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PHILADELPHIA — The baseball gods wasted no time in giving Philadelphia Phillies boss Rob Thomson his first big managerial moment in the Fall Classic.

Five months after taking over from the fired Joe Girardi, Thomson had already navigated the Phillies’ underwhelming end to the regular season and three challenging rounds of the postseason, including a three-game wild-card series that no manager had ever faced. Now, in Game 1 against the heavily favored Houston Astros, Thomson had a quick decision to make.

After going down 5-0 early, his team had just tied the game in the top of the fifth inning. Starter Aaron Nola, normally one of Philadelphia’s aces, was at 81 pitches already, and clearly struggling — but going to the bullpen after just the first 4.1 innings in a best-of-seven series was plenty risky, too.

Thomson picked the risky move.

He put in closer Jose Alvarado, who secured the final two outs of the fifth and the first of the sixth. But the 58 year old manager wasn’t done — he would use four more of his best relievers to ensure his team held on for a 6-5 road win.

“He has the pulse of it,” Phillies President Dave Dombrowski would say the next day. “And he has my support.”

It was just the latest example of the deft touch Thomson has shown during his first year managing the Phillies — though his biggest moments are undoubtedly to come as his team attempts to stay alive in the World Series, trailing 3-2 heading into Game 6 on Saturday night in Houston.

His message to the team could very well be one he’s told to himself about his own career. After all, this was not a man on the fast track to managing.

“I don’t think there’s any reason to panic,” Thomson said on Friday. “We just have to keep doing what we’re doing and concentrate on doing the little things. I always tell ’em, focus on the little things and big things will happen.”

Big things happened for Thomson in June, and they keep on happening well into October.

He’s already earned a two-year extension after just a partial season on the job. But while Thomson’s sure-footedness might seem preternatural, it’s actually been honed by years on coaching staffs, including six years as the bench coach for the Phillies and Yankees before that.

In fact, when Thomson took over for Girardi, it was not his first time being considered to lead the Phillies. Two years before, when manager Gabe Kapler was fired, the organization considered then-bench coach Thomson for the job before coming to a mutual decision not to interview him.

“When we were hiring before Joe, we talked to him about taking the job,” Phillies owner John Middleton said. “And he said no. He said I don’t think I’m the person for it. I think you should go out and get someone else.”

It was pure Thomson, who, according to those that know him best, has never politicked for a promotion.

“I agreed with them that they needed an experienced guy,” Thomson said.

So instead of taking the job, Thomson helped the front office in picking Kapler’s successor. But after Girardi brought a buttoned-up approach to the clubhouse, Middleton and Dombrowski knew they wanted something different — and who they wanted for it. It was Thomson’s time — at least they hoped it would be.

“When Dave started talking about this move in May,” Middleton recalled, “I said to him ‘I don’t know if he’s going to take the job.’ He didn’t feel he was the right guy for it (last time), which obviously (turned out to be) an incorrect evaluation.”

So why was Thomson open this time to the possibility of taking a job he had previously turned down?

“Different circumstances,” he said.

What might have been wrong in 2019 suddenly seemed right. The team wasn’t winning under the tightly controlled atmosphere with Girardi at the helm. A looser grip — in exchange for a lack of experience — turned out to be the right call.

“We didn’t have everyone feeling the best versions of themselves and when Thomson was able to come in, with no pressure on him, he just went out and let baseball be played,” right fielder Nick Castellanos stated.

But still, a World Series run — even a playoff run — were no sure thing, especially when Thomson took over the 22-29 team.

“You never know how a guy is going to react until he gets there,” Dombrowski said.”He’s handled everything as smooth as can be. No situation has been too big for him. He’s kept that even keeled nature going. You can’t ever anticipate that calmness.”

With Thomson, though, you could come close. ‘Even-keeled’ is used to describe him so often that it might as well be his first name. It’s something he’s learned over years in the dugout, and it’s come in handy as the stakes have gone up throughout the postseason.

“I think earlier in my career, I was not as even-keeled as I am now,” Thomson said. “You kind of learn these moments and know that you can’t control things and so why worry about certain things. I think just the experience of going through all these different moments throughout a 30-some-year career just kind of teaches you to be even-keeled.”

