A night 63 years in the making: Inside the celebration as the Texas Rangers — finally — became World Series champions
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Jeff Passan, ESPN
PHOENIX — AROUND 1 A.M., just hours after he managed the Texas Rangers to their first World Series championship in 63 years of existence, Bruce Bochy hoisted himself from a chair and ambled toward the door at the back entrance of the Arizona Biltmore hotel. Bochy moves in slow motion these days, lurching more than walking, but before heading to his room for the night, he wanted to bid farewell to the men he’d spent the previous 8½ months preparing for this very moment.
When Bochy poked his head into McArthur’s restaurant, he saw the spoils of his work: drinks being downed and laughs being had and success being rewarded. Almost every Rangers player was present, the room packed to the gills with family and friends, and once they noticed who had come to pay homage to this moment decades in the making, they cut off their conversations and started to chant themselves hoarse.
“Boch! Boch! Boch!” they yelled in unison.
About 30 minutes earlier, Bochy sat outside, nursing a beer and talking about Game 5 of the 119th World Series, a 5-0 victory against the Arizona Diamondbacks that ended with a swarm of Rangers moshing around the mound. Less than a year ago, he was spending his retirement in Nashville, Tennessee, coaching his grandson’s T-ball team, and now he was the owner of a fourth championship, only the sixth manager with as many.
“The whole thing just doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Bochy said.
On one hand, Bochy is correct. This year, this October in particular, the Rangers drove through a thunderstorm and emerged dry. They finished the regular season with 90 wins. One fewer and they’d have spent the postseason at home. They beat a 99-win team and two division champions to get to the World Series, where they faced an 84-win Arizona team whose own kismet came with an expiration date. They went 11-0 on the road in the playoffs, a record unlikely ever to be matched.
On the other, it makes all sorts of sense. The Rangers were no accident. They were a master plan executed to a gilded end. They played exceptionally clean baseball. They hit for average and power. They pitched enough not to drag down their strengths. They let neither the gravity of October nor that of their past subsume them. They won because they played better than everyone else for a month, something they’d nearly done once before — something that haunted them for the past dozen years until a called third strike Wednesday finally delivered the peace they’d long sought.
THE MASTER PLAN began on Dec. 4, 2020, when the Rangers, “sick of losing,” hired Chris Young as their general manager. Young, a Dallas-area native, had spent 13 years pitching in the major leagues, including his first two for the Rangers. He had worked as an executive at Major League Baseball, where he was beloved, and now would work alongside Jon Daniels, the Rangers’ president and architect of their World Series teams in 2010 and ’11.
Over the next year, Daniels and Young carried out an audacious objective. They were going to spend their way back to relevancy. Despite three last-place finishes over the previous four seasons, they believed the heart of the organization — drafting, signing international free agents and developing players — was strong. Free agency done right could accelerate the process.
In a 24-hour period from Nov. 28-29, 2021, the Rangers signed second baseman Marcus Semien, right-hander Jon Gray and shortstop Corey Seager for a combined $556 million. Never before, nor since, has a team committed so much money in such a short timespan. For Seager (10 years, $325 million) and Semien (seven years, $175 million) in particular, the choice to sign with a Texas team that looked to the industry like it was going nowhere fast registered as puzzling.
“We told them, ‘This is an immense challenge. Are you up for this? You don’t have to be. You can go anywhere you want. Are you up for this? It’s going to be hard,’ ” Young said. “They each sat up in their chair and looked at me with this competitive edge and said, ‘I’m not afraid of that.’ And you could just see it in their eyes.”
Their first season with Texas last year left those eyes bloodshot. The Rangers went 68-94. On Aug. 15, they fired manager Chris Woodward, and two days later, owner Ray Davis let go of Daniels, too, leaving Young in charge. The Rangers understood that as seminal as the 2021-22 offseason was, the next winter would prove every bit as important. Because after shoring up their offense, the second part of the plan included finding someone who could lead Texas where it intended to go.
That process started one year and two weeks ago, when, for seven hours, over crustless egg salad and chicken salad sandwiches cut into triangles, Chris Young and Bruce Bochy talked baseball. Young had flown to Nashville to convince Bochy to return to what he did better than anyone in his generation: manage a big league team. Young had played for a year under Bochy with the San Diego Padres, and the experience stuck with him. Nobody amalgamated baseball knowledge with human touch quite like Bochy. He’d won three World Series with the San Francisco Giants and already etched his eventual Hall of Fame plaque. Young’s only hope was that the competitive fire in Bochy still glowed.
“We laughed, we shared stories, our vision for what the game should look like, the balance of people versus front office influence,” Young said. “And it was a great conversation. I left there thinking there may be a chance. He had studied. He knew our organization. He was asking about prospects. He asked me about our R&D department. He said, ‘I need information. I need to know, are you guys good in this area?’ I could tell just like everything, and now I see it on a daily basis, he just listens and processes and synthesizes and then makes great decisions.”
Bochy agreed to a three-year deal on Oct. 21, 2022, a week before the World Series began, and got to work immediately. His presence alone didn’t lead to a roomful of people chanting his name. Leadership change is all well and good. But going from 68-94 to contender would take a bevy of arms and another boatload of money.
WHEN HE TOOK the GM job with the Rangers, Chris Young warned his wife, Liz, and their three kids that life was going to get a little weird. Running a team takes a special sort of freneticism, a working-at-all-hours motor.
Even though he had signed the best pitcher on the free agent market, Jacob deGrom, to a five-year, $185 million contract and added left-hander Andrew Heaney for $27 million over two years, Young lived by the credo that a team can never have too much pitching. And it just so happened that Nathan Eovaldi, the veteran right-hander whose postseason excellence earned him a reputation as one of the game’s great warriors, remained unsigned in late December, even as the rest of the industry had lavished more than $3 billion on free agents.
