BRUCE BOCHY SPEAKS in a low rumble, walks like his shoes are three sizes too small and prefers to talk about anything but himself. He manages a baseball game as if there are actual human beings on the field and not just a collection of numbers designed to dictate all outcomes, big and small. He is 68 years old and back for another run at glory that, if successful, he will refuse to accept credit for helping to create.
His Texas Rangers players swear by him, going so far as to believe he possesses a magical sense of time and place when it comes to postseason baseball. His history is certainly a faxctor: Bochy managed the San Francisco Giants to three World Series championships in the 2010s despite never having anything close to the best roster. He won as a division champion and a wild card. He sat out three years, pointedly refusing to call his 2019 departure a retirement, before returning this season to oversee a Rangers team that held first place in the American League West for 159 days but ended up on the road as the AL’s second wild-card team. The Rangers rinsed away that disappointment by dispatching the Rays in two games notable for what they didn’t have: fans and drama.
The Rangers have difficulty explaining what makes Bochy so different. It’s instructive that one common theme is to extol his penchant for doing as little as possible. He sends out nearly the same lineup for every game, and he stays out of its way unless circumstances demand otherwise. The team believes his consistency and experience are precisely what it needs to navigate a challenging course.
“Honestly, I’ve talked to him probably three times since I’ve been here,” says starting pitcher Jordan Montgomery, who came to Texas in a deadline trade with the Yankees. “But that’s the greatness of Boch. He smiles at you, says, ‘Hey, how ya doing? How’s the family?’ and that’s it.”
Bochy emanates what might be described as radical calm. During batting practice, he leans against the cage with a fungo bat tucked under his left armpit, dropping his head every minute or so to send a line of spit to the dirt at his feet. He can go an entire session without saying anything, just observing, looming over the scene.
He watches games in much the same way, his arms folded on the rail toward the middle of the dugout. He talks to pitching coach Mike Maddux when the need arises, but he mostly keeps to himself. When a Ranger hits a home run, he inches his way closer to the dugout stairs, claps three times and extends his right hand for the celebrant to slap. There’s something to be said for consistency.
“We know one thing,” reserve outfielder Travis Jankowski says. “No matter what happens in [the postseason], Boch won’t be surprised by it.”
Jankowski enjoys telling Bochy stories, and he says he always starts with the one about the left-handed pitchers. Jankowski is a left-handed hitter, and he has always been a part-time player because he has never proved he can hit lefties. Jankowski has played in analytics-heavy organizations, and before this year he hadn’t been in the lineup against a left-handed starter since 2018. There are reasons, starting with Jankowski’s .186 batting average and .493 OPS against lefties in 253 career at-bats.
But that, as Jankowski says, was pre-Bochy, before anyone could look past mere numbers. This May, with shortstop Corey Seager out and backup outfielder Ezequiel Duran moving to short, Jankowski was starting and playing left field against right-handed pitchers. He was hitting over .300 and feeling like he could put a good swing on whatever pitch came his way, from whatever side of the mound it came from.
He showed up to the clubhouse for the second game of a three-game series against the Angels in Anaheim, knowing Reid Detmers was starting, and there it was: his name in a lineup against a lefty for the first time in five seasons.
“That’s when I knew this was different,” Jankowski says. “I was like, OK, this is a guy who’s been there and done that, played the game, managed the game. He knows when you’re seeing the ball well it doesn’t matter: lefty, righty, submariner, 110 or 78, you’re getting a hit. He also understands the opposite: When you’re not swinging well, you can go to a high school field and they’ll get you out.”
Jankowski went 3-for-5 that night, and he says at least part of that — maybe a hit and a half — was because of Bochy’s confidence in him. “I mean, he’s a legend,” Jankowski says, “so it means something when he believes in you.” There are a couple of things at work here in Bochy’s second act as a big league manager: he chose the Rangers when he didn’t have to return to the game — “his bills are paid,” Jankowski says — and, unlike many other managers, his decisions aren’t dictated by anybody in the front office.
“At some point, you have to let your manager do what he wants to do,” catcher/DH Mitch Garver says. “He sees the skill sets, and he’s going to pair them up to the game situation in a way that he sees as necessary. I think that’s something that’s a little lost in today’s game, and so be it — that’s our manager.”