His players agree: Time in the dugout matters, they say, even if it’s not as the man in charge.

And Thomson has been at it for decades, coaching in the minor leagues for the Tigers and Yankees before becoming Girardi’s bench coach in New York in 2008. Then to the Phillies for the same job under Kapler in 2018.

“With him comes a lot of experience, a lot of big games, a lot of managing superstar players, just every step that he’s been,” Phillies third baseman Alec Bohm said. “So I think when he took over he was definitely ready. To me, it didn’t seem like there was any growing pains or anything with that.”

Current bench coach Mike Calitri added: “He is the most prepared human being I’ve ever been around…His ability to be placid and calm exudes through the whole team.”

Calitri is the sounding board for Thomson in games. He’s the voice behind the manager. He was also part of the thought process into being aggressive with the bullpen in Game 1.

“We felt some momentum after having scored,” Calitri said. “If that momentum shifts back, it’s probably not good for us.”

Thomson concurred, creating an early narrative that would set the tone for his Fall Classic performance: Worry about today and let tomorrow take care of itself.

“In these seven-game series, where you have 2-3-2, you’ve got that day off, two days off, potentially, and so you can use guys a little bit more,” Thomson said the day after Game 1. “If we start the season next year, I can tell you I won’t manage like this because it’s a marathon. This is a sprint now and we have to go for it every day.”

As it turns out, the strategy was further rewarded when rain postponed Game 3 giving Thomson’s bullpen another day of rest.

Of course, not every high-risk move is going to work out. In Game 4, Thomson pulled Nola with the bases loaded and no outs in the fifth inning, again for Jose Alvarado. This time, though, Alvarado hit the first batter to give up the lead, and the Astros went on to score five runs in the inning, eventually tying the series, 2-2.

But win or lose, Thomson is that same, calming presence in the locker room — as he was after that Game 4 loss, which saw the Phillies no-hit for only the second time in a World Series game.

“I walked in the clubhouse … and I just basically told them to flush this,” Thomson said. “It’s gone.”

Then he left, giving his veteran club the space to absorb the moment, pretty much the same way he’s done it since June. That laid back style is part and parcel to who he is — steady, calm and prepared.

And so far, his success in the job has proven the wait has been worth it — for him and the team he’s managing.

“We’re all grateful for the opportunity to play for him,” Bryce Harper said. “We all want to go out there and play our best game for him, and he just has all the faith in the world in our ability to go out there.”

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Red Sox activate 3B Bregman from 10-day IL

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Red Sox activate 3B Bregman from 10-day IL

BOSTON — The Red Sox activated All-Star third baseman Alex Bregman from the 10-day injured list before Friday’s game against Tampa Bay.

Bregman, who has been sidelined since May 24 with a right quad strain, returned to his customary spot in the field and was slotted in the No. 2 spot of Boston’s lineup for the second of a four-game series against the Rays. He sustained the injury when he rounded first base and felt his quad tighten up.

A two-time World Series winner who spent the first nine seasons of his big league career with the Houston Astros, Bregman signed a $120 million, three-year contract in February. At the time of the injury, he was hitting .299 with 11 homers and 35 RBI. Those numbers led to him being named to the American League’s All-Star team for the third time since breaking into the majors with the Astros in 2016.

Bregman missed 43 games with the quad strain. Earlier this week, he told reporters that he was trending in a direction where he didn’t believe he would require a minor league rehab assignment. With three games left before the All-Star break, the Red Sox agreed the time was right to reinstate a player to a team that entered Friday in possession of one of the AL’s three wild-card berths.

“He’s going to do his part,” Red Sox manager Alex Cora said before Friday’s game. “Obviously, the timing, we’ll see where he’s at, but he’s been working hard on the swing … visualizing and watching video.”

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How Jim Abbott changed the world

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How Jim Abbott changed the world

JIM ABBOTT IS sitting at his kitchen table, with his old friend Tim Mead. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, they were partners in an extraordinary exercise — and now, for the first time in decades, they are looking at a stack of letters and photographs from that period of their lives.

