Bill Belichick’s new book underscores the importance of personal connections
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Seth Wickersham
ONE OF THE most insightful statements about Bill Belichick was made in mid-September of last year. But it wasn’t made by Belichick himself, even though he spent the football season all over airwaves and podcasts. It wasn’t made by Michael Lombardi, his longtime friend, colleague and chief public defender. It wasn’t about the New England Patriots. In fact, it didn’t even mention Belichick by name. But it was still about him.
The comments were made by Tampa Bay quarterback Baker Mayfield. He told the “Casa de Klub” podcast that when Tom Brady quarterbacked the Bucs, it was a “high-strung environment.”
“I think everybody was pretty stressed out,” Mayfield said. “They wanted me to come in, be myself, bring the joy back to football, for guys who weren’t having as much fun.”
Fun.
To those who know, that was an ironic word choice. What Tom Brady had once privately said about Bill Belichick — and was part of the reason why he decided to leave New England — was now being said about him. And that said something about them both.
ON MAY 6, Bill Belichick’s first book, “The Art of Winning: Lessons from My Life in Football,” will be released. He is the rare coaching legend who wrote a book neither after winning a championship nor after retirement, but after he was fired. (Sorry — when he and the Patriots “mutually agreed to part ways.”) He was in a strange space during most of 2024: 72 years old, without a job in football for the first time in 50 years and unsure of where he would land. Between Brady winning a Super Bowl in Tampa, a few subpar drafts, three losing seasons in his final four years in New England, and “The Dynasty” docuseries, a pervasive narrative on Belichick had taken hold — that he struggles to connect with people, especially players. That his methods, once revolutionary, are now antiquated.
Brady, of course, became an exemplar of that movement. In Tampa, he and Rob Gronkowski were proof that winning could be fun, so went the story. It was no surprise that Brady, Gronk and former Pats receiver Julian Edelman gave a resounding “no” when asked on air late last year whether they could picture Belichick — who turned “do your job” and “no days off” into rallying cries — coaching in college at North Carolina, where he ended up.
“I would be frightened,” Brady said.
“Could you imagine Bill on the couch recruiting an 18-year-old?” Edelman added.
Having listened to Belichick over the decades, interviewed him multiple times, written stories that flattered and irritated him, listened to other coaches discuss him, and authored a book mostly about him, I expected “The Art of Winning: Lessons from My Life in Football” to be one of a few things. Maybe a modern version of Bill Walsh’s coaching-cult classic “Finding the Winning Edge,” which literally provided granular rundowns of what the former 49ers great told the team on the third day of training camp. Or, unlikely but plausible, a splashy tell-all, settling old scores. Or, perhaps, a business book for the Wharton crowd.
Instead, it’s about something more interesting and revealing. It’s largely a book about emotion. About emotional intelligence. About connection. About how a leader should treat people.
About, though not explicitly stated, Belichick’s famously perceived blind spots.
WHY NOW?
That question frames the beginning of the book. Why would an economics major who is famous for making shrewd decisions give away secrets, in a ruthless sport in which he still traffics? The answer, in part, is due to his father.
In 1962, Steve Belichick wrote “Football Scouting Methods,” one of the most influential football books ever. Steve did it while he was still in the game. If father can, so can son. Bill feels in debt to the sport. “I hope that this book can give back some of what I have taken from football,” he writes.
This book lacks a lot of hardcore football, at least in terms of what we’ve come to expect from Belichick when he has shed light into his vast knowledge, legendary preparation and savvy creativity. He doesn’t dive deep into his theories about, say, long-snappers or nickel cornerbacks. He offers little fresh insight into some of his most epic moments, from “Butch the Back” in Super Bowl XXXVI to “Malcolm, go!” in Super Bowl XLIX.
A preseason game from 2004 receives a longer look than most of his championships. Some of his greatest hits from over the years, when it became clear that he was playing a fundamentally different game than his peers — the intentional safety against Denver in ’03, the 1-10 defensive alignment against Peyton Manning’s Colts, the record-setting offensive innovations from ’07, to name a few — are either not mentioned or barely noted.
That’s not to say, however, that there’s not football. It just lives beyond the chessboard.
It arrives in the form of passion: “There are players who put everything they have into the game because they can’t imagine doing anything else,” Belichick writes. “I’m like that. I don’t need coffee; I need more hours in the day.”