Hearing Young talk invigorated Eovaldi. It wasn’t just their shared experience as pitchers and the shared language they spoke. Young spoke about the Rangers with the certitude of someone who ran a team that had gone 94-68 the previous season, not 68-94.
“Our talks in the offseason, it was all about winning the World Series championship,” Eovaldi said. “The offense was there. CY was really adamant about adding pitching, and when they signed deGrom and Heaney, I thought I was done. And then Christmas, we were able to make it happen.”
Eovaldi was Davis’ two-year, $34 million Christmas gift to the Rangers. The team had already spent half a billion dollars on a pair of middle infielders. Not chasing it with more money, more talent, would have been the half-measure to end all half-measures. As much as the industry scoffed and saw Texas as the most OK team money can buy, something bigger was happening.
Seager and Semien were the centerpieces, yes, but Adolis Garcia had evolved into an All-Star-caliber right fielder and Jonah Heim had emerged as a solid catcher and Nathaniel Lowe won a Silver Slugger at first base. Josh Jung, drafted by Daniels in 2019, had developed into an excellent third baseman, and Evan Carter, whose selection in the 2020 draft prompted guffaws from MLB Network analysts who had never heard of him, was one of the best outfield prospects in baseball, perhaps a year or two from the big leagues. Complementing that group with an overhauled pitching staff, and tapping Bochy to play alchemist, added up to something interesting.
That interesting turned good in a hurry. The Rangers swept Philadelphia, the defending National League champion, in their opening series. During Seager’s early-season five-week absence with a hamstring pull, Texas scored more runs than every big league team. The Rangers led the American League West every day of the first half but one. As the Aug. 1 trade deadline approached, Young assessed the Rangers’ current state of affairs — still light on pitching after deGrom’s season-ending elbow-ligament tear — and wondered if he should add more.
The Rangers’ front office decamped to Young’s house in San Diego, where the team was playing a three-game series, for the deadline. He surveyed his staff about the proper approach. How aggressive should they be? Is this a team that can win the World Series? Answering such questions vexes baseball-operations departments around the game. For many, baseball is too damn unpredictable to mortgage the future for a present so sodden with randomness. Young does not abide by this approach, and his subordinates share that aggressiveness. If they could win, they would try to win.
So first the Rangers acquired Max Scherzer, the 39-year-old future Hall of Famer, from the New York Mets for Luisangel Acuna, a top prospect and brother of Atlanta star Ronald Acuna Jr. A day later, they dealt a pair of prospects, infielder Thomas Saggese and right-hander T.K. Roby, to St. Louis for left-handed starter Jordan Montgomery and right-handed reliever Chris Stratton. Other teams saw it as a coup for the Cardinals, and with the deals completed in the midst of San Diego’s three-game sweep of Texas, flickers of self-doubt emerged in Young.
“What am I doing?” he asked Liz.
What needed to be done, it turns out. Because Young was right. You never can have enough pitching. Eovaldi’s elbow started barking and sent him to the injured list. Without Scherzer and Montgomery, the Rangers’ late-season swoon — which included an eight-game losing streak — might have turned into a full-on collapse and thwarted any sort of October appearance, let alone a championship run.
“It certainly didn’t guarantee this, but it gave us a better chance of this,” Young said. “And these players deserved that. Boch deserved that. Our ownership and our fans deserve that. And that’s what we’re here to do.”
AT THE BEGINNING of spring training, Young and Bochy introduced a set of organizing principles — simple-to-grok ideals scalable across the organization, from the front office to the field and beyond. They had settled on three pillars.
Dominate the fundamentals.
Compete with passion.
Be a good teammate.
“It’s the things that we know for us to be successful we have to do, and pretty much every component of what we do on a daily basis falls into one of those, whether it’s your behavior, your play, how you work,” Rangers bench coach Will Venable said. “It’s overall accountability, and as much as they might sound corny sometimes, they’re what guide us. [Bochy] creates an environment where people feel they can be themselves. He challenges the staff but is really open-minded and inclusive. So I think everyone just feels empowered to come every day having critically thought about things and is confident to voice their opinions. And he always gets to the best stuff because he asks questions. He’s open, he’s adaptable. He’s amazing.”
Those tenets were signposts throughout the season, and they also made it easier for the Rangers to remain impervious from any panic surrounding their September swoon. As the postseason began, Eovaldi’s elbow had healed. So had injuries to Garcia, Heim and Jung, who had gone from rookie with questions about his defense to All-Star Game starter and Gold Glove-caliber fielder. Garcia’s knee strain had prompted the early ascent of Carter, who thrived at 21 years old and earned an everyday role. Scherzer and Gray were out with injuries, and the bullpen was thin, but Texas’ tenets offered them solace.
They were good teammates, as the 99-win Tampa Bay Rays found out when Texas swept them in the wild-card round.
“A teammate is a person that will do anything to win the game regardless of the situation,” Rangers designated hitter Mitch Garver said. “If Boch told me to bunt” — he last laid down a sacrifice in 2018 — “I would do it. I’m willing to sacrifice my own career to better the team.”
They competed with passion, as the 101-win AL East champion Baltimore Orioles learned when the Rangers swept them in the division series.
“The fact that I’m one of those that shows it outwardly, passionately,” Garcia said, “doesn’t diminish the others who also compete with passion as well in their own way.”
Said Seager, whose outward stoicism is every bit the defining characteristic as his excellence as a hitter: “Being with your teammates. Being out on the field with your guys trying to accomplish one goal. I would say that’s what passion is for me.”
And they especially dominated the fundamentals. While the other two ideals necessitated only effort, dominating the fundamentals took an attention to detail few teams emphasize. The Rangers fixated on limiting errors after committing 96 in 2022. They followed the lead of Semien, who for the fourth consecutive full season played every game and did so because, he said, inactivity stimulates sloppiness. Texas made only 57 errors, the third-fewest by a team in major league history.
