field.

“Not ideal,” Machado said.

All of these sideshows take place in a series with an incredible amount of talent on the field, but in clubhouses that couldn't seem more diametrically opposed. The Dodgers are still relatively buttoned-up, old-fashioned and image-conscious. They go about their business as if it were an actual business, while the Padres seemingly pursue a completely different pastime, descending on the game like satellites, the perfect representation of baseball's counterculture. Apparently they all got together and came up with the crazy idea of ​​beating average and putting the ball in play. Five of their starters hit at least .275 this season, and the result is an offense that nags and nags and never goes away.

“That’s this team, man,” Machado said. “We’ve been fighting all year and it’s great.”

The crowd at Dodger Stadium boos each of the notable Padres, but they respond to Machado in a way that defies reason. They don't just boo him – an ex-Dodger – like he's a great player on an opposing team; They boo him as if he had done something terrible to each of their families, and regularly send them notes to remind them of it.

Given the Dodgers' recent postseason victory, it's hard to overstate the risks at stake here. The climate seems perfect for another early Dodgers exit, which would result in their third straight first-round exit, but at this point it would be difficult to classify it as an upset. The contrast is tempting: the Padres free of history and expectations, the Dodgers the bearers of ancient burdens.

The fluctuations are wild. In the first inning of Game 1, Machado hit a two-run home run that cut through the Hate like a comet. An inning later, Shohei Ohtani got on a 97-mph, armpit-high fastball from Dylan Cease and sent it over the right field wall for a three-run home run. The whole room shook, the fourth deck swayed like a suspension bridge for a moment. It was as if the entire building understood that that one punch — and that one fierce stick throw followed by that one primal scream — showed Ohtani and the rest of the world what he had been missing in six playoff-free seasons with the… Angels.

“His emotions have grown over the course of the year,” Dodgers reliever Alex Vesia said. “It’s just that he’s becoming more and more himself.”

As expected, an inordinate amount of attention was paid to Ohtani. Every player on every team was asked to explain the Ohtani experience in countless ways, and Ohtani himself was asked before Game 1 if he expected to be nervous before his first postseason experience. In a rare move, he skipped the formalities of the translation process and replied in English: “No.”

“That was hilarious,” Vesia said. “The way he said it and the way he grinned is his authentic self.”

There's something almost folkloric about Ohtani's demeanor, the way his politeness masks the ferocious competitiveness. On the field before Game 2, he went through his Tommy John rehab routine, throwing the ball more than 200 feet on a line and reminding everyone that he was not only a better hitter than the hitters, but a better one Thrower than the thrower is. “We talk about it here every day,” Dodgers reliever Evan Phillips said. “Every day he does something that impresses us, and he does something every day that surprises us.”

Before Game 2, Shildt, a serious and literal guy, was asked a long and convoluted question that eventually settled on the demand that Shildt put Ohtani “in context.” Shildt didn't say it, but there's no context. That's the whole thing with Ohtani, the great and ongoing realization that he creates his own context. It is his most comprehensive achievement.

Game 3 starts all over again, with roles reversed and the crowd at Petco Park harassing Ohtani the way the crowd at Dodger Stadium harasses Machado, and with each play important layers are added, the tension crackling like power lines. The subplots fly off the page: Will Freddie Freeman, who inspired the hobbled Dodgers in their Game 1 victory, be on the field after his ankle injury forced him out of Game 2? Do the Dodgers have anywhere near enough pitching to last five games? Will Profar dig deeper under the Dodgers' skin?

“It’s a beautiful thing to play postseason baseball,” Machado said.

It's just a shame that it can't go beyond five games. Maybe the idea of ​​a relaxed playoff series in Southern California never had a chance, but after 18 innings it's unimaginable. Now every insult – real or imagined – is seen through the prism of every insult that came before.