And in humor: “If somebody uses AI to summarize this book down to three essential words, I hope they are: Don’t. Commit. Penalties.”
And in admiration: Pages are filled with analysis and perspective and features on his favorite coaches, from Bill Parcells to Sean Payton to Andy Reid, and players, from Lawrence Taylor to Mark Bavaro to James White, to name a few.
There are chapters on how to motivate people. How to prepare, improve, how to move on, and how to handle success. How to balance long-term strategy against short-term necessities. But classic Belichick, he spends more time on his mistakes than his historic successes.
Certain mistakes, that is.
He doesn’t mention Spygate, but he does detail the decision-making process as to why he went for it on fourth-and-13 against the New York Giants in Super Bowl XLII, a key moment in the game that ended an undefeated season. Why he opened the door for Brady to leave in 2020 is looped in with a slew of players unaffordable for salary cap reasons; why the Patriots loved but passed over Lamar Jackson in the 2018 draft is given some real estate. Insight into why Malcolm Butler was benched in Super Bowl LII is ignored; why Belichick erred in not activating a defensive lineman named Dan Klecko in Super Bowl XXXVIII is studied.
In explaining the wrong way to fire people, Belichick points to a pair of examples from himself: His releasing Bernie Kosar when he was the Cleveland Browns coach in 1993, and, years later, when he pink-slipped an unnamed Patriots player while he was in the pool at a team party. Indeed, Belichick dedicates most of a chapter to four words that he uttered often in staff meetings, exemplar of leadership, accountability, culture, and the power of admitting mistakes: “I f—ed that up.”
Non-football influences, from Jack Welch to Steve Jobs to hedge fund manager Ray Dalio, get shoutouts. So does Roger Goodell, for helping to make “the NFL a great league.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, Robert Kraft receives nary a mention.
But what has made Belichick successful, and fascinating, is that underneath that severed-sleeved hoodie is someone with a deep and diabolically genius understanding of the human condition. As he grew as a coach, from Baltimore to Detroit to Denver to the Giants to Cleveland to New England to the Jets and to the Patriots again, he has developed mechanisms and strategies to put coaches, quarterbacks and offenses under pressure, knowing that they’d likely revert to their most essential and predictable selves.
He knows that football is a people business. But for the most part, it’s been described in terms of how he smartly exploited an opponent’s ego or habits, from Mike Martz in Super Bowl XXXVI to John Harbaugh with the “Baltimore” and “Raven” formations, or how he ripped players, even superstars like Brady — especially Brady — in squad meetings.
In the book, he admits that at times, he was engaging in performance art. But if he could motivate a player to improve by pissing them off, so be it. If it made for a dour environment, that was an acceptable trade. If it wasn’t fun, tough.
Belichick goes to great lengths to let us know that he views players as more than nameplates, even if some of his former players might respectfully disagree, such as Lawyer Milloy and Drew Blesdoe, to name a few. He wants us to know that with players sacrificing their bodies and staff sacrificing family time, he takes his responsibilities seriously — to his core.
He does this in two distinct ways.
One, Belichick goes long on what it’s like to be fired. “Traumatic,” he writes, citing his Browns experience. A tireless work ethic, and deep awareness of the fragility of tomorrow, was instilled in him at a young age, when he learned about his grandparents’ immigration from Croatia. They worked “as hard as they could to put food on the table.”
Steve Belichick couldn’t afford to go to college, despite being a motivated and talented enough football player that he played at Case Western Reserve University and in the NFL. In college, Steve lived in a vacant room in a gym, “delivering ice, and doing other assorted jobs to make ends meet.” Bill Belichick became a wealthy coach, but he never forgot that emotional place. He pushed his football staffs to the brink in the pursuit of winning, but doing so provided a measure of stability for his coaches, scouts and their families in a ruthlessly unstable profession.
“During normal times,” he writes, “it’s easy enough to imagine that your job and your life are two distinct domains — family is family and work is work. But when you get fired, that distinction gets bulldozed. … All the basics and necessities of providing for a family and contributing to the future are suddenly less secure.”
Two, Belichick wants us to know that he has personally helped players and staff clear their minds to focus on the task at hand. An example: the Belichick Travel Agency. Whenever the Patriots reached the Super Bowl, Belichick spent the first two days after the conference championship game on logistics. Sorting out 1,600 game tickets, 300 hotel rooms, two full planes and whatever else. It’s a short story in the book, but a profound one.