“We’ve just got obsessed dudes that are obsessed with their work, that are obsessed with winning, that are just obsessed with the day-to-day,” said catcher Austin Hedges, another trade-deadline acquisition. “I think that’s what baseball’s all about. It’s the day-to-day. We play 162 games plus another whatever in the playoffs, plus spring training. If you don’t love showing up to the field every day with the boys, then it’s not going to go well. But when you truly look forward to it and you have a group of guys you look forward to seeing, those things happen. If you don’t have that obsession, you might as well not even write those things down.”
After winning the AL pennant in spectacular fashion — taking all four road games of the seven-game series against Houston, which beat Texas for the AL West title via head-to-head regular-season record — Texas advanced to a World Series against the team with the second-fewest errors ever: Arizona. And in the course of their five-game romp, the Rangers became the first team since the 1966 Baltimore Orioles to win a World Series without committing an error.
Defense alone wouldn’t carry the Rangers, though. Garcia won ALCS MVP with a historic performance, driving in 15 runs in the series and hitting homer after epic homer. His strained oblique and Scherzer’s locked-up back ended their World Series after the third game, leaving Texas shorthanded. They’d been there, of course, whether in April and May without Seager or later in the season with the injury deluge. They dropped five runs with two outs in the second and third innings of Game 4 and romped. On Wednesday, one day later, Eovaldi threw six scoreless innings and held the Diamondbacks hitless in 10 plate appearances with runners in scoring position. Arizona starter Zac Gallen was even better over those six innings, holding Texas hitless.
“Getting no-hit in the seventh, we still find a way,” Montgomery said. “I mean, I think that sums up the grit of our guys and the battle. There was no panic in that dugout. Because here’s the thing. We’ve still got Corey Seager and Marcus Semien.”
Seager, who would go on to join Sandy Koufax, Bob Gibson and Reggie Jackson as the only two-time World Series MVPs, squibbed a single to left field to lead off the seventh. Carter, hitting behind him in the lineup because Bochy surmised that Arizona manager Torey Lovullo would not use his best relievers — all right-handers — instead of attacking back-to-back left-handed hitters with a lefty reliever, doubled Seager to third. Garver smashed a fastball through a drawn-in infield. After 19 at-bats of futility, Texas needed only three to score the game’s first run.
After Josh Sborz, a 29-year-old with a career 5.08 ERA who emerged as Texas’ best of a thin relief corps this postseason, threw a scoreless eighth, Bochy approached him in the dugout, wary of throwing closer Jose Leclerc for a third consecutive day for the first time since July 26-28, 2019.
“You wanna finish it?” Bochy said.
“Let’s do it,” Sborz said.
The Rangers’ hitters were exceptionally good teammates in the top of the ninth. Jung and Lowe led off the inning with back-to-back singles against Arizona closer Paul Sewald, and both scored when a Heim single up the middle slinked underneath the glove of center fielder Alek Thomas and rolled to the wall. Semien followed by blasting his second home run in two nights, and Texas’ 1-0 lead was quintupled.
Sborz emerged for the ninth, struck out Geraldo Perdomo looking on a curveball, induced a popout from Corbin Carroll and ended the World Series by snapping Ketel Marte’s 20-game postseason hitting streak by snapping off a two-strike curveball that landed in the top of the strike zone. Marte stared at the pitch, and so began a celebration that would last deep into Thursday morning.
If there was one error made by Texas in the World Series, it was the team’s continued fixation with 1990s alt-rock band Creed. As the Rangers sprayed bubbly and doused one another with beer, “Higher” strained through the clubhouse speakers and provided the soundtrack for their revelry. Whatever they might lack in musical taste they made up for in baseball acumen and righting wrongs.
“This,” Scherzer said, “is baseball nirvana.”
He was not wrong. Carter, all of two months into his career, looked around and said: “How spoiled am I?” The answer was very — a fact that two other attendees of the party at the Biltmore know well.
Two hours after that locker room celebration, next to fire pits and underneath string lighting and surrounded by fountains, Adrian Beltre and Michael Young sat across from one another and reminisced. They played together on the 2011 Rangers, a team that wound up on the wrong side of one the greatest World Series games ever.
In the Metroplex, Game 6 are curse words. What’s a story of triumph in St. Louis is one of horror to Rangers fans: One strike away from a win, the Rangers gave up a two-run, score-tying, ninth-inning triple to David Freese, blew another two-run lead in the 10th and lost on a Freese home run in the 11th.
“It was the worst day of my life,” Beltre said.
Every day since, he said, he has carried it with him. Young concurred. The sting of the moment eventually faded into an ever-present ache. Nothing short of a championship would salve them.
No one in the clubhouse would dare suggest this reached the levels of Boston in 2004 or Chicago in 2016, but the Rangers have disappointed generations of people. This win, Beltre said, “takes a weight off my shoulders — off all our shoulders.”
About 20 feet away sat Bochy, holding court before the team serenaded him. The daughters of pitching coach Mike Maddux, who had never before won a World Series in his 30-year career playing and coaching in the major leagues, congratulated and thanked him. Coaches and scouts paid homage. Bochy deferred credit, aw-shucks as ever, even as he joined a list of the greatest managers in history — Casey Stengel, Connie Mack, Joe McCarthy, Walter Alston and Joe Torre.
On the other side of the bar, Young held court with the front office. During games in Young’s suite, they’d developed a habit of high-fiving every good play — “positive touches,” they called it — and the camaraderie was clear. Winning a championship bonds people forever. Winning the first championship in the 63-year history of a franchise immortalizes them.
Which is why back inside at McArthur’s, Lowe asked for the music to be turned down so he could deliver a speech. He arrived via trade in 2021, and from that team, only Lowe, Garcia, Heim, Sborz, center fielder Leody Taveras and right-hander Dane Dunning were on the World Series roster. Lowe witnessed the birth of the plan, its execution and the fruit it bore. And it gave the Rangers, he said, “the best f—ing ships.”