Bochy treats the game like a living organism, something that changes form and requires him to change along with it. He knows baseball is a slow game that can somehow speed up and run away from a manager who doesn’t foresee the moments of acceleration. The idea of managing by feel has become an epithet, synonymous with guessing or simply winging it, but guys like Bochy and Astros manager Dusty Baker treat every game as if it has a physical presence, and maybe their success, and the wild-card failures of managers such as Toronto’s John Schneider and Tampa’s Kevin Cash, signals that feel might be in the midst of a minor comeback.
“He obviously appreciates analytics and uses analytics,” Jankowski says, “but he’s trusting his gut and his baseball instincts. We’re not computers. We’re human beings, and I know guys appreciate and thrive on being treated like one.”
It’s not revelatory in any way to observe that much of baseball is predicated on failure. It’s baked into the game’s processes and psyches in a manner that doesn’t exist in other sports; failure, in a way, is the expected outcome in a majority of the game’s scenarios. It’s such a recurring theme it’s a wonder anyone wants to play.
And because of that, the ability to understand and mitigate failure can be a massive advantage — maybe even a market inefficiency — and it might also be Bochy’s defining quality as a manager.
On Aug. 24 against the Twins, with the Rangers failing their way to a seven-game losing streak, first baseman Nathaniel Lowe rolled over a Pablo Lopez changeup and dribbled the ball between first and second. He was angry with himself, and he ran as hard as he could toward first base, as much out of irritation as professional responsibility. The ball squeaked past first baseman Joey Gallo, and by the time second baseman Kyle Farmer picked it up and threw to Lopez covering first, Lowe was a step past the bag.
It was the saddest of all possible hits, and Lowe remained furious. He jogged back to the dugout after the inning ended, still seething, and noticed Bochy inching toward the steps and leaning toward him, as if he’d just hit a homer.
“That’s a good piece of hittin’ right there,” Bochy grumbled in Lowe’s direction.
Lowe looked at him, saw the glint in his eye and burst out laughing.
“He’s got such a good feel for getting the most out of guys,” Lowe says. “After he says it, I wasn’t even mad anymore. He’s the master of knowing what to say and when to say it.”
The next night against the Twins, with the Rangers failing their way to an eight-game losing streak, starting pitcher Dane Dunning lived a nightmare. He walked four and allowed four earned runs in the first inning. He ended up walking six in a four-inning outing that left him wondering if he should be more embarrassed or angry.
He chose angry, and after he came out of the game he stayed angry. Bochy, a man who hit .239 over nine seasons in the big leagues, approached Dunning in the dugout and said, “Don’t sweat it. S—, even I struck out every once in a while.”
YOU WANT TO know what ballplayers appreciate? Being left to themselves. They’re usually at the ballpark five or six hours before game time, and the clubhouse is like a season-long fraternity house, only cleaner. There’s always a time and place for a good motivational speech from the manager, but that time is rare and the place is almost never the clubhouse.
“I think Boch has been in the clubhouse one time all year,” Jankowski says. He knows the exact date, too: June 4, the night he won his 2,014th career game to move ahead of Walter Alston and into 10th place all-time. “He came in and we did a little toast to him, but even then it seemed like he didn’t feel comfortable in the clubhouse. That’s the old-school mentality: ‘You guys control the clubhouse and I’ll be in my office if you need me.'”
Garver says, “He’s the first to say he’s got no business being in here. This is our space.”
Jankowski’s locker in Seattle is near the entrance of the Rangers’ clubhouse, and on a recent Friday afternoon he stands with his back to the door. After he tells the story of Bochy’s one visit to the clubhouse, I see a large figure turn the corner, take a look inside and walk straight into the clubhouse.
Bochy.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I tell Jankowski quietly, nodding over his shoulder as Bochy strides into the clubhouse. “I think you’ve got your second clubhouse sighting.”
Jankowski’s jaw drops in disbelief. He shakes his head and laughs.
“Yeah, but look at him,” he says as Bochy clears earshot. “Just look at him. He’s so uncomfortable right now. See how uncomfortable he is walking in here?”
And yes, Jankowski is correct: Bochy looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Head down, moving as quickly as his old catcher’s knees will allow, he finds the staffer he was seeking, says about three words and leaves the same way he came in.
