The Los Angeles Dodgers don’t rebuild. They reload. For more than a decade, that philosophy has kept them perched atop baseball’s elite, churning out 100-win seasons, MVP candidates, and October expectations that border on inevitability. But even for an organization this wealthy, this calculated, and this ruthless in its pursuit of winning, a hard truth is beginning to surface: dynasties are not built by sentiment, and time eventually defeats everyone.
On paper, the Dodgers’ roster remains terrifying. Superstars fill every line of the lineup card. Pitching depth seems endless. Yet beneath the shine of another title chase lies an uncomfortable reality. Several of the Dodgers’ most important contributors — Max Muncy, Freddie Freeman, and Miguel Rojas — are all firmly on the wrong side of 35. They are still productive, still respected, still dangerous. But baseball history is brutal and unforgiving. Aging curves do not negotiate, and decline rarely announces itself politely.
The Dodgers are not chasing a single championship anymore. They are chasing a dynasty, and that pursuit demands a colder, longer view. Pushing all the chips in for a three-peat may satisfy the present, but it could mortgage the next five years — something this front office has historically refused to do.
That is where the Oakland Athletics enter the conversation.
While the Dodgers wrestle with sustainability, the Athletics remain stuck in a seemingly endless rebuild. Four consecutive seasons near the bottom of the standings have tested the patience of their fanbase and the credibility of their long-term plan. Oakland has accumulated young talent, yes, but youth alone does not stabilize a franchise. At some point, potential must be anchored by proven excellence.
And that is exactly what the A’s lack.
Oakland’s roster features promise, but not gravity. Not yet. Which is why adding a true superstar — someone with October scars and MVP hardware — could fundamentally alter the trajectory of the rebuild. It would send a message to the clubhouse, the league, and the fanbase: this is no longer a waiting room franchise.
At the same time, Oakland holds something the Dodgers may soon value more than familiarity or star power: elite, controllable youth.
Inside the Athletics’ system are two names that should already be circled in red ink on the Dodgers’ whiteboard: Nick Kurtz and Max Muncy.
Kurtz is not just another prospect. He is a middle-of-the-order future, a disciplined power bat with advanced approach and long-term upside that fits perfectly into Los Angeles’ development machine. He represents years of cost control, lineup flexibility, and post-Freeman insurance at a position that becomes glaringly thin once age inevitably catches up.
Then there is Max Muncy — not the Dodgers’ Max Muncy, but Oakland’s. The name alone feels like irony crafted by baseball gods with a cruel sense of humor. Younger, cheaper, versatile, and entering his prime window, Oakland’s Muncy embodies the exact type of player Los Angeles has historically targeted when reshaping the core without detonating the entire roster.
For the Dodgers, this isn’t about waving the white flag on the present. It’s about ensuring the present does not suffocate the future.
Freddie Freeman remains beloved in Los Angeles, not just for his bat but for his leadership, his professionalism, and his presence in the clubhouse. But front offices don’t build dynasties on emotion. They build them on timing. And the timing question surrounding Freeman, Muncy, and Rojas grows louder with each passing month.
The Athletics, meanwhile, are in the opposite position. They can afford to absorb contracts, absorb risk, and absorb veteran leadership. What they cannot afford is irrelevance. Adding a superstar would immediately elevate the credibility of their rebuild and provide a living blueprint for their young core to follow.
This is why the idea of a Dodgers–Athletics blockbuster doesn’t feel like fantasy anymore. It feels like inevitability disguised as shock.
Los Angeles gets younger, more flexible, and better positioned to sustain dominance beyond the current window. Oakland gets legitimacy, leadership, and a reason for fans to believe that the pain of rebuilding was not pointless.
Trades like this are never clean. They are never comfortable. And they are rarely popular in the moment they happen.
But dynasties are not remembered for the deals they avoided. They are remembered for the ones they had the courage to make before it was too late.
If the Dodgers truly want to rule the next decade — not just the next October — the path forward may require a decision that feels unthinkable today… and obvious in hindsight.
Leave a Reply