He paused slightly before delivering perhaps an even better walk-off than Garcia’s home run that won Game 1.
“Friendships,” Lowe said, “and championships.”
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Dan Wetzel
For decades, Bill Belichick lorded over the NFL as few ever have. A bully in a hoodie, he led his New England empire to six Super Bowl titles and 17 AFC East crowns and through countless controversies.
From success to scandal, from fashion choices to news conference one-liners, he was always top of mind in the NFL.
He still is, actually.
“I don’t think there is a conversation these days where what is happening with Bill doesn’t get mentioned within the first five minutes,” one NFC player personnel director said.
Train wrecks cause craned necks, and Belichick’s early tenure at the University of North Carolina qualifies as one.
Snubbed by the league he once dominated, Belichick headed to the college ranks this year expecting success. Instead, he has thus far produced a stumbling, embarrassing soap opera of a season. The Tar Heels are 2-3 and desperately lack talent after losing 39 players from last year’s team and bringing in more than 40 transfers. They head to Cal on Friday as 10.5-point underdogs.
The jokes are frequent. So too is the schadenfreude. Most notably, though, the scene in Chapel Hill provides validation for NFL teams, which, after Belichick and the Patriots parted ways after the 2023 season, uniformly passed on hiring him.
Monday saw Belichick’s weekly UNC news conference attended by the school’s chancellor and athletic director, an attempt to show a united front against speculation about a possible firing and/or resignation.
“Reports about my looking for a buyout or trying to leave here is categorically false,” Belichick said. “There’s zero truth to any of that. I’m glad I’m here.”
Where he really had wanted to be was in the NFL. Multiple sources say that as he limped through his final season in New England — a listless 4-13 campaign — the legendary coach began to view life after Foxborough not with dread but with a measure of excitement.
Armed with perhaps the greatest coaching résumé of all time, he expected another NFL team to quickly hire him. He had, after all, spent decades beating them all.
Seven franchises (Atlanta, Carolina, Las Vegas, the Los Angeles Chargers, Seattle, Tennessee and Washington) would have openings. At least four more (Chicago, Dallas and both New York teams) could have reasonably fired their guy just to get to Belichick. Even Philadelphia seemed to be a possibility.
Instead, only Atlanta interviewed Belichick, and the Falcons then chose Raheem Morris.
The belief around the league, according to sources at the time, wasn’t so much that the now-73-year-old might have lost something as a coach.
Far more troubling was that Belichick was stuck in his ways and would not cede control over player personnel decisions, which doomed the end of his time in New England. The trend in the NFL was to have the front office operate with a measure of independence. Could Belichick’s famously controlling ways allow that?
Essentially, the man famous for the phrase “Do your job” wouldn’t do just one job — coach the team. Personality overwhelmed potential. His budding feud with Patriots owner Robert Kraft only added to concerns.
It’s not that all those franchises made good decisions. Las Vegas and Tennessee have already replaced the coaches they chose instead of Belichick. The New York Jets limped through another year before a regime change, only to maybe get worse.
If Belichick were rolling in Chapel Hill as he anticipated, maybe the how-do-you-like-me-now vibes would be swinging the other way. He isn’t, though. Against three Power 4 opponents, his team has been outscored 120-33.
There is no shortage of media stories about disappointed players, disaffected parents and general chaos. A coach who once demanded discipline runs a team without it. A leader who once decried distractions is now in the tabloids. Debates rage about how perhaps the Patriots’ success really was all about Tom Brady.
Belichick and UNC general manager Michael Lombardi clearly didn’t fully understand how college football worked. They dubbed the Tar Heels the NFL’s 33rd team, but roster construction, especially through the transfer portal, has thus far failed.
Flush with money, attention and Belichick’s pipeline-to-the-pros credibility, UNC brought in 70 new players. It should be at least decent. Instead, some NFL scouts call it one of the worst rosters in the ACC.
The duo told multiple sources their plan last fall and brushed off suggestions that college is unique — despite longtime NFL head coaches Herm Edwards (Arizona State) and Lovie Smith (Illinois) trying similar tacks in recent years without much success. Going the other direction, college legends from Urban Meyer to Steve Spurrier have often flamed out quickly in the NFL, and even Nick Saban retreated from the Miami Dolphins to Alabama after two seasons.
This is what the NFL has seized on. This is what diminished interest in Belichick originally, a headstrong run of bad personnel decisions. Only now it’s in the college portal, not the professional draft.
Maybe Belichick can still coach, but not with the roster he’s constructed.
“It’s a learning curve,” Belichick admitted Monday. “We’re all in it together. But we’re making a lot of progress, and the process will eventually produce the results we want like they have everywhere else I’ve been.”
“Everywhere else he’s been” is watching closely, a league still fascinated by him, just not for the reasons that Belichick likely hoped.
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Kyle Bonagura
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Kyle Bonagura
ESPN Staff Writer
- Covers college football.
- Joined ESPN in 2014.
- Attended Washington State University.
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Adam Rittenberg
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Adam Rittenberg
ESPN Senior Writer
- College football reporter; joined ESPN in 2008. Graduate of Northwestern University.
JEFF TEDFORD LOOKED out of his office window and saw helicopters circling. Below, a crowd had gathered to watch the last holdouts finally descend from an oak tree beside California Memorial Stadium. TV news vans lined Piedmont Avenue in Berkeley, and rooftops across campus filled with people hoping for a glimpse of what was happening.
Tedford, Cal‘s most successful coach of the modern era, had grown accustomed to the odd scene. Twenty-one months earlier, activists began a tree-sit in December 2006, with some actually living in trees, to protest the removal of an oak grove next to the stadium, part of a long-planned seismic retrofit and facilities upgrade project. The demonstration called itself Save the Oaks.
The patch of campus had embodied one of the many contradictions of Berkeley — a place where an environmental protest and big-time college football could unfold on opposite sides of the same stadium wall.