The letters are mostly handwritten, by children, from all over the United States and Canada, and beyond.

“Dear Mr. Abbott …”

“I have one hand too. … I don’t know any one with one hand. How do you feel about having one hand? Sometimes I feel sad and sometimes I feel okay about it. Most of the time I feel happy.”

“I am a seventh grader with a leg that is turned inwards. How do you feel about your arm? I would also like to know how you handle your problem? I would like to know, if you don’t mind, what have you been called?”

“I can’t use my right hand and most of my right side is paralyzed. … I want to become a doctor and seeing you makes me think I can be what I want to be.”

For 40 years, Mead worked in communications for the California Angels, eventually becoming vice president of media relations. His position in this department became a job like no other after the Angels drafted Abbott out of the University of Michigan in 1988.

There was a deluge of media requests. Reporters from around the world descended on Anaheim, most hoping to get one-on-one time with the young left-handed pitcher with the scorching fastball. Every Abbott start was a major event — “like the World Series,” Angels scout Bob Fontaine Jr. remembers. Abbott, with his impressive amateur résumé (he won the James E. Sullivan Award for the nation’s best amateur athlete in 1997 and an Olympic gold medal in 1988) and his boyish good looks, had star power.

That spring, he had become only the 16th player to go straight from the draft to the majors without appearing in a single minor league game. And then there was the factor that made him unique. His limb difference, although no one called it that back then. Abbott was born without a right hand, yet had developed into one of the most promising pitchers of his generation. He would go on to play in the majors for ten years, including a stint in the mid ’90s with the Yankees highlighted by a no-hitter in 1993.

Abbott, and Mead, too, knew the media would swarm. That was no surprise. There had been swarms in college, and at the Olympics, wherever and whenever Abbott pitched. Who could resist such an inspirational story? But what they hadn’t anticipated were the letters.

The steady stream of letters. Thousands of letters. So many from kids who, like Abbott, were different. Letters from their parents and grandparents. The kids hoping to connect with someone who reminded them of themselves, the first celebrity they knew of who could understand and appreciate what it was like to be them, someone who had experienced the bullying and the feelings of otherness. The parents and grandparents searching for hope and direction.

“I know you don’t consider yourself limited in what you can do … but you are still an inspiration to my wife and I as parents. Your success helps us when talking to Andy at those times when he’s a little frustrated. I’m able to point to you and assure him there’s no limit to what he can accomplish.”

In his six seasons with the Angels, Abbott was assisted by Mead in the process of organizing his responses to the letters, mailing them, and arranging face-to-face meetings with the families who had written to him. There were scores of such meetings. It was practically a full-time job for both of them.

“Thinking back on these meetings with families — and that’s the way I’d put it, it’s families, not just kids — there was every challenge imaginable,” Abbott, now 57, says. “Some accidents. Some birth defects. Some mental challenges that aren’t always visible to people when you first come across somebody. … They saw something in playing baseball with one hand that related to their own experience. I think the families coming to the ballparks were looking for hopefulness. I think they were looking for what it had been that my parents had told me, what it had been that my coaches had told me. … [With the kids] it was an interaction. It was catch. It was smiling. It was an autograph. It was a picture. With the parents, it ran deeper. With the parents, it was what had your parents said to you? What coaches made a difference? What can we expect? Most of all, I think, what can we expect?”

“It wasn’t asking for autographs,” Mead says of all those letters. “They weren’t asking for pictures. They were asking for his time. He and I had to have a conversation because this was going to be unique. You know, you could set up another player to come down and sign 15 autographs for this group or whatever. But it was people, parents, that had kids, maybe babies, just newborn babies, almost looking for an assurance that this is going to turn out all right, you know. ‘What did your parents do? How did your parents handle this?'”

One of the letters Abbott received came from an 8-year-old girl in Windsor, Ontario.

She wrote, “Dear Jim, My name is Tracey Holgate. I am age 8. I have one hand too. My grandpa gave me a picture of you today. I saw you on TV. I don’t know anyone with one hand. How do you feel about having one hand? Sometimes I feel sad and sometimes I feel okay about it. Most of the time I feel happy. I hope to see you play in Detroit and maybe meet you. Could you please send me a picture of you in uniform? Could you write back please? Here is a picture of me. Love, Tracey.”

