LOS ANGELES — In the electric haze of Dodger Stadium’s late-night roar, where the air still hummed with the chaos of an 11th-inning miracle, Max Muncy stood at the heart of it all, his voice cutting through the champagne-soaked frenzy like a fastball to the ribs. “We haven’t even started yet,” the Dodgers’ gritty third baseman declared, eyes locked on a swarm of microphones, his words landing like a gauntlet thrown down to the entire baseball world. It was October 10, 2025, and Los Angeles had just clawed its way past the Philadelphia Phillies in a 2-1 thriller that felt more like a street fight than a playoff game. But for Muncy and this defending champion squad, victory in the National League Division Series was merely a warm-up lap. “We’ve got another gear,” he added, a sly grin breaking through the sweat and triumph. “And trust me, we’re not stopping until that World Series trophy’s back in our hands. Anything less? Nah, that’s not us.”

The scene replayed in slow motion for anyone who blinked: bases loaded, two outs, Andy Pages at the plate against Phillies reliever Orion Kerkering. What should have been a routine dribbler to the mound turned into pandemonium when Kerkering’s throw sailed wild to the backstop, allowing pinch-runner Hyeseong Kim to scamper home with the winning run. The Dodgers erupted, a blue tidal wave crashing over the field, while Phillies manager Rob Thomson buried his face in his cap, the sting of elimination too fresh to process. It was the 11th walk-off in Dodgers postseason history, a quirky footnote to a series that had already delivered gut punches on both sides. Philadelphia, the NL East juggernaut with a chip on its shoulder the size of Citizens Bank Park, had pushed L.A. to the brink after dropping the first two games. But in the end, the Dodgers’ resilience — that unshakeable blend of star power and sheer stubbornness — prevailed, punching their ticket to the NL Championship Series for the second straight year.

Rewind to the series’ feverish opening act, and you see why Muncy’s bravado isn’t just clubhouse chatter. Game 1 at Dodger Stadium was a pitchers’ duel for the ages, with Dodgers ace Blake Snell — acquired in a midseason blockbuster that sent shockwaves through the league — blanking the Phillies for six innings on the way to a 3-1 Dodgers win. Snell’s curveball danced like it had a vendetta, fooling Bryce Harper twice and stranding Phillies runners in the dirt. Then came Game 2, another L.A. masterclass: 4-3, with Muncy himself snagging a crucial bunt in a wheel play that preserved a slim lead, his throw to Mookie Betts at third nailing Nick Castellanos by a heartbeat. The Dodgers were up 2-0, looking every bit the dynasty-in-the-making, their $300 million payroll flexing without apology.

But baseball, that cruel jester, loves a comeback. Game 3 shifted east to Philly, where 45,000 red-clad faithful turned Citizens Bank Park into a cauldron. Kyle Schwarber, the Phillies’ brooding leadoff beast who’d been mired in a September slump, unleashed hell with a 455-foot moonshot off Dodgers starter Yu Darvish — his hardest-hit ball since the 2022 NLCS. It was the spark that ignited an 8-2 rout, with Harper’s sly single and Alec Bohm’s hustle turning a relay throw into chaos, Bohm scoring on a wild bounce off Muncy’s glove. The Phillies’ offense, dormant in the first two games, awoke with a vengeance: eight runs, 12 hits, and a statement that echoed the ghosts of their 2022 NL pennant run. “We came alive,” Harper said postgame, his voice gravelly with defiance. For a moment, it felt like the Dodgers’ vaunted bullpen — already battered by injuries to Walker Buehler and Evan Phillips — might crumble entirely. Clayton Kershaw, in a rare relief stint, surrendered two runs in a single inning, his fastball betraying him like an old friend turned foe.

Yet here they were, four games in, Dodgers advancing 3-1, their path to a repeat World Series title suddenly crystalline. Tyler Glasnow, the towering righty with a career postseason ERA that whispers caution, had gutted out 6.1 innings in Game 4, striking out seven while nursing cramps that forced an early exit. Enter Roki Sasaki, the 23-year-old Japanese phenom whose fastball touches 102 mph and has rendered hitters punch-drunk all October. Sasaki mowed down six straight Phillies in the eighth and ninth, his splitter a vanishing act that left Trea Turner swinging at ghosts. Kerkering’s error? It was the cherry on a Dodgers defense that bent but never broke, with Teoscar Hernández’s leaping catch at the wall in the 10th still buzzing in fans’ minds.

Muncy’s warning, though, cuts deeper than the highlights. This isn’t idle hype from a player who’s seen it all — World Series MVP in 2020, All-Star nods, and now, at 34, a grizzled leader in a clubhouse stacked with Ohtani’s flair, Betts’ fire, and Freeman’s quiet steel. “Another gear” evokes the Dodgers’ infamous 2024 run, where they flipped the script from regular-season stumbles to October dominance, outscoring opponents 2-to-1 in the playoffs. Injuries? They’ve cycled through 10 starting pitchers this year, yet here they stand, healthier now than in September. Depth? Roki Sasaki’s emergence as a bullpen flamethrower, paired with Snell’s Cy Young-caliber form, makes their rotation a nightmare for any NLCS foe — be it the Mets, Braves, or whoever claws out of the other bracket.

Across the league, Muncy’s words ripple like a seismic aftershock. The American League playoffs churn on, with the Yankees and Guardians locked in a brutal ALCS preview, but the NL feels like L.A.’s playground. The Phillies, for all their heartbreak — Thomson’s postgame presser a masterclass in measured fury — exit knowing they tested the champs like few others. Harper, ever the poet-warrior, tipped his cap: “They got the W, but we’re not done dreaming.” Yet for the Dodgers, satisfaction is a four-letter word. Muncy hammered it home: “World Series or bust. We’ve tasted it once; we’re starving for more.”

As the NLCS looms — Game 1 set for Monday night on TBS, opponents TBD — Dodger Stadium pulses with that familiar hum. Blue flags wave under the autumn stars, and in the locker room, Muncy’s echo lingers: We haven’t even started yet. In a sport built on what-ifs and wild cards, that’s the most dangerous promise of all. The machine revs up, gears shifting into overdrive. MLB, take note: Los Angeles is coming, full throttle, for everything.