“It was like a fricking circus,” Tedford said recently. “My office was about a hundred feet from the trees, so I got to see most of it and hear most all of it.”
Over time, the grove transformed into a small treetop village. Platforms appeared between branches. Ropes and pulleys dangled from above. Zip lines stretched from tree to tree, connecting the makeshift outposts like a canopy freeway. Eventually, the tree-sit had become an international curiosity.
The impasse had lasted nearly two years — from the 2006 Big Game to the start of the 2008 season. Cal football surged at the time, entering the top 10 in 2006, and rising to No. 2 nationally following a 5-0 start in 2007. Meanwhile, there was a photo shoot of naked protestors in the trees.
As Save the Oaks entered its final stage, university workers surrounded the last occupied tree with scaffolding, layering it upward until it reached the lingering protestors, with tarps above to shield them from whatever might fall. When the scaffolding rose, so did a temporary staircase inside. UC Berkeley police chief Vicky Harrison was lifted into the air in the basket of a cherry picker, and addressed the demonstrators.
“I said, ‘OK, guys, you had a good run. Let’s do this the easy way,'” Harrison said recently. “And then, of course, I did a little threatening where I basically said, ‘I’ve already talked to the district attorney. If anybody gets hurt, if any of the officers get hurt, if any of the tree guys get hurt, there’s going to be not misdemeanor charges, but felony charges.'”
The last protestors conceded. It was over.
“It ended very peacefully,” Harrison said.
Seventeen years later, as Tedford is set to be inducted into the Cal Athletics Hall of Fame when the Golden Bears host North Carolina (10:30 p.m. ET, ESPN), the memory still feels surreal. Tedford, Cal’s all-time winningest coach, built a team that, at times, hovered on the cusp of national contention, all while yards away from one of the strangest protests in college sports history.
CALIFORNIA MEMORIAL STADIUM is nestled into Strawberry Canyon, butting up against the Berkeley Hills. On clear days, fans in the upper rows get views of the San Francisco Bay and Golden Gate Bridge. The stadium opened in 1923, and it sits atop the Hayward Fault, regarded as one of the Bay Area’s most serious seismic threats.
In February 2005, Cal announced plans to “renovate and seismically strengthen” the stadium, citing both safety due to the fault line and the need to modernize its athletic facilities, which were located within the stadium. These facilities, used daily by Cal athletes, included weight training, nutrition and sports medicine areas.
The proposal called for a 142,000-square-foot training facility along the west wall of the stadium, which would service football and 12 other Cal athletic programs.
“The everyday facilities, what we now call football operations building, wasn’t up to par,” said Sandy Barbour, Cal’s athletic director at the time. “There were life safety issues, and there were football day-to-day conditions for student-athletes — frankly, day-to-day conditions for student-athletes across the 31 sports at Cal.”
There was another incentive for Cal to accelerate the stadium project: Keeping Tedford. Cal won 10 games in 2004 and nearly reached the Rose Bowl for the first time since 1959. Tedford had become one of the nation’s hottest coaches, and his contract had a clause that if Cal hadn’t broken ground on a new facility by a certain date, his buyout to leave would drop significantly.
“We needed to be able to show the commitment to Jeff, to our program and frankly, to the community, that Cal was going to be serious about having sustained success in football,” Barbour said.
But this is Berkeley, a college town where placards and megaphones trump helmets and shoulder pads. Pushing through a major athletics facilities project wouldn’t be so simple.
First came the lawsuits. In the fall of 2006, the city of Berkeley, the California Oak Foundation and the Panoramic Hill Association, a neighborhood group, all filed suits related to the project. (They would later be consolidated into one.) A fourth lawsuit would be filed by Save Tightwad Hill, which represented fans who watched games from the hill overlooking the stadium, without paying for tickets.
The lawsuits led to a temporary restraining order from the Alameda County Superior Court, which effectively protected the grove from being demolished as hearings, filings and appeals followed over the next year and a half.
“The court cases just kept dragging out,” said Nathan Brostrom, Cal’s vice chancellor at the time.
The resistance took a turn on Dec. 2, 2006, Big Game day, when Cal hosted rival Stanford. That morning, several people came to the oak grove marked for removal and made camp. Among them was Zachary RunningWolf, a local activist who had run for mayor in Berkeley. He told The Berkeley Daily Planet newspaper that if University of California regents approved the removal, “They’re going to have to extract me from this tree, because that’s the only way I’m going to leave.”
Brostrom was living in a house above Memorial Stadium with his wife and six kids. On Big Game morning, Brostrom was making pancakes when Harrison called: Nathan, we’ve got a couple people up in the trees.
“I was thinking it was fans from the night before or something,” Brostrom said. “She said, ‘Well, they’re protesting.’ I said, ‘Let’s just get them down. It’s Big Game. There’s going to be 70,000 people there in a few hours.’ And she said, ‘Well, it’s not quite that easy.'”
Brostrom walked to the grove and spoke with RunningWolf and another person. There was nothing to indicate this would be an extended protest.
“We thought it was going to be short-lived,” Brostrom said. “We really thought it was starting to be the cold, wet winter, and it wasn’t going to last.”
That analysis turned out to be a significant miscalculation.
THE PEOPLE WHO climbed up, and ultimately lived in, the oaks outside the stadium would become the faces of the movement. But the protest had several layers.
“It had nothing to do with support or lack thereof for the university athletes, much less the teams,” said Karen Pickett, a longtime forest activist who assisted with Save the Oaks. “While the campaign was at odds with the university’s decision-makers, the Board of Regents, et cetera, there was never an issue with the students, much less the players.”
The organizers viewed the removal of these trees as symbolic of how Cal operated, and if no one stood up, Cal would continue to “plow over the city government,” Pickett said.
