A Short, Sweet, and Slightly Biased History of Major League Baseball and the World Series

A Short, Sweet, and Slightly Biased History of Major League Baseball and the World Series

Baseball: America’s pastime, national obsession, and the only sport where chewing gum, spitting, and adjusting your pants are considered essential athletic skills. It’s been around long enough to have outlived empires, hairstyles, and half the stadiums it was played in—and it all started in the 19th century when bored gentlemen in wool uniforms decided that hitting a ball with a stick was as good a way as any to spend a sunny afternoon.

By the mid-1800s, baseball was spreading faster than a rumor in a small town. The first professional team, the Cincinnati Red Stockings, showed up in 1869, complete with matching uniforms and a willingness to travel just to humiliate every local team they played. Soon, other cities followed suit, and by 1876, the National League was born. Players back then were tough—they played through broken fingers, bad whiskey, and the occasional bar fight. No one worried about pitch counts or load management.

In 1901, the upstart American League swaggered onto the scene like a cocky younger brother, stealing players and fans from the National League. A few years of rivalry, name-calling, and player poaching later, the two sides called a truce—and decided to settle things the only way true sportsmen can: a best-of-seven brawl for baseball supremacy. Thus, in 1903, the World Series was born.

The first World Series saw the Boston Americans (who later became the Red Sox) face off against the Pittsburgh Pirates. Boston won five games to three, and America was hooked. Suddenly, October wasn’t just about raking leaves and complaining about the weather—it was baseball’s holy month.

The early years were a mix of glory and scandal. The 1919 Series gave us the infamous Black Sox Scandal, when eight Chicago White Sox players were accused of throwing the series for gambling money. Baseball’s innocence was gone, but its legend was born. In response, Major League Baseball hired its first commissioner, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, whose name sounded like a Civil War general and whose mission was simple: clean up the game.

Then came the Golden Age—the era of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and the New York Yankees’ endless parade of championships. The Babe didn’t just hit home runs—he defined swagger long before the word existed. He smoked, drank, and still hit more bombs than anyone else. The Yankees turned the World Series into their personal playground, much to the annoyance of every other team in America.

After World War II, baseball exploded in popularity. Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in 1947, changing not just the game, but the country. The 1950s and ‘60s gave us Mays, Mantle, and Koufax. Teams expanded west, stadiums grew, and television turned players into household names.

The 1970s and ‘80s brought free agency, wild hair, and wilder contracts. Reggie Jackson became “Mr. October,” Pete Rose ran through catchers like a freight train, and the designated hitter was introduced, sparking debates that still rage today. By the 1990s, the steroid era arrived—an awkward chapter where balls flew farther, muscles looked suspiciously inflated, and everyone pretended not to notice.

Still, the World Series remained pure drama. Think of Carlton Fisk’s home run waving fair in ’75, Kirk Gibson limping into legend in ’88, or the Red Sox finally breaking their “Curse of the Bambino” in 2004. Even casual fans who couldn’t explain a double switch tuned in for October magic.

Today, baseball is a mix of old-school grit and data-driven strategy. Managers carry iPads, pitchers have pitch clocks, and fans still argue about whether the Yankees or Dodgers buy their titles. But through it all, the World Series endures—a fall tradition that’s equal parts nostalgia, drama, and bragging rights.

So whether you’re a stat nerd, a beer-and-peanuts guy, or just someone who loves a good underdog story, baseball still delivers. The uniforms may have changed, but the game—like a good fastball—still comes straight at you, daring you to swing.