NONE OF WHAT lies ahead figures to be easy. Bochy’s most famous postseason skill, his ability to mix and match a bullpen through three or four innings, always a move ahead of the opposing manager, will be severely tested. He and Maddux oversee one of the worst bullpens in baseball, a group that tied for the most blown saves (13) in the big leagues while running up a 4.77 ERA. It has been a stack of teetering plates, and the Rangers are playing the divisional series against top-seeded Baltimore relying on their third closer of the season, Jose Leclerc, who has had the job for less than a month. Aroldis Chapman, who threw a clean inning in Game 1 against the Rays, is a coin flip at best; his mechanics got so off-kilter that Bochy had to remove him with the bases loaded and nobody out in the ninth inning against Seattle on Sept. 28. That’s feel; Chapman was the closer-designate that night until he wasn’t. Will Smith pitched in the seventh inning of a game the Rangers trailed by eight runs the next night, if you’re wondering whether Bochy has confidence in him.
It was far different in San Francisco, when he could go from Javier Lopez to Sergio Romo to Jeremy Affeldt to Brian Wilson without the constraints of the three-batter minimum.
The best solution to a bad bullpen, of course, is good starting pitching. The Rangers got that against Tampa Bay, with Montgomery throwing seven shutout innings in Game 1 and Nathan Eovaldi giving up one run in 6⅓ in Game 2.
“Yeah,” Jankowski says, waving off any concern about the Texas bullpen. “But he’s borderline genius when it comes to managing a bullpen in the playoffs. He’ll figure it out.”
Maybe. It might take something closer to magic than genius to coax a deep run out of this bullpen, but just maybe. It’s the smallest sample size, but the Rangers clinched a postseason spot with an unlikely 6-1 win over the Mariners. Texas had placed the expected starting pitcher, Jon Gray, on the injured list the day before, leaving Bochy to steer the game through emergency fill-in Andrew Heaney and three relievers. Asked if it felt like a vintage Bochy game, he smiles and says, “Yeah, it kinda did.”
When it was over, he went into the clubhouse for at least the third time this season — the fourth would come four days later in Tampa — to watch his team scream and yell and spray champagne all over the room. “This is what I came back for,” he said as he watched.
He stood there for what seemed like a long time, taking it all in. You couldn’t call him a bystander, but he was definitely not a full participant. His team gave him his space, and he gave them theirs. He was back in his native habitat, happy to see everyone else happy.
Thoroughbred racing suffered its most ignominious, industry-deflating moment 50 years ago today with the breakdown of Ruffian, an undefeated filly running against Foolish Pleasure in a highly promoted match race at Belmont Park. Her tragic end on July 6, 1975, was a catastrophe for the sport, and observers say racing has never truly recovered.
Two years earlier, during the rise of second-wave feminism, the nation had been mesmerized by a “Battle of the Sexes” tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs. King’s win became a rallying cry for women everywhere. The New York Racing Association, eager to boost daily racing crowds in the mid-1970s, proposed a competition similar to that of King and Riggs. They created a match race between Kentucky Derby winner Foolish Pleasure and Ruffian, the undefeated filly who had dominated all 10 of her starts, leading gate to wire.
“In any sport, human or equine, it’s really impossible to say who was the greatest,” said outgoing Jockey Club chairman Stuart Janney III, whose parents, Stuart and Barbara, owned Ruffian. “But I’m always comfortable thinking of Ruffian as being among the four to five greatest horses of all time.”
Ruffian, nearly jet black in color and massive, was the equine version of a Greek goddess. At the age of 2, her girth — the measurement of the strap that secures the saddle — was just over 75 inches. Comparatively, racing legend Secretariat, a male, had a 76-inch girth when he was fully developed at the age of 4.
Her name also added to the aura. “‘Ruffian’ was a little bit of a stretch because it tended to be what you’d name a colt, but it turned out to be an appropriate name,” Janney said.
On May 22, 1974, Ruffian equaled a Belmont Park track record, set by a male, in her debut at age 2, winning by 15 lengths. She set a stakes record later that summer at Saratoga in the Spinaway, the most prestigious race of the year for 2-year-old fillies. The next spring, she blew through races at longer distances, including the three races that made up the so-called Filly Triple Crown.
Some in the media speculated that she had run out of female competition.
