Dodgers History: The final out of the 2024 Series will forever link these two (Dodger) Blue Kentucky Boys

Bottom of the 9th, Dodgers 7, Yankees 6 – Yankee Stadium, Game 7

“The beautiful pressure of the World Series—sometimes it doesn’t just test your limits… it redefines them.” —John Smoltz

That’s how the inning began on Fox Sports, and no words could have captured the moment better. As Walker Buehler stepped onto the mound in the bottom of the ninth at Yankee Stadium, ball in hand, the weight of a franchise, a decade of dominance, and a lifetime of pain and perseverance hung in the cold Bronx air. The Dodgers, once down 5–0, had stormed all the way back in Game 5 of the 2024 World Series. Now they led 7–6—three outs from their eighth championship, three outs from redemption.

The chill of late October wrapped Yankee Stadium like a vice, but the heat was all on the mound. Walker Buehler, the Dodgers’ homegrown ace from Lexington, Kentucky, took the ball for the final inning. Across from him, crouched low and locked in, was Will Smith—the calm, durable backstop from Louisville. Two Kentucky kids. Two products of the Dodger farm system. Ninety feet from glory.

The crowd buzzed with defiance and dread. The Bronx faithful knew that three outs stood between them and another offseason of regret. But for Buehler and Smith, every pitch was a culmination of years spent grinding in the minors, of spring training mornings and October nights, of a brotherhood forged in blue.

Walker Buehler and Will Smith, two sons of Kentucky, were drafted just two years apart by the Los Angeles Dodgers—Buehler in the first round out of Vanderbilt in 2015, and Smith in the first round out of the University of Louisville in 2016. Their paths converged in the minor leagues, where they rose through the Dodgers’ farm system together, often sharing long bus rides, bullpen sessions, and late-night talks about what it would take to win a title in blue. Buehler, the electric right-hander from Lexington, became known for his postseason poise and fiery competitiveness.

Smith, the quiet but steely catcher from Louisville, quickly earned a reputation as one of the game’s most reliable backstops—handling elite pitching staffs with a calm presence and clutch bat. Over the years, their partnership grew into something deeper than pitcher and catcher; it became a brotherhood, forged by shared goals, Southern roots, and a relentless drive to bring a championship to Los Angeles. In the end, it was fitting that the two Kentucky kids would be the battery to shut the door on the 2024 World Series. Two homegrown players on a roster packed with imported talent. Betts, Freeman, Ohtani, Teoscar Hernandez were vital to the story, but none of them had lived as much Dodger history as the pitcher and catcher now tasked with bringing the trophy home.

The fact that the World Series came down to these two was an absurdity as ridiculous as the Dodgers’ earlier five-run inning that had tied this game in the first place. Buehler, coming off a second Tommy John surgery, wasn’t even a lock to make the postseason roster until injuries forced the Dodgers into it. And, he was pitching in an unfamiliar position: in relief, on just two days’ rest. He’d have to rely on every bit of his competitive nature to win this one.

This wasn’t just any save situation. Buehler was pitching less than 48 hours removed from a gritty Game 3 start. He’d missed almost two full seasons recovering from a second Tommy John surgery. Just weeks earlier, he’d been fighting for a postseason roster spot. Now, improbably, he was about to join the pantheon—Walter Johnson in 1924, Randy Johnson in 2001, Madison Bumgarner in 2014, Chris Sale in 2018… and now, Walker Buehler in 2024.

First up: Anthony Volpe, the Yankees’ rising star and Game 4 hero. He had hit the grand slam that saved New York’s season the night before. First pitch—ball one, high heat. As John Smoltz warned from the booth, adrenaline could give you velocity. But could Buehler still command it?

As if in answer to the question, Buehler let his second pitch fly—a 94.9 mph sinker, painted perfectly on the outside corner. Strike one.

Third pitch—a knuckle curve, fouled off harmlessly down the first base line. 1–2.

“A most improbable ninth-inning character out there for the Dodgers,” Joe Davis mused as Buehler tossed the rosin bag around in his hand. Then he let his next pitch fly.

Ball two—97 up and away. The crowd pulsed with life, with the count evening, the chances of Volpe reaching increased markedly.

Then, Smith called for the hook again— this one 77.6 mph, darting like a snake. Volpe chopped it down the line to third. Max Muncy gloved the friendly bounce cleanly and fired a strike across the diamond. Freddie Freeman stretched as the ball found leather. One out.

Next up: Yankees catcher Austin Wells. Buehler dropped in a curve to get ahead in the count. The second pitched bounced over Smith’s head and rolled to the backstop for ball one. Then, Buehler just missed with a low-and-in fastball. Then Wells couldn’t time up a curve and fouled it off to the right side. With the count even at 2–2, Yankee Stadium was on edge. Another foul at the plate. Then Buehler missed with a fastball to bring the count to full. Smith’s fingers went down for the breaker again—a 77.4 mph dagger. Wells swung through it.

Two outs.

The Dodgers were now one out from glory. And as the booth reminded the audience, this was about more than one title. This was about erasing doubt, about putting 2020 to bed. About finally getting the parade they never had. About saying, yes, this was the team of the decade. And they earned it.

Then came the final challenge.

Alex Verdugo, a former Dodger, stood between Los Angeles and history. The stadium swelled with noise. The Dodgers’ dugout leaned forward. Dave Roberts, the manager whose career had been defined as much by postseason heartbreak as it had by regular season triumph, adjusted the outfield alignment. His next move wouldn’t be a double switch—it would be to celebrate.

First pitch— Smith went back to the curveball, but Buehler left it low. Ball one.

Second—a 93 mph cutter out of the zone, but Verdugo swung and missed to even the count at 1-1.

Third—a 78.7 mph knuckle curve, down and biting. Swing and a miss. One and two.

The Dodgers were a strike away from October glory. Smith called for one more bender.

Buehler delivered—a 77.5 mph knuckle curve, dancing down and away, just like they’d practiced so many times in spring training, in bullpens in Tulsa, in meaningless April games and electric Octobers. Verdugo swung. Missed. Will Smith, having fielded the ball on a bounce, jumped out of his crouch and tagged Vergudo to make it official.

Strike three. Ballgame.

World Series.

Champions.

The roar of celebration drowned out even the broadcast. Buehler swaggered about the mound, arms raised in a “What-else-did-you-expect?” gesture. Smith rushed the mound. The dugout emptied. Blue caps flew skyward. Start the party, Los Angeles.

Smith met Buehler at the mound. Buehler leapted into the air shoulder blocking himself into Smith’s outstretched arms. They’d done it. The two Kentucky boys had brought home the World Series crown to Hollywood.

The Dodgers had completed the largest comeback win in a clinching game in World Series history. A 5–0 hole had become a 7-6 coronation. The Yankees cracked the door. The Dodgers—calloused, tested, and tired—kicked it in.

Teoscar Hernández got his ring. Shohei Ohtani, in his first postseason, earned a title. Freddie Freeman, the series MVP, homered in the first four games. Mookie Betts, the steady force of the team, became the first active player with three rings.

And Dave Roberts, so often doubted, had managed his masterpiece.

But at the heart of it all, the final image wasn’t stats or headlines—it was Will Smith and Walker Buehler, the boys from Kentucky, embracing on the mound at Yankee Stadium. The catcher who never blinked. The pitcher who came back from the edge.

Two friends. Two Dodgers. One dream.

Forever sealed in October.

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