The Dodgers’ eight World Series championships are individually worthy of a movie. With that in mind, we continue with part three of an eight-part series that takes one regular season game — a microcosm game for the team’s championship season — and treat it like a screenplay to a movie. The following is a true story of the 1988 World Series champions. The game is Dodgers vs. Expos, Aug. 20, 1988.
by Cary Osborne
His metal spikes made a crunching sound with every step in the infield dirt. Kirk Gibson, standing just beyond second base, peered in toward Montreal Expos catcher Nelson Santovenia. Gibson then peeked over his left shoulder to check the positioning of Montreal right fielder Dave Martinez.
Everything was moving fast — the seconds, Gibson’s heartbeat. All fast.
There were threes for each team under the run column on the Dodger Stadium scoreboard. There was a nine for the inning. There was a two for the outs.
A newspaper sports page laid on the ground beneath a seat, some distance from the action. The front leaf of horizontal paper displayed the date: Aug. 20, 1988, and below it a headline that read, “Hershiser Has the Numbers in 2–0 Victory.” The right-hander Hershiser had beaten the Expos the night before — a two-hit complete-game shutout that was the beginning of something big for the ace pitcher.
Deeper into the folded over pages, there it was in agate — the Dodgers holding first place in the National League West Division with a 70–51 record.
The guy that pitched in that 2–0 victory was a big reason for that mark. So was the guy on second base at the current moment.
The game was on the line, and it would be hard to argue that there was a man in the building who had more fortitude than Gibson.
That look over the shoulder was his way of exploring an avenue to beat the opponent. It’s what he demanded of his team from the moment he arrived at Vero Beach in Spring Training after signing with the Dodgers in the offseason — never lose sight of one’s goal.
He understood that his 24 teammates didn’t all have the same talent or skill level. But one thing they could all share was the commitment to win. And winning a championship in Los Angeles started with winning every day.
It’s why he was ticked off on the first day of Spring Training when teammate Jesse Orosco played a prank on him and filled the lining of his cap with black shoe polish. Gibson erupted and left the team that day, only to return the next still fuming.
It was the moment when others realized we’re here for one reason — to win a World Series in 1988.
No one would have picked this group to do that — not after finishing in fourth place the year before, not with a roster that on paper looked again like a fourth-place team. But the shoe-polish incident was the domino that fell, making everyday players lock in every day. It created a culture that made the non-starters prepared to stand-in like stuntmen and perform every day or excel on a whim.
It only accentuated what the manager of this team had always demanded of his Dodgers.
That manager, Tommy Lasorda, hated to lose as much if not more than he loved to win. And he could taste a win this August evening.
He sat on a bench inside the Dodger dugout and watched his left fielder Gibson take a lead at second base. Then he looked to the hitter in the batter’s box — John Shelby. Running through Lasorda’s mind was the obvious way his team could beat the Expos.
Shelby gets a hit. Gibson scores.
The mantras of the manager’s past were potentially playing out in front of him:
“Pull from the same side of the rope.”
“You gotta believe.”
Gibson, off second base, hunched over slightly and placed his palms on his legs. Those legs were the source of his power. Those legs helped make him an All-American wide receiver at Michigan State. They were the charging station that sent voltage to his upper body to then drive baseballs over fences with frequency. They helped make him a big-bodied baserunning threat that could inflict damage if someone got in his way.
Those legs had only failed him once in his Major League career. Two years before, he severely sprained his left ankle and missed 33 games.
The legs were strong now. From ankles to knees to hamstrings.
Expos pitcher Joe Hesketh gave Gibson a look, and then the left-hander went into his motion to deliver a pitch. Gibson released his hands from his legs and hopped and hopped again. Hesketh spiked the pitch in front of Santovenia, and the ball went between the catcher’s legs.
The fans behind home plate served as third base coaches, waving Gibson to take a base. At the three-quarter mark between second and third base, Gibson’s helmet flew off and his mind told him something.
Go!
Conventional wisdom says take the one base. Be satisfied. Play it safe.
That’s not the goal. Not with Gibson. There is only one goal — to win.
The former wide receiver rounded third base looking more like a linebacker chasing a running back. Santovenia threw the ball into Hesketh, who stood somewhat timidly on the outside of the plate. Three years before, Hesketh broke his leg sliding into home plate against the Dodgers.
Don’t stand in Gibson’s path.
The baseball arrived from Santovenia late anyway. The freight train had arrived at the station.
Gibson scored. He popped up and bounced, throwing his fist in celebration. Lasorda ran out of the dugout with a humongous smile and both fists in the air. Gibson’s teammates mobbed him at home plate.
A 4–3 walk-off victory.
Improbable — yes.
Impossible — no.
Not for Kirk Gibson.
1988 Championship Year, a Symbolic Game: Gibby was originally published in Dodger Insider on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.