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Life, death and Guardians postseason baseball: What this wild ride means to fans

Life, death and Guardians postseason baseball: What this wild ride means to fans

NEW YORK — A Cleveland Guardians coach sat in the dugout the morning of Game 5 of the ALDS and pondered how this all materialized.

He thought about some of the rookies the club inserted into its lineup and the starting pitchers who spent the summer in places other than Cleveland. He believed in the team’s chances in spring training, but would that confidence have wavered if he had a sneak peek at the adversity the club would encounter?

Even when you think you’re equipped with the answer sheet, you never truly know where the journey of a baseball season might take you.

The Guardians have surprisingly surged to the ALCS, one of four teams still in contention for the World Series trophy. And this wild ride has meant a lot to a fan base that has waited 76 years for a World Series title.

As reader Peter K. put it: “Some say that sports and these teams we support are a matter of life and death, and I can assure you, to anyone who associates themselves with Cleveland, it is much more important than that.”

Both of my grandfathers died in July, within a few weeks of each other, and my family’s summer revolved around those losses. Both men loved baseball, in different ways: Grandpa Bob nurturing a love since birth, a Cleveland boy through and through, and Lolo learning to love it after immigrating from the Philippines in 1980. I would have loved for both of them to see a World Series, but fate had other plans.

We buried Grandpa Bob in a Block C cap and tucked a Louisville Slugger in his coffin. He loved baseball for all of his 96 years. As for Lolo, baseball isn’t big in the Philippines, but it is in Cleveland, and as he made a home here, he grew to love Cleveland baseball.

Months later, the Guardians are playing October baseball, and it reminds me: Out of the haze of grief, there can still be joy.

Before all language left him, Lolo would ask about the Guardians: “Did we win?” A yes got a smile. A no got, “Bah. Next time.” Lolo was a man of faith, and Cleveland baseball was no exception. Next time. They can always win next time. Lolo won’t be here to see the next time, but for his sake, and for Grandpa Bob’s, we’re all hoping that next time is now.

— Katie A.


Will Brennan celebrates beating the Tigers in Game 4 of the ALDS. (Gregory Shamus / Getty Images)

Last year, Jose Ramirez hit a grand slam to win me a Ford Bronco (in the Grand Slam Giveaway inning). I’ve been to three games since then.

May 4, 2024: Bo Naylor hits a grand slam to beat the Angels.

Oct. 10, 2024: I drove to Detroit in the good-luck-charm Bronco in Game 4. You know what happened next.

Oct. 12, 2024: The Bronco returned to Cleveland, and the good-luck-charm worked again.

A World Series would mean everything. My fandom stems from both sets of grandparents. My maternal grandfather was a season ticket holder for decades, and while he can’t attend games anymore, he hasn’t missed a game in his life. My paternal grandfather passed away a few months ago and was watching games on his deathbed.

Not only would it provide my life with unmeasured joy, but it would complete some unexplainable cycle of sports fandom knowing the team my grandparents raised me to love finally conquered the big one.

— Matt G.

I’ve been a diehard from the start. I have school projects from first grade about Jim Thome and Charles Nagy. I went to every playoff game in Cleveland in 2016. I have my last-row, literal nosebleed-seat tickets from Game 7 in a frame. Before I moved away, I got a Guardian of Transportation tattooed on the back of my right arm, before I knew it would be my favorite team’s namesake.

This team took on a greater significance in 2022 when I was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma. I went through six cycles of chemotherapy and have been cancer-free since August of that year. As I was going through chemo, I kept working (as a surgery resident) to keep my sanity, and I kept thinking back to how Carlos Carrasco kept working as he was dealing with his chronic myeloid leukemia diagnosis in 2019.

For Game 5 of the ALDS, I was post-call after a 24-hour trauma call shift and on three hours of sleep after being awake for the previous 28. I screamed so loud when Lane Thomas hit his grand slam I thought I’d get a noise complaint. I cried uncontrollably when they won and cannot wait to watch them take on New York. One of these years, it has to be our year.

— Alex M.

Fifteen years ago, I moved from Cleveland to rural Chile with my husband. I didn’t speak the language and had never lived in a rural area before, but I decided to dive in — with one caveat. If Cleveland went to the World Series, I would go home for it.

In 2016, I stood outside our house, surrounded by hills, sheep and not much else, and waved my phone to keep the internet signal that allowed us to hear the end of the ALCS against Toronto. My husband and I leapt and yelled and my 3-year-old shouted, “Why are you guys screaming?!”

