The Lovable Reunion - Cubs pranks, a $10k check & World Series comeback w/ former strength coach Tim Buss | Ross & Rizzo

Welcome back to the reunion. Today we’ve got my guy, my brother, the quiet engine of our 2016 title run, Timothy Thomas “Buss” — the heartbeat in our room on and off the field.

Couldn’t wait for this. You crack jokes, but you build culture for real. You’ve touched stars and role players alike, and you helped us lift a trophy.

Our vibe started with wild spring skits and a daily “ball bag” callout to keep us honest, then turned into brotherhood on the road — Gold’s in Pittsburgh, tank tops, that Halfways diner, and my treadmill warmup at two point five. When did I feel we could win it all? After that late push in San Francisco and once vets like Lester and Lackey showed us how to finish.

Your rehab story with Solaire nails us. You asked BP to pause, I barked at you, we moved on. That was our thing: tell each other off, then lock in together.

You led that circle before BP where any negative had to be answered with two positives, and we chanted “on the base” on full counts. Those tiny rituals lifted guys, and I remember tears in Game Seven because it meant that much.

Stretch turned into a show we refused to miss. My kid even ran one. You knew when to get us out for a laugh during a heavy year, so what makes a winner to you?

Winners don’t talk curses, they talk winning. Theo and the Ricketts leveled up everything, and I finally sleep as a champion. I held onto little mantras about straightening crooked lines, went 10 for 10 once, and nearly smoked Rossi with a liner in a cage.

Reed Johnson told me to shove it, then crowded the plate and later credited me. D‑Lee wasn’t as amused. With Darvish, trust ran so deep he had a smoke, shoved, and we even added a vent for him between innings.

Your feel for when to push or back off was elite. Got a favorite from 2016?

It felt like touring with a band, fans everywhere, and Riz eating spaghetti with ranch on flights. Joe let us be ourselves with music and chaos, which was perfect for me and perfect for that room.

We lived in weight rooms on the road, got scolded at Equinox while I was clearly training the boys, and Ron Darling noticed. I shredded my hands on monkey bars, then when we went down three to one, we looped Rocky on the screens, flew in Halloween costumes, and kept our cool.

When that tie homer landed, I dropped to a knee in the weight room because the air changed. Riz had his own locked‑in soundtrack moment, then the rain delay hit and J‑Hey pulled us in — he waved me inside because I was one of us — and reminded everyone who we were and to have Chapman’s back; momentum flipped, we finished it, the parade was unreal, and I still carry the uncashed ten‑grand check Riz wrote me for his 100 RBIs.

We’re family for life. From a horse‑drawn ride in St. Louis to you spiking weighted balls at a wall after a bad loss, that fire — plus hiring the right people and Joe’s vibe — reset our culture for good.

I love you both. Add SeaWorld dolphins on an off‑day to the scrapbook, pinch‑me moments everywhere, and I’m grateful beyond words.