For one thing, it’s amazing to imagine Belichick handling itineraries. For another, when Belichick was hired in New England, he pledged to delegate more after his Cleveland experience. This would seem like an obvious job to hand off. But no. It was not only important; it was important enough that he needed to handle it. “If I expect to be able to ask my slot receiver to play in a pinch at cornerback in front of a hundred million viewers on TV,” he writes, “I don’t get to ignore his request for a hotel room with a nice view.”
A book authored by Belichick is a statement as much as a story. Throughout his career, he has always tried to take the long view. There’s a reason why one of the largest collections of football books outside of the Library of Congress is on the Naval Academy’s campus and bears his family name. But Belichick has always taken the immediate view, too. He works, and works, and works, refusing to let up.
“Getting used to winning,” he writes, “is the quickest way for it to stop.”
Is that mindset healthy? Is it balanced? Is it — whisper this around Belichick — fun?
“The Art of Winning: Lessons from My Life in Football” is intended for a mass audience. But at its core, Belichick is writing for a subset of a subset of a subset of football minds, the truly and spectacularly obsessed. They will find virtue in it, and in Belichick himself, even if they don’t like him — even if they have wondered, as many owners, GMs, and coaches have, if his system works when he’s not at the head of the table. Belichick writes that his program is “not for everyone. Neither am I. But to get to the top, and stay there, is close to impossibly hard.”
Towards the end of the book, Belichick ponders his view of himself and maybe self-worth. “Has every year that I’ve failed to win a Super Bowl been a failure? Big picture? Maybe not.
“But I live in my picture.”
TOM BRADY LIVES in his picture, too. And after Mayfield’s comments, he responded on air.
He chose not to give the context. In 2020, Brady left New England — left Belichick — because the winning was less artistic than intolerable. He recently wrote that a “natural tension” had developed between him and Belichick — “the kind of tension that could only be resolved by some kind of split or one of us reassessing our priorities.” Brady chose Tampa, with its warm weather and warmer team culture, led by a coach, Bruce Arians, who unapologetically championed a vision beyond wins and losses, with cigars and cocktails.
When the season started, it became clear that Brady’s new team wasn’t as buttoned up as his previous one, wasn’t as accountable as his previous one, and wasn’t winning as much as his previous one. Sunshine be damned, that didn’t fly with Brady.
He didn’t miss Belichick, but it was clear that he missed elements of the football world in which he had been raised. It was up to Brady to take what he had learned, adapt it for situation and self, and apply it in his own way. Imagine what forms that might have taken, beyond the mind games that Mayfield detailed on the podcast, of Brady intentionally ignoring or throwing inaccurate passes to send receivers a message. His standards, like his former coach’s, are impossible — until they’re not, of course, and teammates reach a level of play even they didn’t think they could achieve.
“I thought ‘stressful’ was not having Super Bowl rings,” Brady said on air during the Bucs-Eagles game last season. “So, there was a mindset of a champion that I took to work every day. This wasn’t daycare. If I wanted to have fun, I was going to go to Disneyland with my kids.”
It was pure Belichick, and could have been straight out of “The Art of Winning.”
And Mayfield? He played well in 2024, and had some fun — until his season ended, with a first-round playoff loss at home.
TORONTO — Every so often in the Seattle Mariners clubhouse, the “Top Gun Anthem,” full of soaring guitar notes and pick-me-up vibes, will randomly blast from inside a locker. Everyone knows the culprit. Jorge Polanco, the Mariners’ veteran second baseman, is not a fan of silencing his phone.
“But he loves Maverick and Iceman,” Mariners star Cal Raleigh said.
Nobody really minds. When a player is doing what Polanco has done this postseason — rescuing the Mariners from the danger zone seemingly daily, with his latest trick a go-ahead three-run home run that paved the way for Monday’s 10-3 victory — his ringtone could be Limp Bizkit and nobody would utter a peep.
Instead, it’s the perfect soundtrack for this Mariners run, which currently sees them up two games to none against the Toronto Blue Jays in the American League Championship Series. The “Top Gun Anthem” is an epic ballad filled with the sorts of ups and downs that personify an organization that has spent 49 years alternating among the desolation of mediocrity and the heartbreak of underachievement. The only team in Major League Baseball to never to play in a World Series, Seattle is two wins away from capturing its first American League pennant and is heading home to T-Mobile Park for Game 3.
