LOS ANGELES — Trey Yesavage hemmed and hawed, explaining why he couldn’t join the afterparty of the Blue Jays’ first AL East title in a decade. It was a month before he rewrote World Series record books and pushed Toronto to the cusp of a championship. The 22-year-old stood in his team’s emptying clubhouse with one thought on his mind.
“I have homework.”
Months earlier, long before he completed his ascent from Low A to a pennant race, Yesavage figured he’d have plenty of time to tackle four fall courses online, including a class in media criticism.
He hadn’t foreseen making legendary starts in late October, each of his eight big league starts more momentous than the last. He hadn’t predicted delivering under the bright lights he’s craved since his days in rural Pennsylvania. He hadn’t expected to calmly dominate the Dodgers in Game 5, suppressing his fire while striking out 12 in a 6-1 victory for one of the most significant starts in franchise history.
“This kid just shoved,” teammate Braydon Fisher said. “Now he has homework.”
The Jays ultimately dragged Yesavage out after Game 162 for just a bit before he returned to his coursework. Those celebrations don’t arrive often, and champagne bottles don’t pop every day. But flowing bubbly is, somehow, essentially all Yesavage knows. Since that division clinch, the Jays have unleashed corks twice more. On Wednesday, Yesavage brought the Jays one win away from baseball’s biggest party.
All TWELVE of Trey Yesavage’s strikeouts tonight 👀 pic.twitter.com/ZrHqxrgUkm
— MLB (@MLB) October 30, 2025
In the final start of his high school career, Yesavage slipped on an away mound built of slick AstroTurf. His coach, Todd Moyer, saw him stumble. Moyer had known Yesavage for nearly a decade, having coached him in youth basketball, back when the Blue Jays starter bounced up and down the court on his toes, snatching rebounds as a one-man offence.
Moyer thought he was hurt. He took the ball from his starter.
To this day, Yesavage doesn’t know why Moyer took him out. He wasn’t hurt, he said. Boyertown lost 3-2, ending Yesavage’s high school career. The team’s best tying chance was a towering fly ball to centre off Yesavage’s bat, falling within feet of the wall. The game still haunts Yesavage. Back then, it was the biggest start of his life.
“One more squat, one more bench press,” Yesavage said. “That ball would’ve been gone.”
The high school stage that seemed so massive has since been topped over and over. Yesavage went from Pennsylvania starts to regional college tournaments at East Carolina University to Low-A Dunedin and now the Fall Classic. He became the youngest pitcher to record 10 or more strikeouts in World Series history and the only rookie to ever reach 12.
Unlike that fateful start in high school, manager John Schneider did not end Yesavage’s night. This time, the righty did not stumble.
“Historic stuff,” Schneider said.
For 6 1/3 innings at Dodger Stadium, Yesavage contained the fire deep inside. It’s one he’s learned to control. In high school, he’d get mad, blaming others for mistakes. As a freshman in college, by erasing that mentality, he became too reserved.
As he morphed into Toronto’s 2024 first-round pick, Yesavage finally found the balance. Hold it in, then let it loose.
“I’ve found an even middle ground,” Yesavage said. “I’m cool, calm, collected. But when I get a big punch out, you’re gonna know.”
Yesavage unleashes the fire he’s since learned to control. (Luke Hales / Getty Images)
On Wednesday, Yesavage breathed deeply. He wiped a hand on his pants after bouncing a slider, reaching for the rosin bag with controlled calm. He slowly took his glove off after a flawless first inning, marching back to the dugout. He stopped when an umpire approached him to check his hands for sticky stuff, nodded, then returned to his march. He stomped clay off his cleats after giving up a solo homer to Kiké Hernández, the only run he allowed.
He then brushed off the rubber and continued to rack up strikeouts.
“Those guys,” outfielder Joey Loperfido said. “When they’re stoic and not showing anything to you as a hitter, you’re kind of just like, ‘Alright, this guy means business.’ You respect them.”
Yesavage held it in. Then he let it out.
Deep into the seventh, with a full count to Tommy Edman, the Los Angeles crowd swelled, trying to will a rally into existence. With a runner on first, the stadium’s organ played louder. Every fan stood. When Yesavage induced a bouncing ground ball, he spun on the mound. As he watched the Blue Jays’ infield smoothly turn the inning-ending double play, he flexed both arms and screamed.
Yesavage pointed to Ernie Clement, who started the turn, and released the fire.
Moyer likened Yesavage to Ferdinand the Bull, the peace-loving bovine from a children’s story that preferred smelling flowers to fighting. It’s what he channels as he calmly sits in street clothes at his locker, hours away from monumental starts. It’s the peace he brings on the mound, hoping to contain the fire before its earned release. It’s what held him, for a moment, from a division-clinching afterparty.
Yesavage, sensibly, remembered his homework.
He didn’t know a World Series would sidetrack his studies. He didn’t know he’d have a sealed bottle of pricey tequila resting at his locker after his historic outing. He didn’t know the gargantuan games he always craved would arrive so soon and so plentifully. After all, he is still just a kid.
On the biggest stage, the kid etched himself into baseball lore, dominating MVPs and future Hall of Famers. Standing in a hostile environment, he unleashed his controlled fire. He pushed the 2025 Jays one win from immortality — the World Series championship. But sometimes, October heroes still have homework.
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