“I’m going to Cleveland!” I answered.

That trip was an experience of a lifetime, culminating in standing in the plaza outside the ballpark for Game 7, listening to Tom Hamilton call Rajai Davis’ home run, feeling the ground beneath me literally shake as thousands of people jumped with joy, then waiting through the fatal (and dry) rain delay before the familiar pangs of disappointment.

This is, of course, the closest we’ve been to the World Series since 2016 and I’m trying to find a way to get to Cleveland again. I have faith. My 3-year-old is now 11 (and has a little brother) and they’re both excited about playoff baseball. Here we are, a literal world away, planting the next generation of Guards fans and hoping to bring all the World Series excitement to our little corner if we can’t bring our corner there.

— Stefanie P.

To root for an underdog team in an underdog state with day games that should be night games, with unending doubleheaders, ignored All-Stars, a paltry payroll, Tommy John surgeries, unproven rookies, an unproven manager — the city of Cleveland is counted out more than it is ever counted in.

In 1992, I went to my first game with my father at the old stadium. I have worshipped at the altar of Herb Score and Tom Hamilton’s poetic calls. I am a Cleveland fan since birth and I will die a Cleveland fan.

Baseball doesn’t mean what it did to me as a kid. It means more. I lost my father in 2022 to COVID and every single game I’ve watched since, I feel him more during the final out than I ever would looking through a photo album.

Hope is on the horizon. We don’t waver. It’s going to come soon.

— Angela P.

As the Guardians play games in the morning here (in Australia), my tradition the last few months while training for my first marathon had been a morning run and listening to the games with Tom Hamilton. Saturday was the Melbourne marathon that I had been training for, and right as I was arriving at the race, Lane hit his grand slam. Talk about poetic moments.

— Matthew S.


Lane Thomas broke a 1-1 tie in Game 5 of the ALDS when he hit a grand slam. (Jason Miller / Getty Images)

Late in 2023, we learned my mom had Stage 4 colon cancer and had about six months to live. We spent our last Christmas together, our last New Years together and my 40th birthday together. On March 27, the day before Opening Day, she went to be with God. My mom made me a baseball fan back in 1994, when I was 10. We always called each other after games to share love and frustration. I have been saying all year that if we make it to the World Series it’s because she’s up there talking with the baseball gods, giving the Guardians a little luck. She never got to see them win it all in her lifetime, but I know she’ll make it happen for me.

— Jennifer B.

A longtime friend visited from out of state this weekend and the only available day to rekindle our old Cedar Point tradition was Saturday. Fortunately, a 2.5-hour Steel Vengeance line proved a surprisingly perfect place to watch Game 5 on my phone. The Sandusky battleground between Detroit and Cleveland featured some intermittent Tigers cheers, but nothing compared to our response upon Lane’s magic moment.

Fastest and most enjoyable 150-minute roller-coaster wait imaginable.

— Adam B.

My dad died unexpectedly in 1998 when I was 10 and he was 45. He never got to see a World Series title. I still watch every game I possibly can and follow this team more closely than anyone I know, including my friends who still live in Cleveland. I think it’s my way of staying connected to my dad.

Now I have a 6-year-old son. He’s a Guardians and Phillies fan and I can’t help but think of me at 7 years old during that 1995 run with my dad. All I want is to see one World Series title in my lifetime. I hope I get to do it with my son. In 2017, we found out my wife was pregnant during the 22-game win streak. I thought that was the sign.

— Dan I.

This season, I bought two tickets because I envisioned going with my wife for some games, each of my 13-year-old twins for others, and my 10-year-old daughter whenever she wanted to go. What I did not anticipate was that my 10-year-old daughter wants to go to every game and stay for every pitch, while her older brothers have little interest. If you’re ever in left field near the foul pole, you’ll see my daughter keeping score, eating her M&M’s and making me grin so big because she just wants to spend time with me. I now know what my dad felt taking me to old Municipal Stadium when I was her age.

— Jon E.

My grandfather, a diehard Guardians fan, passed away in January. He was alive for their last World Series win in 1948. I think my grandma still watches the games to feel closer to him.

My dad is in his mid-60s and has never seen them win it all. He endured the rough years but never strayed from his team, even when things looked hopeless. I’ll never forget Game 7 in 1997. My dad woke me up so we could watch what he thought would be the moment they finally did it. But our hopes were crushed.

