The Lovable Reunion - Dexter Fowler’s AWESOME stories on Cubs World Series run, Bill Murray, SNL cameo | Lovable Reunion

Welcome back to Loveable Reunion; ten years since our title, and we’ve got Dexter Fowler here to relive it with us—I still can’t believe it’s been a decade.

Ten years snuck up fast; we already had a little pre‑party and it got wild, so the real celebration’s gonna be insane.

Our thing was always energy and honesty; if one of us dragged, the other two carried the room, and I can’t wait to run through those stories.

Y’all were elite teammates on and off the field; Rossi was the judge and the gavel, and the vibe in that clubhouse was just right.

I tried to give love loudly so the hard truths landed; I’d still shout out Dex’s grab even if the inning went sideways, then hold guys to our standard.

That balance stuck with me; I started making a point to hand out quick, real praise so the tough stuff hit clean.

I played middleman across ages and egos, and I leaned on Rossi for read‑checks because he knew how winning rooms worked.

We added big pieces in fifteen, but having a true, tone‑setting leadoff like you was the perfect throwback fit.

Mallee coached me in Houston; I saw KB, Soler, and Javy mashing in Iowa, texted him that the Cubs were about to explode, and pushed my way into that trade.

I knew your routine from playing you, but how’d you plug in so fast after the move?

Joe Madden let me be myself; even when I was piling up called thirds early, he told me I was leading off every day, and that belief loosened me up and unlocked my best.

When a manager locks you in like that, you stop looking over your shoulder and you ball out.

We all knew you were headed to free agency, and the mission was simple—win and help you secure the bag.

When you left, people kept asking what was missing; every piece matters, and your spark at the top plus your presence were huge—seeing you walk back in that spring was a goosebumps moment.

Baltimore talks got weird with the draft pick and no opt‑out, then Theo and I inched close, a false report dropped, and I snuck in for a late‑night physical; walking into camp unannounced and getting mobbed was the most wanted I’ve ever felt, especially after we’d added J‑Hey, Lackey, and Zobrist.

Baseball trains you to feel ‘not enough,’ so that kind of welcome hit deep.

I never saw myself as the missing piece—I just wanted to add to what we had and bring it every day.

People chirped your defense for playing in, then you moved back and graded out elite; it was never about spreadsheets, it was about earning pitchers’ trust.

I cared about my guys on the mound more than charts; if they wanted me shaded a certain way, I did it.

Our turn in fifteen was sweeping the Giants, then karaoke at Stanley’s, and that rolled into the Pirates wild card in a division of rivals.

I set up a hyperbaric and IVs, told Jake he needed one run, and built a plan for Cole’s amped two‑seamer; I reached, stole, Schwarbs cashed it, and the blackout crowd shook—Snake was otherworldly and we knew we had it.

We reset after dropping Game 1 to the Cards with a big team dinner, then ripped three straight; in sixteen we started hot, I met Emily in Arizona, and you hit me with that Brut bit that became a running gag with J‑Hey.

I was roasting your fits and keeping the inside jokes going early; that’s how trust builds past baseball.

The All‑Star break felt like a Cubs takeover—two planes, coolers snuck in, and the whole room crowding our corner.

Everybody wanted to hang with us because the energy was magnetic, vets and young stars alike.

Joe hit us with ‘you go, we go’ after learning how often we won when you reached twice, and that became our north star.

I made it simple—just get on base by any means and trust the lineup to do the rest.

When your goal is winning, the numbers take care of themselves.

Exactly—play the game right and the stat line follows.

Joe’s themes, road‑trip circus, and clubhouse bits kept the curse‑talk quiet and the pressure light.

When you were spiraling in August, I handed you a Crown and Sprite, you unclenched, and smoked your next swing—that’s knowing your brother.

We were generous with playoff shares and still laughed through a back‑and‑forth about the wives liaison; ‘eighty’ became a running joke even as we set records for giving.

My best memories are off the field—karaoke with Theo, late nights with the boys—and you spend the rest of your career trying to recreate that culture; it starts at the top.

Tom, Theo, and Joe made it family; they even put families on a separate plane in October so we could lock in and just play.

That’s the edge—invest in each other, make guys feel like the guy, and the team levels up.

Now, Game 7—lead off and you jumped us off the line with one swing.

Bill Murray pulled out his ‘speedball’—five‑hour and a little whiskey—and we rode that ritual into the finale.

My heart was thumping, I mapped Kluber’s zone, spit on the edges, hunted the front‑hip two‑seamer, got three‑one, and lifted it; I tracked it all the way, saw it clear, and yelled back at the dugout with all of it.

The way you turned and looked told us we were in business, and the bench exploded.

Forty‑five minutes pregame we were playing Mario Kart and blasting Rocky—I stripped down and danced—because we were loose and totally prepared.

I told you Miller had a tell; you used it, stayed calm with two strikes, sold out on the heater, and got him.

I saw the cue, parked the brain noise, and hunted the pitch he shook to—right into my bat path.

Great teams watch, talk, and share the plan all game long.

I always wanted the attack plan, not a spreadsheet—tell me what plays in two strikes and where he misses.

Chapman knew the job—bring fire—but after we dreamed about lacing Jordan elevens in center, Rajai took him deep and snatched our breath for a minute.

That stretch shook me more than I expected; I usually bounce back quick, but not then. What do you remember about the rain delay speech?

Right before it we were upstairs blowing off steam like knuckleheads, then walked into a room where everyone finally told the truth. J-Hey pulled us together, tears came out, and it felt like the reset we needed before going after the best team in the world.

We win, the parade hits, and I’m thinking Vegas with my boys from home, but SNL calls and you can’t say no. We reroute the plane to New York and I bring the crew.

The green room felt like the clubhouse after Game Seven, packed wall to wall. Then Bill Murray strolls in, tosses the script, says we’re doing it his way, everyone panics and follows, and it was electric.

It was ridiculous fun, but moments like that also break up a season that can feel endless. A quick laugh or a handed drink resets the room so you can grind again.

The ride starts in February and runs into November, and the closeness matters. When I’ve been with the pitchers all night, I know how to push a guy in the sixth and say my piece with respect because we’ve built that trust.

On the road we always had a place to gather after games, talk baseball, play a little, and just be together. Knowing the guy next to you means you’re the one who can get on him when it counts, and nobody outside earns that right.

Lester and Lackey set the tone at those team dinners, old-school spread and standards, and that helped shape a championship group.

There was that doubleheader when the anthem started and a few rookies stayed in on their phones; Rossi stormed in and blasted everyone to the top step, even me while I was getting treatment on a torn hammy. I told him later I got the message but not to come at me like that, and we were good.

He did it as manager too in twenty-one, went off, saw red, and I’m dying inside trying not to laugh because I know his heart. I told him after I loved him.

That’s why we respect you, because you care and you were there for us every day even if you weren’t in the lineup.

You taught me something I carry from fifteen: on your off day you still get out for the anthem and back your guys because they’re up there for you every single day. I’ve passed that on to every everyday player since.

I learned that early too, and once ripped a teammate after we clinched because he wasn’t out there, not knowing he’d taken a cortisone shot; I was shaking mad and almost in tears because that support means something to me.

I love you guys, I’m grateful we’ve got rings together, and we’re brothers for life.

Love you too, and I’m still happy you’re rocking those elevens.

Appreciate you making time. That was special.