LOS ANGELES — The image of a triumphant from the night of Oct. 25, 2024 — midstroll, face stoic, right hand pointed upward — has been tattooed on body parts all over L.A. County. Freeman himself has signed four of them, three on shins and one on an arm. He used to go practically anywhere in Southern California without getting recognized, even in the areas where he grew up. Now that never happens. Fans approach him everywhere, many recounting precisely where they were when he hit that helped propel the to a championship. Often they just say, Thank you.
“I’m happy about it,” Freeman said. “It means something good happened, right? You don’t try and hope for that moment to happen; it just kind of comes to you, and you hope that you’re ready for the moment. There’s so many times when I failed, and no one really remembers the failures.”
Freeman’s home run, the first of four in a World Series that saw him produce a 1.364 OPS and win MVP honors, has been depicted on countless bobbleheads, T-shirts and paintings. It has aired on Dodger Stadium’s videoboard before every home game and might continue being played there forever, much like Kirk Gibson’s heroics from 36 years earlier.
Freeman is hitting better than he ever has in his age-35 season, even while battling the same ankle injury that plagued him in October. Somehow, he has been more productive in his 30s than he was in his 20s. Reaching 3,000 hits, an almost unimaginable feat during such a pitcher-dominant era, remains a distinct possibility. The Hall of Fame is a near certainty. But one swing on one night will in some ways outshine anything Freeman ever accomplishes, a reality emphasized by the Yankees’ return to Dodger Stadium this weekend.
“And that’s OK,” Freeman said. “Something great happened for us to win a World Series, and I loved every second of it.”
Freeman is as stringent about his routine as any athlete, but he’s also sentimental. And while several of his teammates spoke earlier this year about the importance of moving on in hopes of avoiding a letdown, Freeman wondered why it couldn’t be both. In his mind, one can savor an accomplishment while preparing for another. He found himself wanting to marinate in that moment, largely because he has played long enough to appreciate its singularity.
One interaction with a fan, lasting all of three minutes, reinforced that.
Freeman was among a group of Dodgers players at a Jan. 31 luncheon for those impacted by the L.A. wildfires; it was part of the team’s annual community tour. There, a man recounted how he gave up drinking on the night of Freeman’s home run. Freeman can recall every detail from that conversation. The fan sat in the right-field section and vowed to remain sober in order to be more present for his two sons. Freeman’s home run ball sailed over their heads, and all his sons wanted to do was play baseball the next morning. Typically, the man told Freeman, he’d be too hungover to join them. This time he had the energy to play all day. The fan said he hadn’t touched alcohol since.
“Just chills,” Freeman said while relaying that story. “And you think about how not just baseball but sports can impact people’s lives in such a positive way that to be able to be part of something like that is a pretty special thing. I love this game. This game helped me get through hard times when I lost my mom and stuff like that; me and my dad would be out here playing baseball, doing things.
“It helps. And when you come full circle 25 years later, when you’re 35 and you create a moment for someone — that’s what this is all about for me. I love winning and championships, but to know that I was able to impact someone’s life in such a positive way — I still don’t know if I can grasp it.”
When Freeman crossed home plate, the first thing he did was dart toward his father, Fred, and high-five him through the netting behind home plate. Freeman’s mother died due to melanoma when he was 10. But Fred had also lost his wife. His entire life was turned upside down. Still, he continued to show up for his children. Baseball became their therapy. That fan’s story made Freeman think about how those two boys could be impacted by their dad showing up for them, too, and how one moment can have such a far-reaching impact.
“Sports is cool, man,” Freeman said, shaking his head. “Like, it can do so many good things for so many people.”
Freeman had struggled during the first three weeks of last postseason while playing through the right ankle injury he suffered on Sept. 26, the night the Dodgers clinched a first-round bye, and . Near the end of the National League Championship Series, he struggled to hold his front side in the batter’s box. Any attempt to put force on the ground caused Freeman’s foot to roll over. As it turned out, a Game 5 loss to the was a godsend.
MLB had implemented a tweak in its postseason schedule that allowed the World Series to begin early if both leagues concluded their championship series in five games or fewer. The Yankees complied, dispatching the in Game 5. But the Dodgers lost to the Mets, extending the series to a sixth game.
Said Freeman: “It changed everything for me.”
Instead of getting only three days off before the World Series, Freeman sat for Game 6, watched the Dodgers bullpen their way to a pennant, and by the time the Yankees arrived at Dodger Stadium for Game 1, he had received six full days of rest. He was suddenly a more complete version of himself, mobile enough to leg out a first-inning triple and flexible enough to turn on ‘ 10th-inning fastball, sending it 413 feet to deliver one of the most iconic moments in postseason history. The Dodgers won the series in five.
“So many little things,” Freeman said, “and it could’ve gone so many different ways.”
Freeman felt good enough after the World Series to assume rest alone would heal his ankle. Four weeks later, he could barely walk. Imaging revealed he had torn four ligaments. Surgery was required. Freeman spent the next four months rehabbing methodically, then slipped in his shower on March 30, reaggravating his ankle and prompting a short stint on the injured list.
In his first 11 games back, Freeman batted just .250. His hips were opening too early and his swing wasn’t staying in the strike zone long enough, the continuation of a mechanical issue he spent most of the previous year working through. But a sixth-inning, opposite-field single against on April 25 unlocked a feeling Freeman had been searching for. Since then, he is slashing .412/.474/.647 in 31 games. His .368 batting average and 1.065 OPS this season rank higher than everyone not named . His 186 weighted runs created plus is tied for his career best, set during the COVID-19-shortened season, when he was named NL MVP.
A Dodgers team that was expected by many to challenge the regular-season wins record currently has 14 pitchers on the injured list and has had to scrap just to maintain a slight edge over the and in the NL West, while sitting at 35-22. Through that, Dodgers manager Dave Roberts believes Freeman has unlocked another level of intensity.
“He’s dialed in,” Roberts said. “It’s not as lax intensity as he typically is; it’s more of an edgy intensity.”
Daily treatment on Freeman’s right ankle has been reduced from as many as four hours last October to as little as 40 minutes. It feels significantly better, but trainers have told him it won’t be fully right until some time around the All-Star break. Freeman still wears heel lifts in his cleats to alleviate some of the discomfort. His first few steps in the morning still come with agonizing pain. The Dodgers won’t let him steal bases, even when the time is on his side, a restriction that gnaws at him. But the production continues.
Freeman is on pace for 7.1 FanGraphs wins above replacement this season, which would represent the second-highest total of his career. If he gets there, he’ll rank seventh among first basemen in fWAR compiled between ages 31 and 35, behind only Roger Connor, Willie Stargell, Bill Terry, Mark McGwire, Stan Musial and Lou Gehrig. If he accumulates just 75 more hits, a near certainty if he avoids prolonged injury, he will have compiled more than 2,400 by season’s end, giving him a fighting chance at 3,000 in the back half of his 30s.
In his 20s, Freeman slashed .293/.379/.504. In his 30s, he has upped that to .317/.405/.533. These days, Freeman has an added incentive to remain productive:
He wants all those tattoos of his home run to hold up.
“I need to stay good,” Freeman said, “so that hopefully they still appreciate those in 30 years.”
