Mookie Betts’ struggles in the postseason have Red Sox reporters asking crazy questions about the Dodgers’ World Series absence
As the Los Angeles Dodgers teetered on the brink of elimination in the 2025 World Series against the Toronto Blue Jays, the spotlight fell heavily on Mookie Betts, the former Boston Red Sox superstar whose bat had gone eerily silent at the worst possible time. Through the first five games of the Fall Classic, Betts managed just three hits in 23 at-bats, a paltry .130 average with no extra-base hits and zero RBI, dragging his overall postseason line to .234/.319/.328 across 15 games. This slump wasn’t just a blip; it echoed a frustrating regular season where Betts posted a career-low .258/.326/.406 slash line, his worst offensive output in a full campaign. For a player accustomed to MVP-caliber dominance, the drop-off was stark, and it fueled a Dodgers offense that scored a meager three runs in Games 4 and 5 combined, pushing the team to the edge of an early exit.
Betts’ woes began resurfacing in the World Series after a somewhat promising start to October. He had collected 12 hits in the first three playoff rounds, including a solid second half of the regular season where he slashed .279/.342/.442. But against Toronto, the magic vanished. In the marathon 18-inning Game 3, Betts went 1-for-8, and his frustration boiled over after Game 5’s one-run defeat. “I’ve just been terrible,” Betts admitted to reporters, his voice laced with exasperation. “I wish it was from lack of effort, but it’s not. I don’t have any answers.” Manager Dave Roberts, searching for a spark, dropped Betts to the third spot in the lineup for Game 5—the lowest he’d batted since September 2021—and even benched center fielder Andy Pages, whose postseason woes rivaled Betts’. Teams intentionally walked Shohei Ohtani to face Betts, a strategy that paid dividends as the Dodgers’ stars faltered collectively.
The struggles rippled beyond the diamond, igniting a firestorm among Red Sox media still haunted by the 2020 trade that sent Betts to Los Angeles. Boston reporters, covering the series from afar, couldn’t resist revisiting old wounds. Was this slump proof that the Red Sox were right to let him go? Michael Hurley of NBC Sports Boston posed the uncomfortable query: Is Betts “cooked” at age 33, with seven years and $195 million left on his deal? The trade, once lambasted as a franchise-altering blunder, suddenly looked prescient to some. Boston had offered Betts a 10-year, $300 million extension, but concerns over long-term regression—now seemingly materializing—prompted the deal. “Did the Red Sox actually get it right?” one columnist asked, noting Betts’ .222/.301/.367 World Series career line across multiple appearances.
These questions bordered on the absurd, bordering on schadenfreude for a player who’d delivered three World Series titles (one with Boston in 2018) and revolutionized shortstop play with Gold Glove defense. Yet, they underscored the Dodgers’ precarious position: no Betts meant no repeat. His swing looked altered—too pull-heavy, homer-chasing, a far cry from the adjusted mechanics that sparked his late-season surge with input from hitting coaches and former teammate J.D. Martinez. Defensively, Betts remained elite, but errors like one in Game 3 amplified the narrative. Former Red Sox slugger David Ortiz, broadcasting for FOX, urged Betts to “put it all behind” and rediscover the joy: “At the end of the day, that’s what the game is about—having fun.”
The Dodgers’ offense, once a juggernaut, averaged just 3.6 runs per game in the series, with the top of the order—Ohtani, Will Smith, Betts, Freddie Freeman—going 1-for-15 with eight strikeouts in Game 5. Toronto’s pitching, led by aces like Kevin Gausman, exploited every weakness. As Game 6 loomed in Toronto, the Blue Jays needed one win for their first title since 1993, while the Dodgers faced their first potential World Series absence since… well, the question hung in the air, absurd as it was for a team built to dominate.
Betts’ history offered hope. He’d overcome similar Octobers, turning slumps into surges. In 2024, he posted a .952 OPS in the playoffs en route to a championship. But with the Dodgers trailing 3-2, the pressure was immense. Red Sox reporters’ “crazy questions”—hinting at regret over the trade or Betts’ decline—ignored his intangibles: the leadership, the versatility, the clutch moments yet to come. If Betts rediscovered his form, as he did with a bases-loaded single in earlier rounds, the Dodgers could force Game 7. His absence from the highlight reel wasn’t just personal; it threatened the franchise’s dynasty dreams.
Critics pointed to swing changes, perhaps overcompensation for a first-half .674 OPS. Others blamed postseason pressure on a player who’d won it all before. Betts himself traced issues back further, but refused excuses. The real insanity wasn’t his slump—common in baseball’s crucible—but the glee from Boston media at the Dodgers’ potential downfall. After all, Betts had thrived in L.A., signing a 12-year extension and becoming a shortstop sensation.
As the series shifted north, the narrative teetered. A Betts breakout could silence the doubters and propel a comeback. Failure might validate those wild queries, leaving the Dodgers absent from championship glory and Red Sox fans smirking. In a sport defined by redemption, Betts held the key. His struggles weren’t just stats; they were a referendum on trades, aging curves, and October magic. With everything on the line, the baseball world watched, waiting for Mookie to answer—not with words, but with the swing that once made him unstoppable.
