Everybody talks about Game 6. Honestly, I get it. David Freese turning into a literal god for three hours, the Rangers being one strike away—twice—and the sheer emotional whiplash of that night in St. Louis. It was the peak of human drama. But here’s the thing: because Game 6 was such a masterpiece of chaos, people treat Game 7 of the 2011 World Series like it was just a formality. A victory lap. A boring sequel to the greatest movie ever made.
That’s a mistake.
If you actually look at the box score or, better yet, remember the tension in Busch Stadium on October 28, 2011, you realize that Game 7 was a psychological war. The Texas Rangers weren't just playing against the Cardinals; they were playing against the ghost of the night before. They were a team that had its soul ripped out, trying to lace up their cleats and beat a team that suddenly felt invincible.
It wasn't a blowout. It wasn't easy. It was a gritty, high-stakes chess match that officially ended one of the most improbable runs in sports history.
The Hangover: Texas Had to Find a Way to Breathe
Imagine being Ron Washington. You’ve just watched your team come within inches of a ring, and then you have to go into a locker room of grown men who look like they’ve seen a ghost and tell them, "Hey, we've got another game tomorrow."
The Rangers actually started Game 7 better than anyone expected. Josh Hamilton and Michael Young drove in runs in the top of the first. 2-0 Texas. Just like that. You could almost hear the collective "Uh oh" from the St. Louis crowd. It felt like maybe, just maybe, the Rangers could shake off the trauma. But the Cardinals had Chris Carpenter on the mound on three days' rest. The guy was a bulldog. He didn't have his best stuff, but he had that "I will break you" energy that defined those Tony La Russa teams.
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The lead lasted about ten minutes.
David Freese, because of course it was him, stepped up in the bottom of the first and lashed a two-run double to center. Tie game. The air left the Rangers’ sails and it never really came back. That’s the thing about Game 7 of the 2011 World Series—it wasn't about flashy home runs. It was about the slow, methodical dismantling of a team's spirit.
Allen Craig and the Forgotten Heroics
If David Freese was the hero of Game 6, Allen Craig was the MVP of the "little things" that won Game 7. People forget Craig was basically playing on one leg because of a fractured kneecap earlier that year. In the bottom of the third, he launched a solo shot to right field to give the Cardinals a 3-2 lead.
That was the turning point.
The Rangers' pitching started to unravel in the most painful way possible: walks. Scott Feldman and C.J. Wilson—who had been so good all year—couldn't find the zone. In the fifth inning, the Cardinals scored two runs without even getting a hit. Think about that. In the biggest game of your life, you walk the bases loaded and then hit a guy. Yadier Molina took a bases-loaded walk. Rafael Furcal got hit by a pitch. It was agonizing to watch if you were a Texas fan.
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It was 5-2. The game was slipping away, and you could see it on the faces in the Texas dugout. They looked exhausted. Not just physically, but spiritually.
The Bullpen Mastery of Tony La Russa
This was Tony La Russa’s swan song. He retired shortly after this, and Game 7 was a clinic in how he managed. He used the bullpen like a surgeon. Arthur Rhodes, Octavio Dotel, Lance Lynn, Jason Motte. He didn't let anyone get comfortable.
By the time Jason Motte came in for the ninth, the score was 6-2. The stadium was vibrating. I remember the camera cutting to fans in the stands; people were crying before the final out was even recorded. When David Murphy flew out to Allen Craig in left field to end it, it wasn't just a win. It was the conclusion of a comeback that started in August when the Cardinals were 10.5 games out of a playoff spot.
Nobody gave them a chance. Honestly, they shouldn't have been there. But Game 7 of the 2011 World Series proved that momentum is a real, physical force in baseball.
Why We Still Talk About This (And Why It Matters)
People love to debate the "best" World Series. Usually, it's 1975 or 1991. But 2011 has a specific flavor of madness. It was the last gasp of the old-school managerial style before the "opener" and extreme shifts took over the game.
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The Stats That Actually Matter
- Chris Carpenter's Grit: 6.0 innings on short rest. He gave up two runs early and then shut the door.
- The Walk Problem: Texas pitchers issued 9 walks in Game 7. You cannot win a championship giving away 27 free bases over the course of an inning or two.
- David Freese’s Total Impact: He finished the postseason with 21 RBIs, a record that stood as a testament to one of the greatest individual months in sports history.
There’s a misconception that the Rangers "choked" Game 7. I don't buy that. I think they were spent. They played 162 games plus two grueling playoff rounds, and then they had their hearts broken in Game 6. To ask a group of athletes to recover from that in 18 hours is a massive ask.
The Cardinals, on the other hand, were playing with "house money." They weren't even supposed to make the Wild Card. That psychological freedom is a hell of a drug.
What You Should Do Next
If you're a student of the game or just someone who loves a good "against all odds" story, go back and watch the full broadcast of Game 7. Not just the highlights. Watch the way Chris Carpenter works the mound. Watch Yadier Molina's framing behind the plate.
For the fans and collectors:
If you're looking for a piece of history, the 2011 Topps Update David Freese rookie card or the Allen Craig Game 7 "First Pitch" cards are still relatively affordable compared to modern superstars. They represent a moment when grit trumped analytics.
For the coaches:
Study Tony La Russa’s pitching changes in the 5th and 6th innings. It’s a masterclass in "matchup" baseball that preceded the current era of data-driven decisions.
The takeaway:
Never assume a series is over until the final out of Game 7. The 2011 Cardinals showed us that you don't have to be the best team on paper for 162 games; you just have to be the toughest team for 27 innings in October.
The Rangers eventually got their revenge in 2023, which is a nice narrative bookend, but for those of us who watched 2011, the image of Jason Motte firing that final heater will always be the definitive ending to the wildest postseason run we'll likely ever see.