Foolish Pleasure had meanwhile ripped through an undefeated 2-year-old season with championship year-end honors. However, after starting his sophomore campaign with a win, he finished third in the Florida Derby. He also had recovered from injuries to his front feet to win the Wood Memorial and then the Kentucky Derby.
Second-place finishes in the Preakness and Belmont Stakes left most observers with the idea that Foolish Pleasure was the best 3-year-old male in the business.
Following the Belmont Stakes, New York officials wanted to test the best filly against the best colt.
The original thought was to include the Preakness winner, Master Derby, in the Great Match Race, but the team of Foolish Pleasure’s owner, trainer and rider didn’t want a three-horse race. Since New York racing had guaranteed $50,000 to the last-place horse, they paid Master Derby’s connections $50,000 not to race. Thus, the stage was set for an equine morality play.
“[Ruffian’s] abilities gave her the advantage in the match race,” Janney said. “If she could do what she did in full fields [by getting the early lead], then it was probably going to be even more effective in a match.”
Several ballyhooed match races in sports history had captured the world’s attention without incident — Seabiscuit vs. Triple Crown winner War Admiral in 1938, Alsab vs. Triple Crown winner Whirlaway in 1942, and Nashua vs. Swaps in 1955. None of those races, though, had the gender divide “it” factor.
The Great Match Race attracted 50,000 live attendees and more than 18 million TV viewers on CBS, comparable to the Grammy Awards and a pair of NFL “Sunday Night Football” games in 2024.
Prominent New York sportswriter Dick Young wrote at the time that, for women, “Ruffian was a way of getting even.”
“I can remember driving up the New Jersey Turnpike, and the lady that took the toll in one of those booths was wearing a button that said, ‘I’m for her,’ meaning Ruffian,” Janney said.
As the day approached, Ruffian’s rider, Jacinto Vasquez, who also was the regular rider of Foolish Pleasure including at the Kentucky Derby, had to choose whom to ride for the match race.
“I had ridden Foolish Pleasure, and I knew what he could do,” Vasquez told ESPN. “But I didn’t think he could beat the filly. He didn’t have the speed or stamina.”
Braulio Baeza, who had ridden Foolish Pleasure to victory in the previous year’s premier 2-year-old race, Hopeful Stakes, was chosen to ride Foolish Pleasure.
“I had ridden Foolish Pleasure and ridden against Ruffian,” Baeza said, with language assistance from his wife, Janice Blake. “I thought Foolish Pleasure was better than Ruffian. She just needed [early race] pressure because no one had ever pressured her.”
The 1⅛ mile race began at the start of the Belmont Park backstretch in the chute. In an ESPN documentary from 2000, Jack Whitaker, who hosted the race telecast for CBS, noted that the atmosphere turned eerie with dark thunderclouds approaching before the race.
Ruffian hit the side of the gate when the doors opened but straightened herself out quickly and assumed the lead. “The whole world, including me, thought that Ruffian was going to run off the screen and add to her legacy,” said longtime New York trainer Gary Contessa, who was a teenager when Ruffian ruled the racing world.
However, about ⅛ of a mile into the race, the force of Ruffian’s mighty strides snapped two bones in her front right leg.
“When she broke her leg, it sounded like a broken stick,” Vasquez said. “She broke her leg between her foot and her ankle. When I pulled up, the bone was shattered above the ankle. She couldn’t use that leg at all.”
It took Ruffian a few moments to realize what had happened to her, so she continued to run. Vasquez eventually hopped off and kept his shoulder leaning against her for support.
“You see it, but you don’t want to believe it,” Janney said.
Baeza had no choice but to have Foolish Pleasure finish the race in what became a macabre paid workout. The TV cameras followed him, but the eyes of everyone at the track were on the filly, who looked frightened as she was taken back to the barn area.
“When Ruffian broke down, time stood still that day,” Contessa said. Yet time was of the essence in an attempt to save her life.
Janney said that Dr. Frank Stinchfield — who was the doctor for the New York Yankees then and was “ahead of his time in fixing people’s bones” — called racing officials to see whether there was anything he could do to help with Ruffian.