I tell my wife all the time how much I want to see the Guardians win it — not just for me, but especially for my dad. And now, with a young son of my own, I imagine the three of us watching them finally finish the job. My grandma will be there too, all of us keeping my grandfather’s spirit alive.

— Patrick P.

This season has been extra special as my wife and I adopted our first child, Mattimeo, at the beginning of July. His first game on the couch with me ended in a win. We pick out his Guardians gear for every playoff game. It’s been a dream come true (with a World Series title in the near future, of course).

— Carson M.

As the postseason neared, I had dreams of going to a playoff game in a packed Progressive Field with my dad, the man who started my journey of rooting for this club. But a month ago, my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 lymphoma, his fourth cancer battle to date. He’s now focused on a much bigger battle. We will no longer be attending a game in person due to his weakened immune system, but we’ve watched each postseason game together from home. I’ll never forget the hug we shared after Lane Thomas’ grand slam. What a wild ride it’s already been. I keep daydreaming about how special it would be to see them win the World Series, to get to share that feeling with him just once. A deep October run would mean a little more this time.

— Paul C.

I attended 10 games with my mom throughout the regular season. We live next door to each other in Tremont, and we have a ritual of getting to the game 30 minutes before first pitch, scootering from the lookout point near the Cleveland sign and walking back across Hope Memorial Bridge.

The Lane Thomas grand slam brought back memories. Seven years ago, my mom and I attended Game 2 of the ALDS, when Francisco Lindor hit a grand slam against the Yankees. Seven years later, my dad and I saw another grand slam and felt the same thing: The impossible had happened, and we were going to win.

Baseball is about the big moments, but it’s also about the little ones, like getting to enjoy your favorite team with people you love. It’s why we keep coming back.

— Alex K.

We lost my dad unexpectedly in February. I occasionally look back at some of our last texts, which are of my 2-year-old, his grandson, hitting off a tee for the first time. The last game the two of us attended was Game 2 of the 2017 ALDS against the Yankees, when Francisco Lindor’s grand slam clanked off the right-field foul pole. During my grieving process, I couldn’t wait to think of anything more therapeutic than traveling from Florida to Cleveland for Opening Day. I wanted to scatter some of my father’s ashes at Progressive Field. My wife told me to watch the scoreboard after the fourth inning, and I saw “THIS SEASON IS FOR YOU, BERT. IN MEMORY OF KENNY ‘BERT’ REED.” I have thought of that moment every day throughout this improbable season. How it will end is anybody’s guess, but I can’t help but feel like he has been with us for the ride. And wouldn’t it be sweet to see them take down the Yankees just like they did at our last game seven years ago.

— Mike R.

One of my dad’s fondest memories is attending a game in 1966 at Cleveland Stadium, where he watched Rocky Colavito break a 3-3 tie against the Yankees in a doubleheader. That was the last game he saw in person, but the team never left his heart.

My dad turned off the TV the moment Edgar Renteria’s line drive bounced off Charles Nagy’s glove in the bottom of the 11th inning of Game 7 in 1997. To this day, my dad claims he’s never seen the ball hit the ground.

It’s been 58 years since my dad has seen Cleveland baseball in person. That streak (hopefully) ends this Saturday, when he, my brother and I attend ALCS Game 5 together. He still hasn’t seen that ball from ’97 hit the ground, but I hope on Saturday he’ll see plenty dropping in or sailing over the fence from Guardians bats.

— A.J. K.

My father was born Sept. 16, 1948, just weeks before our last World Series win. He passed in 2022 without seeing another. Ten months later, my younger brother, Tom Jr., suddenly passed from a brain tumor at 43.

In the ’80s, Dad took us to Cleveland games because Marathon gas had a promo for free tickets with a fill-up. This season has been so special that I made the 1,000-mile trip to see my first game at Progressive Field in 10 years.

Fast forward to Saturday. Just a couple days earlier, I learned from David Fry that Lane Thomas’ nickname was Tommy, the name we called my brother, especially once he left us. I was sitting on the edge of my seat at my mother’s house when they loaded the bases. I pointed to the box with his ashes and half-jokingly said, “Get us a hit, Tommy.” Lane Thomas stepped to the plate. The very next pitch was a grand slam for the ages.

I have never wanted a team to win it all more in my lifetime than right now. If it’s at all possible, I know Tommy is going to help us do it — both of them.

— Shelly M.

(Top photo of Stephen Vogt celebrating the Guardians’ ALDS Game 5 win: Nick Cammett / Getty Images)