History of the World Series – 1995
History of the World Series – 1995
By Steve Marantz For The Sportng News
OK, maybe we’re premature. They just won their first World Series since 1957.
But if we can agree that dynasties need not win four or five Series, as did the Yankees of the 1930s and 1950s, or even three, as did the A’s of the 1979s, then we have a case. The definition of dynasty is no more graven upon Babe Ruth’s Hall of Fame plaque than upon the icy equanimity of Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine. A Dynasty is judged by the standards of its era. If it walks and talks like a dynasty, then it probably is — unless, of course, it’s George Steinbrenner.
Fact is, the Braves have yet to accomplish as much as the Blue Jays of ’85-’93, Yankees of ’76-’81, Reds of ’70-’76 or Orioles of ’66-’71. All won at least two World Series and, except for the Blue Jays, four pennants. But the point is not that the Braves are the best team of the last 30 years; it’s that they are catching up with those teams.
At minimum, the Braves are a dynasty-in-waiting. In five years they have won a World Series, three National League pennants and a division crown. In 1994, they were headed for no less than a wild card before players went on strike.
They have equaled the A’s of ’88-’92 — a division crow, three pennant and a World Series — but there is little chance they will suffer the same decline. The A’s were leveled by weak starting pitching, a farm system of modest yield and a lack of financial will and wherewithal. None of those pitfalls awaits the Braves. No, the Braves are the 18-wheeler of baseball, built for the long haul. “This club is the team of the ’90s,” Braves President Stan Kasten says, “and the ’90s are only half over.”
Manager Bobby Cox, guardedly optimistic, notes that the organization’s best prospects are at the lower minor-league levels, among them Andruw Jones, a five-tool phenom from Curacao who batted .277 with 25 homers, 100 RBIs and 56 steals this season at Class-A Macon (South Atlantic). By the time they arrive, the current youth — Javier Lopez, Ryan Klesko, Chipper Jones — will be grizzled. “We have enough youth on this club to carry it for about the next four years,” Cox says. “The nucleus is good.”
Maddux, Glavine and John Smoltz are in their primes, as are Dave Justice, Fred McGriff, Mark Lemke and Marquis Grissom. The core — if it remains intact — has a lot of mileage left in it. Nothing is guarantees, however. The Blue Jays present a cautionary tale. After their six-game conquest of the Phillies in the ’93 Series, there was reason to think they would continue on top. Like the Braves, they are well-capitalized and strong organizationally. But their dominant closer, Duane Ward, went down with a bad shoulder. Two bright young starters, Pat Hentgen and especially Juan Guzman, fell off. Veterans Joe Carter, Paul Molitor and John Olerud declined and a couple of touted prospects failed to deliver. “There’s a certain unpredictability — it’s a very fragile sport,” Indians General Manager John Hart says. “You lose a Duane Ward, it kills you.”
It could happen. Closer Mark Wohlers, he of the triple-digit heat and irrepressible enthusiasm, could go down. Any of the starters — Maddux, Glavine, Smoltz, Steve Avery, Kent Mercker — could come up lame. Things happen. But so far they haven’t happened to the Braves. Part of it is due to method, part to luck.
Glavine pondered a repeat after closing out the Indians in Game 6 with a one-hitter that inscribed him in World Series legend. “I know the difficulty getting back to the World Series after losing,” he says. “I can’t imagine it will be much more difficult getting back from the winning side. It takes a lot of luck to get back here.”
The Braves of ’95 proved to be a special team. They were well-paced — above .500 in every month — and nerveless, saving their best baseball for the postseason. They had great pitching, good managing, solid fielding and ordinary hitting. Above all, they had strong, confident personalities, among them Justice and Glavine.
Only Justice knows why he criticized Atlanta fans a day before Game 6. Perhaps he was trying to motivate fans, or himself, or his teammates. What he said, was, “If we don’t win, they’ll probably burn our houses down . . . and if we win, it’s for the 25 guys in here, the coaches and Bobby.” He elaborated. “If we get down 1-0, they will probably boo us out of the stadium. You would have to do something great to get them out of their seats.”
Next morning, Justice awoke to a headline bannered across the top of the Atlanta sports section: “Justice Takes a Rip at Braves Fans.” Nerves attacked his stomach; he admitted to a queasy feeling in the hours leading up to the game, saying it was the most pressure he’d ever felt.
Boos drenched Justice during introductions and his first at-bat. But this being the World Series — a time for dramatic climax — he simply did what any hero must. He hit a home run to win the game, 1-0. He got the fans out of their seats. Their noise warmed his hero’s heart. Through a mist of champagne, Justice apologized: “The fans were the biggest factor. They proved me wrong. They definitely proved me wrong.”
If any player understands what Justice went through, then it is Glavine. As the club’s player rep and one of the union’s most visible spokespersons during the strike, Glavine became a lightning rod for angry and resentful fans. One of his comments, to the effect he “could live on $3 million” even if cut from his current $5-million salary, struck an indignant chord. When the season opened, Atlanta fans subjected Glavine to persistent booing and heckling, which only faded away after several starts.
Glavine could not argue union politics with fans in the stands. All he could do was pitch; he logged one of his best seasons (16-7, 3.08 ERA). Then he won Game 2 of the Series, 5-3, on guile and a good changeup. By now the strike was a fading memory, but Glavine got another chance to bury it for good after Maddux lost Game 5. Glavine’s Game 6 one-hitter — a masterpiece — will ensure his place among Atlanta’s most popular athletes. But he makes it clear popularity was not on his mind. Glavine measures the world through cool, unblinking eyes. He offers no comment about his union role and ultimately leaves the impression he has sealed off fans from his feelings.
“I was trying to do what I’ve been doing for the last four years — give the team a chance to win,” Glavine says. “If people like me now, that’s great, but that’s not the reason I went out there. I went out there because I’m proud of what I do as a pitcher . . . and because I know how much these guys wanted to win. I know how much I wanted to win.”