New York veterinarian Dr. Manny Gilman managed to sedate Ruffian, performed surgery on her leg and, with Stinchfield’s help, secured her leg in an inflatable cast. When Ruffian woke up in the middle of the night, though, she started fighting and shattered her bones irreparably. Her team had no choice but to euthanize her at approximately 2:20 a.m. on July 7.
“She was going full bore trying to get in front of [Foolish Pleasure] out of the gate,” Baeza said. “She gave everything there. She gave her life.”
Contessa described the time after as a “stilled hush over the world.”
“When we got the word that she had rebroken her leg, the whole world was crying,” Contessa said. “I can’t reproduce the feeling that I had the day after.”
The Janneys soon flew to Maine for the summer, and they received a round of applause when the pilot announced their presence. At the cottage, they were met by thousands of well-wishing letters.
“We all sat there, after dinner every night, and we wrote every one of them back,” Janney said. “It was pretty overwhelming, and that didn’t stop for a long time. I still get letters.”
Equine fatalities have been part of the business since its inception, like the Triple Crown races and Breeders’ Cup. Some have generated headlines by coming in clusters, such as Santa Anita in 2019 and Churchill Downs in 2023. However, breakdowns are not the only factor, and likely not the most influential one, in the gradual decline of horse racing’s popularity in this country.
But the impact from the day of Ruffian’s death, and that moment, has been ongoing for horse racing.
“There are people who witnessed the breakdown and never came back,” Contessa said.
Said Janney: “At about that time, racing started to disappear from the national consciousness. The average person knows about the Kentucky Derby, and that’s about it.”
Equine racing today is a safer sport now than it was 50 years ago. The Equine Injury Database, launched by the Jockey Club in 2008, says the fatality rate nationally in 2024 was just over half of what it was at its launch.
“We finally have protocols that probably should have been in effect far sooner than this,” Contessa said. “But the protocols have made this a safer game.”
Said Vasquez: “There are a lot of nice horses today, but to have a horse like Ruffian, it’s unbelievable. Nobody could compare to Ruffian.”
ESPN baseball reporter. Covered the Washington Wizards from 2014 to 2016 and the Washington Nationals from 2016 to 2018 for The Washington Post before covering the Los Angeles Dodgers and MLB for the Los Angeles Times from 2018 to 2024.
NEW YORK — A blunder that typifies the current state of the New York Yankees, who find themselves in the midst of their second six-game losing streak in three weeks, happened in front of 41,401 fans at Citi Field on Saturday, and almost nobody noticed.
The Yankees were jogging off the field after securing the third out of the fourth inning of their 12-6 loss to the Mets when shortstop Anthony Volpe, as is standard for teams across baseball at the end of innings, threw the ball to right fielder Aaron Judge as he crossed into the infield from right field.
Only Judge wasn’t looking, and the ball nailed him in the head, knocking his sunglasses off and leaving a small cut near his right eye. The wound required a bandage to stop the bleeding, but Judge stayed in the game.
“Confusion,” Yankees manager Aaron Boone said. “I didn’t know what happened initially. [It just] felt like something happened. Of course I was a little concerned.”
Avoiding an injury to the best player in baseball was on the Yankees’ very short list of positives in another sloppy, draining defeat to their crosstown rivals. With the loss, the Yankees, who held a three-game lead over the Toronto Blue Jays in the American League East standings entering June 30, find themselves tied with the Tampa Bay Rays for second place three games behind the Blue Jays heading into Sunday’s Subway Series finale.
The nosedive has been fueled by messy defense and a depleted pitching staff that has encountered a wall.
“It’s been a terrible week,” said Boone, who before the game announced starter Clarke Schmidt will likely undergo season-ending Tommy John surgery.
For the second straight day, the Mets capitalized on mistakes and cracked timely home runs. After slugging three homers in Friday’s series opener, the Mets hit three more Saturday — a grand slam in the first inning from Brandon Nimmo to take a 4-0 lead and two home runs from Pete Alonso to widen the gap.
Nimmo’s blast — his second grand slam in four days — came after Yankees left fielder Jasson Dominguez misplayed a ball hit by the Mets’ leadoff hitter in the first inning. On Friday, he misread Nimmo’s line drive and watched it sail over his head for a double. On Saturday, he was slow to react to Starling Marte’s flyball in the left-center field gap and braked without catching or stopping it, allowing Marte to advance to second for a double. Yankees starter Carlos Rodon then walked two batters to load the bases for Nimmo, who yanked a mistake, a 1-2 slider over the wall.
