Los Angeles — There’s no bittersweeter scenario. As the Los Angeles Dodgers hoisted the World Series trophy to rapturous cheers, Dustin May — who had just been traded to the Boston Red Sox just before the trade deadline — sat in front of the screen and let the tears fall. “They were all my boys… I definitely helped and contributed for them to get there,” he said emotionally.
And those weren’t just words. They were the words of a man who had spent four and a half months with the team, then abruptly left just as things were about to reach their peak.
Dustin May, with his fiery red hair and powerful sinker, was once seen as a symbol of the Dodgers’ future. This season, he came back strong from injury, throwing crucial innings, holding the bullpen when the team needed him most.
Then the trade to the Red Sox came like a bolt from the blue: sudden, cold, and somewhat cruel. The Dodgers needed to strengthen their lineup, and May became the piece they had to trade.
But as the image of his teammates hugging each other at Globe Life Field flashed across the screen, May’s reaction wasn’t bitterness — it was love, pride, and tears.
“It was definitely fun to watch…” May said, his voice breaking.
He watched every pitch, every swing, every time the Dodgers overcame adversity as if he were still standing in the bullpen with them.
For May, the moment the team won a championship wasn’t the pain of being left behind — it was the pride of knowing he had laid a brick in the road to victory.
“I definitely helped and contributed for them to get there.”
It wasn’t just self-soothing. It’s true.
For more than four and a half months, May has fought tirelessly, helping keep the Dodgers in the NL West race. The innings he threw when the bullpen was depleted, the days he came back from pain, the times he came in just to keep the game going — it was all part of the title.
And his teammates knew it, too.
As soon as May’s words went viral, Dodgers social media exploded. Fans wrote:
“He deserved to be on that field celebrating.”
“Dustin May is forever a Dodger.”
“Thank you for your innings, your heart, your fight.”
Some former teammates even sent private messages, saying this championship was May’s, too — because no team can win a championship without the efforts of all those who fought to get them to the end.
May, meanwhile, responded with his usual humility: happy for them, proud of them… and knowing his own journey was still long.
Leaving the Dodgers hurt. Watching them win a championship while wearing another team’s jersey hurt even more. But for Dustin May, it wasn’t a wound—it was a mark of brotherhood, of a family he once belonged to and will always belong to in some way.
In baseball, there are people who leave because of trades, because of strategy. But there are bonds that can’t be traded.
And when Dustin May shed a tear, all of Los Angeles knew:
This trophy has your name on it, too—even if you weren’t on the field when it was lifted.
Thank you for your contributions, Dustin. You’ll always be part of this story.
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