The Mariners’ dominant position is in large part thanks to a 32-year-old infielder whose feats have earned him the right to be called Iceman himself — and yet that’s not the nickname Polanco wears these days.
“He’s George Bonds,” M’s catcher Mitch Garver said.
Yes, Polanco’s alter ego is the anglicized version of his first name and the surname of Major League Baseball’s all-time home run leader. He earned it earlier this season, Garver said, when “everything he hit was 110 [mph] in a gap or over the fence. It was unbelievable.”
Particularly when considering that last winter, Polanco didn’t know whether he would be healthy enough to keep hitting major league pitching. Polanco, who had struggled for years with left knee issues, underwent surgery in October 2024 to repair his patellar tendon. A free agent, Polanco drew limited interest on the market and wound up re-signing with the Mariners for one year and $7.75 million.
“It’s been a journey, man,” Polanco said. “That’s the way I can put it. I wouldn’t say it’s been bad. I wouldn’t say it’s been easy. I think God just prepared me for this year. I’ve been hurt a little bit, so yeah; but now we here, and I’m glad to be back.
“You just have to have faith. You overcome. Come back stronger.”
Polanco’s strength has been on display all October. It first appeared in the second game of Seattle’s division series against the Detroit Tigers when he hit two home runs off ace Tarik Skubal, who is about to win his second consecutive Cy Young Award. It continued three games later in a winner-takes-all Game 5 when he lashed a single into right field in the 15th inning that advanced the Mariners to their first ALCS since 2001. It didn’t stop there, with Polanco’s go-ahead single in the sixth inning of Game 1 against the Blue Jays on Sunday.
Then came Monday’s fifth-inning blast off Toronto reliever Louis Varland, who fed a 98 mph fastball over the plate and watched it leave the bat at 105.2 mph, flying 400 feet to turn a 3-3 tie into a 6-3 Seattle lead.
“He’s always been a great hitter,” Mariners manager Dan Wilson said. “His swing right now is very short. That ball tonight, I wasn’t sure it was going to go out of the ballpark, but I think he’s just getting that kind of spin on it right now where it stays up.”
That is no accident. Polanco arrived in the major leagues with the Minnesota Twins in 2014 at age 20, a bat-to-ball savant whose ability to hit from both sides of the plate carved him out a regular role with the team.
“He wasn’t George Bonds before,” Garver said. “He was Harry Potter. Because he was a wizard. He’d just make hits appear.”
Polanco found power five years into his career, and he maxed out with 33 home runs for the Twins in 2021. But the degradation of his knee sapped the juice in his bat and left him flailing too often at pitches he’d have previously spit on. Last year, in his first season with the Mariners, his numbers cratered, but the organization appreciated Polanco’s even-keeled demeanor and believed fixing his knee would fix his swing too.
The Mariners were right. George Bonds was born during a ridiculous first month of the 2025 season when he whacked nine homers in 80 plate appearances. Polanco had embraced the M’s ethos of pulling the ball in the air. Raleigh led MLB with a 1.594 OPS on balls pulled. Third baseman Eugenio Suarez was second at 1.497. Polanco hit 23 of his 26 home runs this season to the pull side, and both of his homers off Skubal (hit from the right side) and the one against Varland (left) were met in front of the plate and yanked over the fence.
“Throughout the years, I hated going to Minnesota just solely because of him,” said shortstop J.P. Crawford, the longest-tenured Mariner. “The guy single-handedly beat us so many times. We all know the type of player he is when he is healthy, and it’s clearly showing right now.”
Never in the game’s 150-year history had a player logged three consecutive game-winning hits after the fifth inning in the postseason. It’s the sort of performance teams need to win pennants — and championships. As brilliant as Raleigh has been in a could-be-MVP campaign and as conflagrant as Julio Rodriguez was in the second half and as dominant as Seattle’s pitching has been en route to this point, winning playoff baseball takes more.
Like, say, a guy who over the winter was an afterthought hitting cleanup and never wavering, even in the highest-leverage situations.
“What’s most impressive is bouncing back after a rough year last year,” said Bryan Woo, who will start Game 3 on Wednesday against Toronto’s Shane Bieber. “Especially for a guy on his second team, back half of his career. To do what he’s doing — get healthy, come back, help the team like he has — is even more impressive than just playing good baseball.”
