Tom’s Two Cents: Welcome to the Dog Days of Summer

Welcome to the dog days of summer — that magical stretch where the only thing on TV is baseball, and you’re starting to miss sports you swore you hated a few months ago.

There’s no football. The NBA is asleep. Hockey players are golfing somewhere sunny. It’s just baseball, every night, like a 162-game fever dream. And while we love it (kind of), let’s be honest: we’re all counting down the days to Week 1 of the NFL preseason.

But since this is what we’ve got, let’s embrace it. Full MLB breakdown: Division by division. Who’s thriving, who’s diving, and who’s just praying for a rainout.

NATIONAL LEAGUE

NL East:

It finally happened: The Mets remembered how to play baseball. Sitting at 50–38 and just a couple games back of the division lead, New York has gone from Laughing-stock to Legit in a matter of weeks. Francisco Lindor is scorching, Pete Alonso is waking up, and for once, the Mets’ clubhouse isn’t a haunted mansion of bad vibes and bloated contracts. Imagine that.

The Phillies still sit atop the division at 51–36, and deservingly so. Bryce Harper’s beard is back in MVP form, and Zack Wheeler is dealing. This team has October vibes — gritty, playoff-tested, and cocky enough to hang with anyone. But can they fend off the suddenly-breathing Mets? Philly fans should be nervous. Which, honestly, is their default setting.

And then… the crash site. Atlanta and Miami, both 39–46, are living out two different kinds of disappointment. The Braves have been injury-riddled and unwatchable, though a healthy Acuña Jr. changes the outlook drastically if he can stay on the field post-break. The Marlins? Just aimless. Lost.

Washington, as always, is somewhere in the basement plotting attacks on some oil rich country and pretending the World Series parade wasn’t just five years ago. (It really was).

NL Central:

Welcome to the most blue-collar, mud-splattered, beer-league division in baseball — and I mean that as a compliment.

The Cubs are back, baby. Sitting at 52–35, they’ve got the swagger, the sticks, and maybe most importantly, a fan base that believes again. This team feels like it wants all the smoke. They’re aggressive at the plate, gutsy on the mound, and finally have a manager who looks like he enjoys the pressure. Deadline buyers? You better believe it. Chicago’s all in.

Right behind them are the Brewers (48–38), because of course they are. Milwaukee never truly goes away. Christian Yelich is having a minor renaissance, and their bullpen is still the best friend of every stressed-out starter in the league. No one talks about them, which is exactly why you should be scared.

(And how bout this Jacob Misiorowski kid? Where the hell did he come from? Absolute shover on the mound - Head Bean)

The Cardinals are hanging around at 47–41 — they always do — but they’ve got that weird “good but not great” energy this year. Enough to be annoying in September, but probably not enough to survive a real October gauntlet.

Cincinnati’s spunky at 45–42, but they’re still a couple pieces short of scaring anyone. And the Pirates? You mean Paul Skenes’ prison? Don’t worry about them.

NL West:

Let me make this very clear: the Dodgers are not just the best team in the National League — they are the team in Major League Baseball right now. Sitting atop the West at 56–32, they’re a relentless, ruthless, star-studded factory of wins. Ohtani. Freeman. Smith. Mookie. Soulless, greedy, and everything wrong with baseball, but nonetheless winners.

Watching the Dodgers this year is like watching a sports car on an empty freeway. It’s not a question of if they get there — it’s how fast they get there and whether you even see them pass you.

San Diego and San Francisco are both over .500, both talented, and both stuck in the same existential crisis: “How do we keep up with that?” The Padres’ lineup has moments of brilliance, and the Giants made a splash by bringing in Rafael Devers, but let’s be real — they’re both playing for Wild Cards.

Arizona is trying to stay relevant, but “.500 in July” usually becomes “five under in August.” And the Rockies? I’m not even sure they know what sport they’re playing at this point.

