They’d partied the night before. Clinched the East. Sprayed the champagne. Wore the goggles. And they looked exactly like it for five innings on Tuesday night.
That’s because for five innings, Shohei Ohtani was doing Shohei Ohtani things. No hits. Barely a bead of sweat. A Dodger Stadium crowd that was already rehearsing the highlight montages in their heads.
And then? Then came the plan. Or maybe it was the lack of a plan. Ohtani’s night was done, and suddenly the Dodgers handed the ball to Justin Wrobleski, a rookie with a fresh ERA and the weight of Ohtani’s masterpiece in his hands. The boos began before he even finished his warm-ups. By the time Brandon Marsh had finished circling the bases on a three-run homer, they were deafening. By the time Max Kepler sent another one sailing into the night, the whole thing had flipped from no-hitter to nightmare in about ten minutes flat.
But baseball nights like this don’t just belong to the headliners. They find their way to the guys who barely get to play — the backup catcher, the one with 28 starts all year, the one who’s usually the afterthought in the box score.
Rafael Marchan broke up the no-hitter. Then, three innings later, he broke the Dodgers. With the game tied in the ninth and two outs, he turned on a cutter from Blake Treinen and launched it over the fence, into the Phillies bullpen, and into another chapter of a season that somehow keeps finding new heroes.
So the hungover Phillies, who were supposed to fade quietly into the Los Angeles night, walked off with a 9–6 win, their lead for the No. 2 seed in the National League swelling to 6 1/2 games.
And maybe that’s the bigger story here. A team that used to live and die by Bryce Harper or Zack Wheeler now has nights when Brandon Marsh or Max Kepler or Rafael Marchan carry them.
A different name every night. A different story every game.
Even Ohtani’s 50th homer, a thunderbolt that tied it in the eighth, couldn’t steal it back. Not on this night. Not when a backup catcher with no business being the star became the star.
The Phillies have been waiting all year for this version of themselves. A team deep enough, weird enough, resilient enough that the champagne can flow one night, and the next night, hungover or not, they’re still the ones leaving the ballpark with the music blaring.
Even Ohtani’s 50th homer, a thunderbolt that tied it in the eighth, couldn’t steal it back. Not on this night. Not when a backup catcher with no business being the star became the star.
The Phillies have been waiting all year for this version of themselves. A team deep enough, weird enough, resilient enough that the champagne can flow one night, and the next night, hungover or not, they’re still the ones leaving the ballpark with the music blaring.
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