Playing good baseball helps too. Polanco has helped get Seattle in a place that barely a month ago looked impossible to conceive. From mid-August to early September, the Mariners lost 13 of 18, trailed Houston by 3½ games in the AL West and held a half-game lead on Texas for the final wild-card spot. From there, the Mariners went 17-4, won the West, earned a first-round bye and charted a course for history.
They’re not there. And yet even Polanco admitted that Mariners players can’t ignore the team’s history and recognize what it would mean to get to the World Series.
“Yeah, we think about it,” he said. “We’ve heard it a lot. We know.”
The knowledge hasn’t deterred them. Raleigh is raking. Rodriguez is slugging. Josh Naylor, who grew up in nearby Mississauga, blasted a two-run home run in Game 2. And George Bonds has shown up in style, cold as Iceman, cool as Maverick, perfectly happy to eschew silent mode in favor of loud contact.
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Bradford Doolittle
MILWAUKEE — Few teams have a lineage of great pitching as long as that of the Los Angeles Dodgers franchise. With this postseason, Blake Snell is making that star-studded line longer by one.
Snell dominated the Milwaukee Brewers over eight innings Monday, leading Los Angeles to a 2-1 Game 1 victory in the National League Championship Series before a packed house at American Family Field.
“That was just so good from the start,” said Dodgers first baseman Freddie Freeman, whose sixth-inning homer broke a scoreless tie. “Sometimes it takes an inning or two for someone to settle in. [Tonight] it was from the get-go.”
Snell held Milwaukee to one hit in going a full eight innings for only the second time in a career that has netted him a pair of Cy Young Awards. He struck out 10 and picked off the only baserunner he allowed — Caleb Durbin, who singled in the third.
Snell became the first pitcher to face the minimum through eight innings in a postseason game since Don Larsen threw a perfect game in the 1956 World Series. The only longer outing in Snell’s career was the no-hitter he threw for the San Francisco Giants on Aug. 2, 2024. Has he ever felt as locked in as he did Monday?
“The no-hitter, yeah,” Snell quipped.
Snell improved to 3-0 in a postseason during which no other starting pitcher has recorded two wins. He is the second Dodgers pitcher to win his first three playoff starts for the franchise, joining Don Sutton (1974).
If Los Angeles keeps winning, Snell will get more chances to add to his numbers, but for now, his 0.86 ERA over three outings is the second best for a Dodgers left-hander in a postseason (minimum 20 innings), behind only Sandy Koufax’s legendary run (0.38 ERA over three starts) in the 1965 World Series.
This is the kind of company Snell knew he’d be keeping when he signed with the Dodgers before the season.
“Even playing against them, watching, it was just always in the back of my mind, like, I wanted to be a Dodger and play on that team,” Snell said. “To be here now, it’s a dream come true. I couldn’t wish for anything more.”
Snell’s gem continued the Dodgers’ stretch of dominant starting pitching that began over the last month of the season and has propelled a postseason run for the defending champs, positioning them for a repeat despite an offense that has at times struggled to put up runs in the playoffs.
Dodgers starters are 6-1 with a 1.65 ERA so far in the postseason, logging six quality starts in L.A.’s seven games.
“Our starting pitching for the last seven, eight weeks, has been — I don’t know if you can write enough words in your stories about our starting pitching,” Freeman said. “It really has been amazing. They seem to feed off each other.”
But no Dodgers’ starter is on a run quite like that of Snell, who is hoping to win his first championship ring with the team he lost to as a member of the Tampa Bay Rays in the 2020 World Series.
Despite Snell’s dominance, the Dodgers still had to withstand a ninth-inning push by the stubborn Brewers and understand the series is just getting started. Still, with the way Snell is rolling, he’s conjuring names of Dodgers present and past, like Koufax, Kershaw, Sutton, Valenzuela and Hershiser.
“I feel like the whole postseason I’ve been pretty locked in, pretty consistent,” Snell said. “Different outings, but eight innings, went deeper. The last three I felt really good, really locked in. Consistent. Similar.”
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Jorge Castillo
TORONTO — J.P. Crawford, the longest-tenured member of the Seattle Mariners, has experienced some disappointment in his seven seasons in the Pacific Northwest. A last-place finish. Falling just short of reaching the postseason three times. Playoff exhilaration getting abruptly extinguished the year they made it.
Sometime early this season, the shortstop believed this team was different.