Holgate’s letter is one of those that has remained preserved in a folder — and now Abbott is reading it again, at his kitchen table, half a lifetime after receiving it. Time has not diminished the power of the letter, and Abbott is wiping away tears.

Today, Holgate is 44 and goes by her married name, Dupuis. She is married with four children of her own. She is a teacher. When she thinks about the meaning of Jim Abbott in her life, it is about much more than the letter he wrote back to her. Or the autographed picture he sent her. It was Abbott, all those years ago, who made it possible for Tracey to dream.

“There was such a camaraderie there,” she says, “an ability to connect with somebody so far away doing something totally different than my 8-year-old self was doing, but he really allowed me to just feel that connection, to feel that I’m not alone, there’s other people that have differences and have overcome them and been successful and we all have our own crosses, we all have our own things that we’re carrying and it’s important to continue to focus on the gifts that we have, the beauty of it.

“I think sometimes differences, disabilities, all those things can be a gift in a package we would never have wanted, because they allow us to be people that have an empathetic heart, an understanding heart, and to see the pain in the people around us.”

Now, years after Abbott’s career ended, he continues to inspire.

Among those he influenced, there are professional athletes, such as Shaquem Griffin, who in 2018 became the first NFL player with one hand. Griffin, now 29, played three seasons at linebacker for the Seattle Seahawks.

Growing up in Florida, he would watch videos of Abbott pitching and fielding, over and over, on YouTube.

“The only person I really looked up to was Jim Abbott at the time,” Griffin says, “which is crazy, because I didn’t know anybody else to look up to. I didn’t know anybody else who was kind of like me. And it’s funny, because when I was really little, I used to be like, ‘Why me? Why this happen to me?’ And I used to be in my room thinking about that. And I used to think to myself, ‘I wonder if Jim Abbott had that same thought.'”

Carson Pickett was born on Sept. 15, 1993 — 11 days after Abbott’s no-hitter. Missing most of her left arm below the elbow, she became, in 2022, the first player with a limb difference to appear for the U.S. women’s national soccer team.

She, too, says that Abbott made things that others told her were impossible seem attainable.

“I knew I wanted to be a professional soccer player,” says Pickett, who is currently playing for the NWSL’s Orlando Pride. “To be able to see him compete at the highest level it gave me hope, and I think that that kind of helped me throughout my journey. … I think ‘pioneer’ would be the best word for him.”

Longtime professional MMA fighter Nick Newell is 39, old enough to have seen Abbott pitch for the Yankees. In fact, when Newell was a child he met Abbott twice, first at a fan event at the Jacob Javits Center in Manhattan and then on a game day at Yankee Stadium. Newell was one of those kids with a limb difference — like Griffin and Pickett, due to amniotic band syndrome — who idolized Abbott.

“And I didn’t really understand the gravity of what he was doing,” Newell says now, “but for me, I saw someone out there on TV that looked like I did. And I was the only other person I knew that had one hand. And I saw this guy out here playing baseball and it was good to see somebody that looked like me, and I saw him in front of the world.

“He was out there like me and he was just living his life and I think that I owe a lot of my attitude and the success that I have to Jim just going out there and being the example of, ‘Hey, you can do this. Who’s to say you can’t be a professional athlete?’ He’s out there throwing no-hitters against the best baseball players in the world. So, as I got older, ‘Why can’t I wrestle? Why can’t I fight? Why can’t I do this?’ And then it wasn’t until the internet that I heard people tell me I can’t do these things. But by then I had already been doing those things.”

Griffin.

Pickett.

Newell.

Just three of the countless kids who were inspired by Jim Abbott.

When asked if it ever felt like too much, being a role model and a hero, all the letters and face-to-face meetings, Abbott says no — but it wasn’t always easy.

