The Lovable Reunion - The WILD PRESSURE of pitching in Cubs' World Series w/ Justin Grimm & Mike Montgomery | Ross & Rizzo

Welcome back with the boys: Mike Montgomery and Justin Grimm, both forever tied to that title run; Monty got the last out, and Grimm was the quiet gear that made our comebacks possible.

Getting traded from Texas and told to go to Triple A stung, but it pushed me into that fireman lane where I stopped chasing innings and just killed rallies, ego down and job first.

Bullpen depth isn’t just for holding leads, it’s what keeps a two-run hole from becoming five; Joe rode the horses to win every night, and that trust tree mattered.

I came from Seattle in a starter–reliever blur, felt that initial punch, then realized the best team in baseball wanted me; I listened, found my lane, and played for the guys more than the narrative.

How much did Lester Strode and Bosio help you two live in those hybrid roles?

Lester knew when to joke and when to lock it in, and Bosio had a knack for a simple tweak at the right time; everybody wanted the eighth or ninth, but embracing roles is how a pen actually wins.

You feel it when you slip in and out of trust, want the ball after a bad outing, and still post back-to-backs; that availability is why we believed.

In October we leaned into matchups and rode Chappy a ton; when your roles got sporadic in the Series, how’d you stay razor ready?

Game three I inherited traffic that turned into bases loaded, stepped off, reset, and shook into a run of curveballs at Lindor; the punchout was pure current running through my body.

October was matchup chess and midnight adrenaline, and in game seven I walked into a room where Chappy was emotional and told CJ it might be on us.

They’d pinched to Martinez, our notes said he hadn’t handled lefty breaking balls, so I focused on landing the first one and did it again; wild considering two years earlier I couldn’t trust that pitch at all.

At first base on that last chopper I loaded my glove with pine tar, begged the ball to stick, and then it was joy and a dogpile; I pocketed the ball, Monty asked for it—totally fair—and it ended up where it belongs.

Relief flooded into pride because months earlier Japan was an option, and now I’d closed game seven; I’m good with that ball living in Cooperstown.

I’d wanted to start for years, but accepting the bullpen life put me in the middle of moments like that, and I loved how our group even fought for guys in the share meeting.

We don’t win without every piece, especially you two, and that’s why a decade later we’re still swapping stories and raising a toast to the next ten.