The grove also held significance for different groups. Some claimed it was located on a Native American burial ground. Others reasoned it was a wildlife corridor. The trees were planted as part of the stadium’s original construction that honored World War I, which carried significance for some in the community.
“These former faculty and current faculty would talk about how it was like this last quiet, peaceful spot that was on the edge of campus where they could go,” Pickett said. “It was a small area and yet, biologically and in other ways, it was very important to a lot of people, and a lot of other species.”
Kingman Lim, a recent Cal grad working as an arborist, saw members of the Save the Oaks group on campus and immediately became interested. Lim cared deeply about the environment, and also had tree-climbing and safety experience.
He began setting up platforms and assisted those climbing up.
“The beginning felt so exciting and inspirational,” Lim said. “The students were there and we had the local community coming out. There were biologists and ecologists. We saw foxes coming through when we first started, and birds and deer. I would go up regularly, weekly, for months and months.
“The beginning was a good feeling. The big, bad university looked like the bad guys for a little while.”
Jack Gescheidt was a photographer living in San Francisco, and he had started taking nude pictures of people in and among trees. He came across a New York Times story about the oaks demonstration in Berkeley and drove over to check it out in early 2007.
Gescheidt met an organizer who loved the idea of a photo shoot and the media attention it would generate.
“I said, ‘Look, they don’t need to be naked. If that’s too kind of outrageous and too stereotypical and kind of distracts from the point of, we need to save these trees, it’s not about getting people naked,'” Gescheidt recalled. “But he’s like, ‘No, you’re gonna do it. Let’s do it.’
“God bless Berkeley.”
They set a date: March 17, a Saturday morning. Gescheidt arrived early to set up and met with a campus police officer, who politely said that any demonstrators, including Gescheidt, could be subject to arrest. Gescheidt relayed that message to the group of about 150 demonstrators and asked who was still willing to participate. About 75 hands went up.
Then came what Gescheidt calls the “dressed rehearsal,” where subjects assemble for the photo with their clothes on. Mindful of the television news cameras and police, Gescheidt wanted to minimize how much time the demonstrators were actually naked. He then instructed them to remember their spots, undress and return for the shoot.
“There was one woman living on a platform and she naked-hugged the tree that she was on,” Gescheidt said. “There was another guy who came down lower, get this, he’s hanging upside down, with one leg, not both legs, like a trapezoid, one leg hooked over a branch, about 15 feet in the air. If he fell, he’d break his neck. And he was just comfortable doing that, because he was living in the trees. They are in the photograph at the top of the frame, still in the trees.
“When that happened, I’m like, ‘This is so f—ing cool!'”
Gescheidt titled the photograph “Last Stand.” The shoot went off without any outbursts or arrests.
There were other notable scenes at the grove, including one in January 2007 when former Berkeley mayor Shirley Dean, then 71, climbed up to a platform, and sat there alongside Berkeley city councilwoman Betty Olds, 86, and Sylvia McLaughlin, 91, co-founder of the environmental advocacy group Save The Bay.
They had a bullhorn to communicate to the crowd and media below, and held a “Save the Oaks” banner.
“We have 250 years of life experience between us,” Dean told the media that day. “Nobody’s going to cut us down, and no one’s going to cut down these trees.”
WHEN THE 2007 season arrived, the protest outside Memorial Stadium had become part of daily life on campus — and few people were subjected to it quite like Tedford, who would sleep in his office up to five nights a week.
“It wasn’t a nuisance at first, but then it became one, because we had constant patrol and police down there and they had spotlights on them,” Tedford said. “The generator was running all night long and all the noise that they’d make, beating the drums.
“You could see all kinds of crazy stuff going on, these people in the trees and going on their zip lines from treehouse to treehouse.”
The proximity to the football offices made the spectacle impossible to avoid, but the coaches tried to minimize the distractions. It soon became a problem in recruiting.
“You have a prospect and his family sitting in my office talking,” Tedford said, “and [outside the window] they were filling up these large five-gallon buckets of feces and pouring them down on the cops or whoever was down below, and they had to wear rain gear down below, because of the stuff being poured down on them.
“So the stench was kind of just blowing into the office and drums are banging and they’re screaming, and you’re sitting there with a prospect and their family like a hundred feet away from it trying to say, ‘Oh, this is a great place.’ It was just one of the obstacles in trying to recruit that I’m positive no one else had to deal with.”
While Tedford did his best from his office to keep the football program on track, Harrison, the university police chief, was trying to manage what was happening below. Efforts to limit the protest — cutting off ropes or supplies — weren’t greeted well.
“They would drop their personal waste onto the officers or the folks that we had that were going in to cut the lines,” Harrison said. “And that was not very pleasant, as you might imagine.”
That dynamic led to an unusual truce.
“If they would lower their waste every day so that they couldn’t be hoarding it to use against us, we would allow their ground support to provide them organic fresh food,” Harrison said. “That’s the kind of thing I never thought that I would be negotiating.”
Cal meanwhile entered the season ranked No. 12 in the AP poll — its fourth straight appearance in the preseason top 20 — with a team that featured several future NFL Pro Bowlers, including receiver DeSean Jackson, center Alex Mack, safety Thomas DeCoud and running back Justin Forsett. The Bears would open the season against No. 15 Tennessee, who had an estimated 20,000 fans travel to Berkeley.
Heading into the game, Harrison said the police department received all sorts of suggestions for how to deal with the protestors.
“We were getting postcards and letters from all across the country,” Harrison said. “We got a lot from the Tennessee fans — a lot of comments about chainsaws and fire hoses.”
Upon arrival, Vols fans couldn’t believe what they saw.
“I literally remember them standing on the sidewalk, looking up and going, ‘This would never happen in Knoxville,'” Barbour said.
The Bears won 45-31. On a national prime-time broadcast, ABC’s Brent Musburger gleefully said, “There’s a little bit of a controversy here. There are some aging hippies in the oak trees right here behind me and one of the spokesmen is Chief RunningWolf.”
