They are poised. Composed. Lethal. The 2025 Dodgers don’t walk—they glide. Every swing feels intentional. Every inning, designed. The question isn’t if they’re great. It’s whether they’re historical.
The record is 116 wins. Shared by the 2001 Mariners and the 1906 Cubs. And now, Los Angeles flirts with that number every time they take the field. They don’t just beat teams. They disassemble them.
But here’s the secret nobody says out loud:
Dominance is exhausting.
And history rarely makes room for grace.
The Record Is a Mirror
Chasing 116 isn’t just about baseball. It’s about control. Endurance. The psychology of being expected to win—and then still winning anyway.
What makes this Dodgers run dangerous isn’t their roster. It’s their rhythm. Their ability to make excellence look inevitable. But inevitability breeds pressure. Each game now isn’t just a test—it’s a referendum. On legacy. On stamina. On whether beauty breaks under its own weight.
And the whispering starts early:
If they fall short of the record—is the season still iconic?
If they win 112 instead of 116, will they be remembered?
Or just… respected?
The Loneliest Kind of Greatness
Baseball, unlike other sports, punishes perfection. Slumps are guaranteed. Rain delays rewrite momentum. The postseason sneers at regular season dominance. The very structure of the game resents the idea of a runaway narrative.
Which is why the Dodgers’ current form is both mesmerizing and precarious. They’re not chasing a trophy.
They’re chasing silence.
The kind of silence that only comes when a team doesn’t just play the game—
But completes it.
So can they break the record?
Yes.
But the better question is:
Can they stay perfect long enough to still want it?
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