“I had incredible people who helped me send the letters,” he says. “I got a lot more credit sometimes than I deserved for these interactions, to be honest with you. And that happened on every team, particularly with my friend Tim Mead. There was a nice balance to it. There really was. There was a heaviness to it. There’s no denying. There were times I didn’t want to go [to the meetings]. I didn’t want to walk out there. I didn’t want to separate from my teammates. I didn’t want to get up from the card game. I didn’t want to put my book down. I liked where I was at. I was in my environment. I was where I always wanted to be. In a big league clubhouse surrounded by big league teammates. In a big league stadium. And those reminders of being different, I slowly came to realize were never going to go away.”

But being different was the thing that made Abbott more than merely a baseball star. For many people, he has been more than a role model, more than an idol. He is the embodiment of hope and belonging.

“I think more people need to realize and understand the gift of a difference,” Dupuis says. “I think we have to just not box everybody in and allow everybody’s innate light to shine, and for whatever reasons we’ve been created to be here, [let] that light shine in a way that it touches everybody else. Because I think that’s what Jim did. He allowed his light to permeate and that light, in turn, lit all these little children’s lights all over the world, so you have this boom of brightness that’s happening and that’s uncontrollable, that’s beautiful.”

“Southpaw – The Life and Legacy of Jim Abbott,” a new edition of ESPN’s “E60,” debuts Sunday at 9 p.m. ET on ESPN; extended version streaming afterward on ESPN+.

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Cubs’ PCA on track for $1.1M from bonus pool

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Cubs' PCA on track for .1M from bonus pool

NEW YORK — Chicago Cubs center fielder Pete Crow-Armstrong is projected to receive the largest amount from this season’s $50 million pre-arbitration bonus pool based on his regular-season statistics.

Crow-Armstrong is on track to get $1,091,102, according to WAR calculations through July 8 that Major League Baseball sent to teams, players and agents in a memo Friday that was obtained by The Associated Press.

He earned $342,128 from the pool in 2024.

“I was aware of it after last year, but I have no clue of the numbers,” he said Friday. “I haven’t looked at it one time.”

Pittsburgh pitcher Paul Skenes is second at $961,256, followed by Washington outfielder James Wood ($863,835), Arizona outfielder Corbin Carroll ($798,397), Houston pitcher Hunter Brown ($786,838), Philadelphia pitcher Cristopher Sánchez ($764,854), Cincinnati shortstop Elly De La Cruz ($717,479), Boston catcher Carlos Narváez ($703,007), Red Sox outfielder Ceddanne Rafaela ($685,366) and Detroit outfielder Riley Greene ($665,470).

Crow-Armstrong, Skenes, Wood, Carroll, Brown, De La Cruz and Greene have been picked for Tuesday’s All-Star Game.

A total of 100 players will receive the payments, established as part of the 2022 collective bargaining agreement and aimed to get more money to players without sufficient service time for salary arbitration eligibility. The cutoff for 2025 was 2 years, 132 days of major league service.

Players who signed as foreign professionals are excluded.

Most young players have salaries just above this year’s major league minimum of $760,000. Crow-Armstrong has a $771,000 salary this year, Skenes $875,000, Wood $764,400 and Brown $807,400.

Carroll is in the third season of a $111 million, eight-year contract.

As part of the labor agreement, a management-union committee was established that determined the WAR formula used to allocate the bonuses after awards. (A player may receive only one award bonus per year, the highest one he is eligible for.) The agreement calls for an interim report to be distributed the week before the All-Star Game.

Distribution for awards was $9.85 million last year, down from $11.25 million in 2022 and $9.25 million in 2023.

A player earns $2.5 million for winning an MVP or Cy Young award, $1.75 million for finishing second, $1.5 million for third, $1 million for fourth or fifth or for making the All-MLB first team. A player can get $750,000 for winning Rookie of the Year, $500,000 for second or for making the All-MLB second team, $350,000 for third in the rookie race, $250,000 for fourth or $150,000 for fifth.

Kansas City shortstop Bobby Witt Jr. topped last year’s pre-arbitration bonus pool at $3,077,595, and Skenes was second at $2,152,057 despite not making his big league debut until May 11. Baltimore shortstop Gunnar Henderson was third at $2,007,178.

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