ABC aired a short interview clip with RunningWolf, and Musburger referred to the university’s offer to plant three new trees for every old one removed.
“Three-for-one is a very good deal if you are a tree-hugger,” he quipped.
It was a perfect Berkeley paradox: big-money college football and an antiestablishment protest, unfolding in the same space.
Over the next few weeks, Cal built momentum and rose to No. 2 in the AP poll — its highest ranking since 1951 — right behind LSU after three more straight wins. But junior quarterback Nate Longshore went down with an ankle injury that would keep him out of a pivotal game against Oregon State and severely limit his mobility for the rest of the season.
Led by true freshman quarterback Kevin Riley, Cal took a 14-13 lead over Oregon State at halftime. Then, the stadium received an update from across the country.
“We come out after halftime, and I hear on the loudspeaker that LSU had just lost,” Tedford said. “And so the fans kind of went crazy because that meant we’re in line to be No. 1.”
But Cal couldn’t close out Oregon State, losing 31-28 in one of the most disappointing games in program history. The Bears would lose five of their next six games to finish 7-6.
Through it all, the tree protest dragged on. What began with a few demonstrators on Big Game weekend in 2006 stretched through two winters. Brostrom remembers many conversations with Harrison and Cal chancellor Robert Birgeneau about removing the demonstrators, but they concluded there wasn’t enough police to keep people out of the grove.
Without legal approval, Cal couldn’t begin construction, either.
“I remember thinking to myself one night after we’d done a big community group or a booster group or something, if I have to stand up in front of a group one more time and say, ‘As soon as the judge gives us the go ahead, we will be underway,’ I’m gonna puke,” Barbour said.
AS TIME WENT on, the core group who started the movement began to thin out. Many of the final holdouts were no longer locals or Cal-affiliated. They had come from other parts of the country, drawn by the media attention and the symbolic weight of the standoff. It became increasingly difficult to argue their continued presence represented people in the community.
Lim witnessed the demographics and vibe change in the grove. A split occurred between those who lived in the trees, like RunningWolf, and other organizers who dealt with public/media messaging but weren’t there around the clock. Lim felt caught in the middle.
“Over time, that inner division and the deterioration of our image ended up giving us a lot harder time gaining support for the movement,” Lim said. “It turned into this anarchist kid homeless camp in the trees, which was OK, but took away from the message, so to speak. It was like, ‘We’re never going to leave?’
“It turned into this attrition thing that no one liked.”
By the end of the summer of 2008, the various court cases had finally run their course, and on Aug. 28, a superior court judge ruled the university could proceed with its project, and an appeal was denied the following week.
As Cal prepared to leave for a game at Washington State on Sept. 6, Tedford was told to expect the grove to look much different when he returned. When the trees were taken down, the final four protestors migrated to the last oak standing — where the scaffolding was erected to allow police to fetch them from the top.
“It was so cool to watch how they did it, because they built the scaffolding all the way around the tree, all the way up, and then they just peacefully walked up, got them and they peacefully walked down,” Tedford said.
At the bottom, the final four holdouts were arrested on misdemeanor charges of trespassing, violating a court order and illegal lodging.
“Once we won the court case, we had bulldozers ready, and we just started to bulldoze the site,” Brostrom said. “The team was coming back from an away game, and I remember the players were so excited to see the tree coming down and construction starting.”
The university won. The protesters lost. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Pickett was on the East Coast when the final oak came down, but she would eventually visit the site.
“I think it was [famed environmentalist] David Brower who said that all our victories are temporary, but our losses are permanent,” Pickett said. “It was a righteous campaign. There’s no doubt in my mind that it was worth fighting, even though it took a big chunk of people’s lives.”
Lim also attended the final tree removal, mainly to ensure the arborists were operating correctly and safely. He still works in Berkeley as an arborist.
“Twenty years later, I’m looking back on it and thinking, the public, regular people, thought that the whole fight was absolutely ridiculous and everyone should just go home and let the trees get cut, you’re wasting everyone’s time and money,” he said. “I admit now that I understand that perspective, where at the time I was sure this was the most important thing, ‘Why isn’t everyone getting behind this and speaking up?’
“I’m sad the students won’t experience the trees the way that I did. But that’s also what happens in life. People adapt, people move on.”
WHEN TEDFORD RECRUITED Mack in 2003, he told him about Cal’s facilities plans and Mack bought in. But because of the years of lawsuits and protests, construction didn’t begin until 2010, and the Simpson Center and renovated Memorial Stadium didn’t open until 2012 — long after Mack had graduated and begun his 13-year NFL career.
On Friday, Mack and Tedford will both be honored as they enter Cal’s athletics Hall of Fame together.
“He jokes with me that I told him we were going to have a new facility, and his career came and went, and there’s still no facility,” Tedford said. “But I think the protests were kind of proof that we were moving forward with something.”
The university ultimately got what it wanted. Yet even with all the upgrades, Cal hasn’t finished a season ranked in the AP poll since 2006 — the same year the tree-sit began.
There have been flashes — a few hot starts, some Jared Goff magic, the occasional upset — but not the sustained success that once seemed inevitable under Tedford.
After being fired from Cal in 2012, Tedford spent five seasons, over two stints, as the head coach at his alma mater, Fresno State, before stepping away due to health concerns before last season. By eliminating the stress and anxiety that came with coaching, Tedford said his health has improved dramatically.
Last month, Tedford traveled to see Cal play at Boston College and attended some Cal events leading up to the game. He spoke at a tailgate and traded stories with several longtime fans. Inevitably, the tree-sit came up several times.
“It’s nice to get back acquainted with the Cal people now … and kind of relive some of those great memories that we had there,” Tedford said.
Tedford can laugh about the protests now. For Harrison, the police chief, they stand as a parody come to life.
“How Berkeley can you be?” she said. “You couldn’t have scripted that.”