“We know we’re a good team,” he said shortly after the Mariners completed perhaps the most important road trip in franchise history with a 10-3 win over the Toronto Blue Jays on Monday night to take a 2-0 lead in the American League Championship Series. “And now everyone knows that we can do this thing, and that’s what’s lighting the fire underneath everyone.”
The Mariners are two wins from doing the thing — winning their first AL pennant and advancing to the World Series for the first time in franchise history — with Game 3 scheduled for Wednesday at T-Mobile Park. It is the first time they’ve led an ALCS by multiple games. It is the 28th time in postseason history that the road team has won the first two games of a best-of-seven series. Only three of those clubs lost the series.
“We think about it,” said second baseman Jorge Polanco, who swatted a go-ahead, three-run home run in the fifth inning to give Seattle a lead they didn’t relinquish. “We hear it a lot. We know. But the mentality is just keep it simple. Just try to refocus on playing game by game.”
Less than 24 hours after the Mariners — wearied after an emotional 15-inning win in Game 5 of the AL Division Series on Friday — won Game 1 thanks to a late-inning comeback fueled by adrenaline, they used a less dramatic blueprint in Game 2.
The Mariners pounded three home runs and got six scoreless innings from three relievers to complete Monday’s demolition inside an open-roofed Rogers Centre on Canadian Thanksgiving before heading back to Seattle to potentially close out the series.
The Mariners did not waste time inflicting heavy damage against a pitcher they never had faced. Eight days ago, Trey Yesavage held the New York Yankees hitless over 5⅓ innings in his fourth career start in Game 2 of the ALDS. His abnormally high release point and arm angle, coupled with a fastball-splitter combination, overwhelmed the Yankees.
The Mariners entered the encounter with a simple game plan to avoid falling victim to the splitter, which limited the Yankees to 0-for-11 with eight strikeouts: If it’s low, let it go. Wait for a mistake up in the zone and do not miss.
Julio Rodriguez did not miss. Three batters into the game, after Randy Arozarena was hit by a pitch and Cal Raleigh walked, Yesavage threw a mistake splitter to Rodriguez up and over the plate on a 1-2 count that Rodríguez cracked down the left-field line for a three-run shot.
It was the first home run Yesavage has allowed in his brief major league career — he had previously surrendered just two extra-base hits in four starts — and the first extra-base hit he has surrendered with his splitter in the majors.
“I feel like, at the end of the day, you got to see the ball and get your pitch,” Rodríguez said. “We have seen what he’s been doing, and obviously we respect that, but we went out there to compete.”
Blue Jays manager John Schneider called for a reliever to warm up as Yesavage’s pitch count approached 30 after Rodriguez’s crowd-silencing blast. But the rookie right-hander stranded a runner at second base with consecutive strikeouts. He then settled into the game as Toronto responded with three runs in the first two innings to tie the score. Yesavage held the Mariners without another run until departing with one out and two runners on base in the fifth inning.
Two batters after Yesavage’s exit, Polanco continued his torrid October by launching a 98 mph fastball from right-hander Louis Varland just over the right-center-field wall to give the Mariners the lead with their second three-run homer. The home run was the switch-hitting Polanco’s third of the postseason and first batting left-handed. His first two were against Detroit Tigers ace lefty Tarik Skubal in the ALDS. Polanco, a 12-year veteran, has eight RBIs in the playoffs, already tied for the third most in the Mariners’ concise postseason history.
Josh Naylor delivered the final blow, a two-run home run to right field off right-hander Braydon Fisher for Naylor’s third hit of the day to give Seattle a 9-3 lead in the seventh inning. A native of Mississauga, Ontario, the first baseman became the first Canadian-born player to hit a home run in the postseason as a visiting player in Canada.
“I went 0-for-4 yesterday, and we won,” Naylor said. “So, if I did it again today, maybe [it] was good luck to go 0-for-4, and we would win again. But I was very thankful to get some hits, help the team out. Super cool to do it in front of my family, too.”
Naylor celebrated the homer by pointing to the crowd behind the Mariners’ dugout as he began his trot. He and third baseman Eugenio Suarez were the two sluggers the Mariners acquired at the trade deadline to bolster an offense that failed to adequately complement an elite pitching staff in previous years. The moves solidified Crawford’s belief early in the season — that this team could do what no team has done since the franchise’s inception in 1977.
“We’re two wins away,” Crawford said. “If that doesn’t fire anyone up, I don’t know what can.”
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