AMERICAN LEAGUE

AL East:

What a difference a month makes. The Yankees were rolling into June looking like the Bronx Bombers of old, and now they’re rolling into July looking like they accidentally re-signed Joey Gallo. Losers of 13 of their last 19, New York has found every possible way to fall apart — bullpen meltdowns, silent bats, and Aaron Boone managing like the ghost of Joe Girardi got bored and took over his body.

Meanwhile, the Blue Jays have surged. Sitting tied atop the division at 48–38, they’ve quietly figured out how to win ugly and often. The bats are finally waking up and the bullpen? Sneaky good.

And don’t look now, but Tampa Bay is right there too — a half-game back and annoyingly persistent, like that one housefly you can’t swat away in the July heat. The Rays never die.

Boston? Baltimore? Not your year. The Red Sox traded Rafael Devers and essentially waved the white flag in mid-June. The Orioles look more like a rebuild than the swagger young squad from 2023. Enjoy your Camden Yards (1.1 stadium IMO) crab fries and call it a season.

Watch your six, New York. This division is not yours by birthright anymore.

AL Central:

Every season, one team fakes us out in the first half. This year, I thought it might be Detroit… except they just won’t stop winning. At 54–34, the Tigers aren’t just leading the AL Central — they’re cruising and have the 2nd best record in baseball. Tarik Skubal is shoving, Riley Greene is hitting everything, and A.J. Hinch has this team playing like they don’t know they’re supposed to be mediocre.

The rest of the division? Please. Cleveland looks like a team whose Wi-Fi got cut off halfway through a rebuild on The Show. Minnesota keeps playing just well enough to hang around, but just bad enough to never get above water. The Royals, despite all the talk, are slowly fading into irrelevance. And the White Sox? They’ve entered the “sad tweets and early tee times” portion of the program. At 28–58, they’re mathematically eliminated from joy.

Detroit might not be a title contender yet, but they’ve got trade deadline buying power — and a reason to use it. Don’t sleep on the Motor City.

AL West:

The Astros are 52–35 and somehow still feel… vulnerable. They’ve got the talent, the experience, the rings, but don’t have the buzzers and trash cans. Something about this squad feels just a bit off-kilter, like they’re holding back or just waiting to get hurt again. Still, they’re atop the West, and until someone punches them in the mouth and takes it from them, they’re the kings.

Seattle might be ready to throw that punch. Hovering above .500, the Mariners have been streaky, yes. But they’ve also shown flashes of something special. That pitching staff? Real. That lineup? Young and hungry. If they can find one more bat at the deadline, we might have a real race here.

(Big Dumper Cal Raleigh is on a McGwire Home Run pace as a switch-hitting catcher -- gotta respect that - Head Bean).

Then there’s Texas and the Angels — two teams stuck in mid-table purgatory, good enough to make it interesting, bad enough to make you change the channel by the sixth inning.

And Oakland? Bless their hearts. They’re not even pretending anymore. Just a slow, sad death march to Vegas.

Soapbox: I Miss Football. Deeply. Desperately. Shamefully.

Look, I love baseball — I just wrote 1,500 words pretending to care about the Royals. But let’s not kid ourselves: nothing scratches the sports itch quite like football.

I miss college football Saturdays where your day starts with Army–Wake Forest and ends with Oregon State screwing up a 2-point conversion at 1:30 a.m.

I miss NFL Sundays where your fantasy team dies by 2:15 and you’re still locked in for six more hours. I miss the chaos, the pageantry, the overreactions, and yes — even the referees ruining everything.

Baseball fills the calendar. Football owns the soul.

So yeah, I’ll keep watching these sleepy July matchups and pretending the trade deadline is life-or-death. But deep down, I’m already hearing fight songs in my head and watching RedZone in my dreams. September can’t get here fast enough.

That’ll do it for this week’s check-in from the baseball trenches. Thanks for reading, arguing, hate-scrolling, or whatever it is you do here — I appreciate it. See you next week, same time, same place.