For possibly the final time in 2025, there are two MLB playoff games on tap. And the stakes are high for all four teams.
In the early game Friday, the Toronto Blue Jays and Seattle Mariners will meet in Game 5 of the American League Championship Series, with the winning team moving one victory away from the World Series. Later on, the defending champion Los Angeles Dodgers could complete a sweep of the top-seeded Milwaukee Brewers with a win in Game 4 of the National League Championship Series.
We’ve got it all covered for you with pregame storylines and lineups, plus top moments during the games and takeaways after the final pitches.
Key links: Bracket
What we’re watching in Friday’s games
ALCS Game 5: Blue Jays-Mariners
How can the Blue Jays keep their momentum going in Game 5?
Buster Olney: Toronto ace Kevin Gausman is fully rested and ready to go, and he could draw upon the work of Max Scherzer, who was effective against the Mariners in Game 4 by slowing everything down. Seattle hitters seemed to be geared up for fastballs against Scherzer, and instead, Scherzer kept dropping in off-speed pitches. And Gausman has an exceptional off-speed weapon in his split-fingered fastball.
David Schoenfield: Keep hitting the ball hard! OK, seriously, few teams have come into Seattle — arguably the toughest place to hit in the majors — and dismantled the Mariners’ pitching staff like the Blue Jays did in the first two games here. They hit 21 balls with an exit velocity of 100-plus mph — with 16 of those going for hits and 11 of those 16 hits going for extra bases. The Blue Jays had the lowest strikeout rate in the majors in the regular season and they showed how lethal this offense can be when it’s putting the ball in play. Oh, yeah, it helps when Andres Gimenez, your No. 9 hitter, has homered twice, and it especially helps when Vladimir Guerrero Jr., after going 0-for-7 in the two games in Toronto, is 6-for-9 in the two games in Seattle.
What must Seattle do differently to salvage its final home game of this ALCS?
Olney: Bryce Miller lifted the entire Seattle traveling party by pitching so well on short rest less than 48 hours after the incredible Game 5 win over Detroit in the AL Division Series, and because of how Games 3 and 4 played out here, Miller is facing similar pressure in Game 5. Except now the Blue Jays hitters are rolling, after piling up a mountain of offense the past two days. It’s possible that Mariners manager Dan Wilson will be aggressive with his bullpen again — particularly with closer Andres Munoz and regular-season ace Bryan Woo.
Schoenfield: The pitchers definitely need to get more swing-and-miss against the Blue Jays, but the Seattle offense needs to produce. It’s one thing to face Tarik Skubal twice, like the Mariners did against Detroit, but Skubal isn’t pitching in this series. In nine playoff games, the Mariners are hitting just .215 and several key guys are scuffling: Randy Arozarena has a .536 OPS with 16 strikeouts, Eugenio Suarez has a .475 OPS with 14 strikeouts and Victor Robles, who was benched in Game 4, has a .474 OPS. Dominic Canzone, a key player in the second half who hit .300 with an .840 OPS, is 2-for-19 in the postseason. Against the right-handed Gausman, his lefty bat is important.
NLCS Game 4: Brewers at Dodgers
What must the Brewers do to avert a sweep in Game 4?
Alden Gonzalez: First off, they need to hope Jackson Chourio is healthy enough to play. And then they actually need to do a lot of what they did in Game 3: apply pressure early, keep the score close and force Dodgers manager Dave Roberts to go to his bullpen sooner than he’d like. The Brewers, of course, need to hit a lot better (especially Christian Yelich, who is 1-for-11 in this series). But the Dodgers aren’t built to win many games in which their relievers need to get 10 outs to maintain a small lead. That they did it successfully in Game 3 doesn’t mean they can do it again in Game 4.
Jeff Passan: How about hit? The Brewers have mustered nine hits in the first three games of the series. Yoshinobu Yamamoto and Tyler Glasnow allowed three each in their starts. Blake Snell yielded one in his start. Alex Vesia and Roki Sasaki gave up one in a relief appearance. And that’s it. They’ve scored a total of three runs. Striking out 30% of the time doesn’t help, and the fact that they’re facing someone in Shohei Ohtani who had nearly a 7-to-1 strikeout-to-walk ratio in the regular season only intensifies the need to find something now. The Brewers need to be better in every regard to turn around this series, but putting runs on the board is priority No. 1.
What do you expect from Shohei Ohtani in his first start of the NLCS?
Gonzalez: Ohtani will be taking the ball on 12 days’ rest. The last time he had that much time off between starts, it was Sept. 16, when he faced the Philadelphia Phillies after an 11-day layoff from pitching. What followed was five no-hit innings against one of the sport’s best offenses. The Brewers’ lineup isn’t as menacing as the Phillies’, but the team will be playing desperate and, unlike in Game 3, won’t have to hit in the shadows. Ohtani, though, will be sharp, regularly hitting triple digits with his fastball. The question is whether he can shake his offensive slump. On his start days during the regular season, Ohtani’s slash line dipped to .222/.323/.556.
Passan: Because Ohtani has built up slowly to get deep into outings coming off his second elbow reconstruction, it’s easy to have missed that his stuff has returned immediately, which is not always the case with major surgeries. Ohtani never has thrown his average fastball harder, and his sweeper remains one of the game’s best pitches, bendy and confounding. Milwaukee did not handle 97-mph-plus velocity particularly well during the regular season, and what makes it particularly problematic is Ohtani’s wide variety of other pitches to keep them off balance. His first postseason start went six innings, the same as his previous start to end the regular season. If he does the same in Game 4, the Dodgers should find themselves in a good position.
Lineups
Series tied at 2
Starting pitchers: Kevin Gausman vs. Bryce Miller
Lineups
Toronto
TBD
Seattle
TBD
Los Angeles leads series 3-0
Starting pitchers: TBD vs. Shohei Ohtani
Lineups
Los Angeles
TBD
Milwaukee
TBD
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