Yoshinobu Yamamoto walked off the mound Thursday night with a line that hardly made sense: six walks, one hit, no runs in 5.1 innings. Afterward, he didn’t pretend it felt clean. “First of all, because it led to a team win, I think that was good,” he said in Japanese, then immediately turned the spotlight on his command. “As for the walks, I haven’t reviewed the details yet, but mechanically I wasn’t quite organized. There were some good pitches and some bad pitches, and I couldn’t stay steady. Still, I managed to keep them scoreless, so that was good.”
Asked if San Francisco’s hitters were unusually stubborn, Yamamoto allowed that parts of the game did look like that. “There were at-bats where it felt like they were patient and grinding, and others where it didn’t,” he said. “But overall, I threw too many balls.” It was the theme of his night: long counts, traffic, and problem-solving. He fell behind far more than he prefers, then snapped back with a splitter under the barrel or a four-seamer above it. The give-and-take left him dissatisfied with the process but proud of the result.
If “mechanically off” sounded like a diagnosis, Yamamoto also described the in-game treatment plan. “I was a little off mechanically,” he said, “but I was able to make some adjustments as the game went on.” You could see it in real time. The first inning ended with a swinging strikeout after two walks; the second featured the Giants’ lone hit, a grounder from Patrick Bailey, and nothing else. When the sixth opened with a free pass and a steal, he got a strikeout and a harmless lineout before giving the ball to Jack Dreyer, who stranded the runner. Yamamoto didn’t sugarcoat the route he took to those outs—“I couldn’t put everything together,” he said—but he kept the game inside the rails until the offense finally pushed across two in the bottom of the sixth.
There was a larger current to navigate as well: the emotional undertow of Clayton Kershaw’s retirement announcement. Yamamoto wore the moment with visible respect. “When I first heard it, I felt really sad because he’s such a great presence,” he said. “Spending two seasons on the same team gave me an experience in my baseball life that can’t be replaced.” He emphasized how much he’s tried to absorb from Kershaw’s example. “I learned a lot from him,” Yamamoto said. “His presence was the biggest on the team. From the way he prepares to the way he competes, there was so much to learn.” Then came the aspiration that reveals how he’s processing this farewell. “I truly want to become a pitcher like him,” he said, “and someday I want to work to surpass a great senior like that.”
Pressed on just how meaningful their time together has been, Yamamoto reached for words and admitted there might not be enough of them. “I don’t really know how to express it,” he said, “but his presence in my life and my career is tremendously big. I learned so much from watching him, and I sincerely respect him.” For a 26-year-old ace in a new league, those lines landed as both tribute and roadmap. Kershaw’s standards—availability, accountability, relentless competitiveness—are the ones Yamamoto has been trying to embody, even on nights when the ball won’t obey.
That’s what made this outing instructive. The box score will say “scoreless,” but Yamamoto focused on the path to get there: scattered release points, too many non-competitive misses, and moments where he had to rebuild the at-bat pitch by pitch. He framed it as a lesson rather than a warning. “There were good pitches and bad pitches,” he repeated, “and I couldn’t stay consistently good. But I kept us in the game.” It’s a simple sentence that doubles as a starter’s creed.
The clubhouse will remember this one for its oddities—ten Dodgers walks issued, one Giants hit allowed, a 2–1 win stitched together by Ohtani’s two doubles, a fielder’s-choice miscue, and late punchouts from Blake Treinen and Alex Vesia. Yamamoto will remember it for the work in between: the mid-inning resets, the small mechanical tweaks, the calm required to land the right pitch after three that weren’t. If Kershaw’s farewell is a reminder of what greatness looks like over time, Yamamoto’s postgame words sounded like a young ace internalizing that blueprint—even on a night when the strike zone kept shrinking in his hand.
In the end, he measured success the way Kershaw so often did: by the scoreboard. “It connected to a team win,” he said. “That’s what matters.” The rest—film, feel, fixes—comes tomorrow.
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