Sitting at my desk, reliving the events that transpired over two cold and rainy and magical days at Babb Field, the following thought keeps coming back into this fan’s mind:
None of this was supposed to happen.
This was supposed to be a rebuilding year for Johns Hopkins baseball. To be sure, even the pessimists and doubters would have conceded, back in February, that this team had enough left from those 2023 and 2025 teams to win another Centennial Conference title. Perhaps – just maybe – they could win a game or two in the regionals.
But a return trip to Eastlake, Ohio? Surely not.
This was a team that had lost its entire starting infield, loaded with many of the most revered names in Hopkins baseball history.
Shawn Steuerer. Dylan Whitney. Jimmy Stevens. Dillon Souvignier. Caleb Cyr. All of whom would merit statues outside of Babb Field if our school permitted such tributes.
They had lost Jake Siani, the fleet-footed centerfielder whose defensive prowess made him the Cesar Geronimo to the our Big Red Machine.
They had lost the reigning Centennial Conference Pitcher of the Year to transfer and, in Grant Meert, a closer whose fastball sat in the low-to-mid ’90s. Gone, too, was Tyler Sugrim, the stylish righthander whose off-speed array would fluster hitters conditioned to power pitching.
To extend, if not torture, the Cincinnati Reds’ analogy, imagine what would have become of that great dynasty had it lost, after its final World Series berth in 1976, the following players:
Johnny Bench
Tony Perez
Joe Morgan
Dave Concepcion
Pete Rose
Cesar Geronimo
Don Gullett
Pedro Borbon; and,
Rawly Eastwick.
And to compound those injurious departures, what if the Big Red Machine had also lost its Hall of Fame manager, Sparky Anderson, just as Hopkins had lost the iconic Bob Babb to a well-deserved retirement?
Even with the likes of George Foster and Dan Driessen still in the fold, and even with the acquisition of Tom Seaver, it would have inevitably slid into baseball’s second division and, quite possibly, would have flirted with 100 losses.
By contrast, Hopkins baseball didn’t fold. It didn’t retreat. It reloaded.
After flirting with a couple of early season defensive alignments, new head coach Nate Mulberg found his true infield in, from left to right, third baseman Hamilton Adams, shortstop Damian Brown, second baseman Luke Baker and first baseman Will Jaun. The last of whom lived up to his advance billing and did so much more, delivering one of the nation’s great offensive seasons while surprising many Hopkins followers with his elegant glovework and range around the bag.
This reconstituted infield, anchored by battle-hardened superstar catcher Clay Hartje, proved airtight in the pivotal weeks of late April and May.
The settling of the infield enabled Mulberg to insert the uber-athletic Jacob Harris in centerfield, where he treated the Hopkins faithful to one defensive clinic after another down the stretch. Highlighted by a full-extension, full-speed diving catch in the regional round that still ranks as one of the greatest in team history.
Meanwhile, the long-supposed pitching depth was forcefully confirmed by the emergence of new core components such as Michael Yousef, Cam Curley, Nicolas Jos, Will Hancock and Gavin Simurdiak – each of whom stepped up over the course of the season as worthy compliments to veteran mainstays like Ryan Anderson, Will Boneno, Tommy Cancian, Cole Jefferson and Charlie Monterrosa.
And, of course, the timeless Kieran Collins. The most accomplished hurler in Hopkins history. The righthander whose pitch arsenal, phlegmatic calm and resilience have defined this program for so many years and have made him, perhaps, the most beloved of all Blue Jays. The connective tissue of so many teams that have embodied Hopkins greatness.
Into the closer’s void stepped Dylan Zucker, the graduate transfer student who exuded that desired blend of cool and arrogance every time he took the mound to slam the door.
Bench strength? Impossible, one might think, given the degree of roster turnover. Wrong. In those instances when even the indestructible Hartje needed to rest his knees, Mulberg could go to Keiffer Ary – a bomber who registered a .417 average, six homeruns and 25 RBI in just 72 plate appearances.
New rising stars? This writer presents, for your consideration, Shane Keough – the sophomore from Marblehead, Massachusetts who epitomized clutch consistency from the blustery and cold days of late February to, well, the blustery and cold days of this past weekend.
Of course, this writer has saved two of the very best until last. There is simply no way that we would be planning hotel and dinner reservations for Eastlake today if it weren’t for the sustained excellence of Lukas Geer and Alex Shane.
The cornerstones of an elite defensive outfield. The indispensable cogs of a relentless offensive attack. Quiet leaders of men in an age that rewards self-aggrandizement. In classic fashion, Geer let his bat speak on his behalf in that epic Game 3, going 2-5 and driving in five of Hopkins’ 11 runs. This has been de riguer for the soft-spoken Rockville native, who emerged in 2025 from the shadows of his famed teammates to turn that postseason into his personal showcase.
Shane has been so extraordinary, so dependably and for so long, that it becomes criminally easy to take his greatness for granted.
We must never allow that to occur. For he is easily, in this writer’s opinion, one of the 10 greatest players ever to wear Hopkins Blue.
His demeanor is understated, but his body of work is gaudy. He goes into the climactic chapter of his career with a LIFETIME batting average of .371, with 33 homers, 165 RBI and – what must be a typograhical error – a .468 on-base percentage. In Shane’s steady immortality, this writer can find parallels to another Baltimorean of note – the immortal Al Kaline.
Of course, one cannot praise an army for its conquests without saluting its general. Coach Mulberg had the enviable task of assuming the reins of one of America’s great baseball programs, but the unenviable assignment of doing so after the retirement of the monumental Babb. Imagine, if you will, the pressure that comes with plying your trade on the field the literally bears the name of your predecessor.
This coach did so impeccably. To this fan, he neither tried to mimic Babb’s inimitable style, nor did he gratuitously dismantle everything that had been built before him. Rather, he brought his own complementary style and methodology to the program as a means to building upon the legacy that Babb had established through the decades.
The result of all of this – the emergence of new stars, the dependability of returning greats, the contributions of an entire roster of men who understood their roles, and a coach who pulled all of the right levers – has coalesced to create the impossible.
A team that was believed to be destined for a rebuilding year is, instead, returning to the College World Series. It is one of the great stories in all of college baseball. Enjoy the ride.