“That slider probably needs to be down,” said Rodon, who allowed seven runs (six earned) over five innings. “A lot of misses today and they punished them.”
Jazz Chisholm Jr.’s throwing woes at third base — a position the Yankees have asked him to play to accommodate DJ LeMahieu at second base — continued in the second inning when he fielded Tyrone Taylor’s groundball and sailed a toss over first baseman Cody Bellinger’s head. Taylor was given second base and scored moments later on Marte’s RBI single.
The Yankees were charged with their second error in the Mets’ four-run seventh inning when center fielder Trent Grisham charged Francisco Lindor’s single up the middle and had it bounce off the heel of his glove.
The mistake allowed a run to score from second base without a throw, extending the Mets lead back to three runs after the Yankees had chipped their deficit, and allowed a heads-up Lindor to advance to second base. Lindor later scored on Alonso’s second home run, a three-run blast off left-hander Jayvien Sandridge in the pitcher’s major league debut.
“Just got to play better,” Judge said. “That’s what it comes down to. It’s fundamentals. Making a routine play, routine. It’s just the little things. That’s what it kind of comes down to. But every good team goes through a couple bumps in the road.”
This six-game losing skid has looked very different from the Yankees’ first. That rough patch, consisting of losses to the Boston Red Sox and Los Angeles Angels, was propelled by offensive troubles. The Yankees scored six runs in the six games and gave up just 16. This time, run prevention is the issue; the Yankees have scored 34 runs and surrendered 54 in four games against the Blue Jays in Toronto and two in Queens.
“The offense is starting to swing the bat, put some runs on the board,” Boone said. “The pitching, which has kind of carried us a lot this season, has really, really struggled this week. We haven’t caught the ball as well as I think we should.
“So, look, when you live it and you’re going through it, it sucks, it hurts. But you got to be able to handle it. You got to be able to deal with it. You got to be able to weather it and come out of this and grow.”
Bobby Jenks, a two-time All-Star pitcher for the Chicago White Sox who was on the roster when the franchise won the 2005 World Series, died Friday in Sintra, Portugal, the team announced.
Jenks, 44, who had been diagnosed with adenocarcinoma, a form of stomach cancer, this year, spent six seasons with the White Sox from 2005 to 2010 and also played for the Boston Red Sox in 2011. The reliever finished his major league career with a 16-20 record, 3.53 ERA and 173 saves.
“We have lost an iconic member of the White Sox family today,” White Sox chairman Jerry Reinsdorf said in a statement. “None of us will ever forget that ninth inning of Game 4 in Houston, all that Bobby did for the 2005 World Series champions and for the entire Sox organization during his time in Chicago. He and his family knew cancer would be his toughest battle, and he will be missed as a husband, father, friend and teammate. He will forever hold a special place in all our hearts.”
After Jenks moved to Portugal last year, he was diagnosed with a deep vein thrombosis in his right calf. That eventually spread into blood clots in his lungs, prompting further testing. He was later diagnosed with adenocarcinoma and began undergoing radiation.
In February, as Jenks was being treated for the illness, the White Sox posted “We stand with you, Bobby” on Instagram, adding in the post that the club was “thinking of Bobby as he is being treated.”
In 2005, as the White Sox ended an 88-year drought en route to the World Series title, Jenks appeared in six postseason games. Chicago went 11-1 in the playoffs, and he earned saves in series-clinching wins in Game 3 of the ALDS at Boston, and Game 4 of the World Series against the Houston Astros.
In 2006, Jenks saved 41 games, and the following year, he posted 40 saves. He also retired 41 consecutive batters in 2007, matching a record for a reliever.
“You play for the love of the game, the joy of it,” Jenks said in his last interview with SoxTV last year. “It’s what I love to do. I [was] playing to be a world champion, and that’s what I wanted to do from the time I picked up a baseball.”
A native of Mission Hills, California, Jenks appeared in 19 games for the Red Sox and was originally drafted by the then-Anaheim Angels in the fifth round of the 2000 draft.
Jenks is survived by his wife, Eleni Tzitzivacos, their two children, Zeno and Kate, and his four children from a prior marriage, Cuma, Nolan, Rylan and Jackson.