The Lovable Reunion - NEVER HEARD 2016 Cubs stories, BIGGEST PLAY of Game 7 & HATING the Cardinals

Welcome back to Lovable Reunion; we’ve got Matt Caesar, Chris Coghlan, and Albert Almora here to relive 2016 from the grind side and pull out the moments that really built that title run.

Walking into that clubhouse as a rookie, Rossy sat by my locker and told me to be myself and help us win, and that erased the pressure and shaped how I played.

I’d seen the other side in San Diego with vets who made it miserable, so when I got to Chicago and Dempster told me to be me, it set a standard I promised I’d carry as a veteran.

The longer I played, the clearer it got that everyone has to feel secure to perform, so we ribbed without crossing lines and made sure even the most unsure guy felt like he belonged.

That balance mattered; we ditched the cruel hazing and kept it fun, and the young guys played free because the room let them breathe.

Back in 2014 we were tired of getting pushed around, the Reds dust-up snapped something in me, and it became a tone-setter that flowed into 2015 and then 2016.

In 2015 Joe kept saying take the ball back, we clipped the Cardinals and suddenly those weight-room hugs stopped, and you felt the league recognize a shift.

Arietta was shoving, we never felt out of a game, Joe’s lose hard and win hard mantra stuck, and the veterans led without beating guys up so we slept fine knowing we didn’t beat ourselves.

You realize how much a vet’s tone shapes everything; I loved seeing someone like Brett Gardner take the heat so the room could stay focused, because leadership up top steadies everyone.

Lackey drilled me and I was swelling, but Rizz tore off the pink pad before a Cards charity event because he refused to show weakness, and it summed up our no-flinch posture in that rivalry.

That 2016 clubhouse felt like family—Mario Kart after games, Vince Vaughn walking in while we barely looked up, everyone caring about kids and parents—and winning first, then learning from losing, taught me how rare that is.

When Dex came back in spring and I got traded to Oakland, my locker was boxed before I could change, and it hit hard how one guy’s joy rocks another guy’s family.

That’s baseball—someone gets the call, someone moves—and it’s brutal off the field even when the team gets better.

When CC returned and my at-bats shrank, I kept my head down, worked, and refused to bring any bitterness into a room that was chasing a ring.

That patience is tough for young, high-expectation guys, but staying ready without pouting is a real skill on a winning team.

Behind the scenes we had hilarity, like me launching a chewed piece of gum to a fan postgame and the fans going nuts, which reminded us how human and goofy this ride can be.

I loved the plane rides, hauling beers as a rookie while the vets held court in the back, and listening to Lester on the bus mic once he found some courage was must-hear late-night comedy.

In the Series, Cogs got left off and never sulked, and that pro’s pro presence is why the room loved him even more.

It stung because I’d changed my swing and was raking, but the team came first and I wasn’t going to undercut what we’d built.

When Joe told me I’d start Game One, then shifted me from left to right after barely starting for weeks, I used a trick—call nerves excitement—and rode that buzz despite the cold and the chaos.

We hit turbulence midyear when Tommy La Stella got optioned and walked away for a bit, Joe pressed Cogs before a start, he answered with knocks, and that whole episode reminded us how volatile depth gets even in a dream season.

In Game Seven, Rajai’s homer made the dugout go silent and I thought, so this is what Cubs fans feel, then during the rain delay I got the nod to pinch-run and fought the nerves just walking to first.

On KB’s deep fly I read Davis coasting, got back to tag instead of hanging halfway, and took second because instincts beat the textbook in that moment.

People at home don’t see how against-the-book that was with no outs, but that jump-started the inning and changed our lives.

I wanted the hero swing in the tenth, was sure they’d challenge me, then watched the four fingers and took the walk, but switching to Caesar’s shorter bat earlier that October had unlocked my swing when I’d been scuffling.

Wild twist—my E60 on the bone-marrow story aired the day Rizz switched to my model, and without our friendship from those 5:30 a.m. lifts he never borrows that bat.

Miggy’s grand slam here and his work handling Chappy in Game Seven showed how many different hands it took—almost the entire roster had a fingerprint on that win.

Winning in 2016 bonded us for life, and no matter where we all go, that family thread is permanent; appreciate you boys for pulling these memories back—let’s go celebrate a little.