Clayton Kershaw smiled when he said it.
But the words landed heavier than they sounded.
“If that happens,” he admitted, “I’ll be nervous.”
For a pitcher whose career has been defined by dominance, composure, and control, the admission felt almost jarring. This wasn’t the Clayton Kershaw fans have known for nearly two decades — the ace who thrived under pressure, the left-hander who defined an era in Los Angeles.
This was something quieter. More human.
Now officially retired from Major League Baseball, Kershaw has one final chapter left to write: the 2026 World Baseball Classic. It’s a stage that always slipped just out of reach during his playing career, blocked by injuries and insurance hurdles. This time, those barriers are gone.
But with that opportunity comes a strange possibility — one Kershaw hopes never becomes reality.
Facing Shohei Ohtani.
On paper, it sounds like baseball poetry. Two generational icons. Former teammates. A collision of eras. The kind of moment fans would circle on calendars and broadcasters would build entire segments around.
Kershaw sees it differently.
“If I’m pitching against Team Japan in the finals,” he joked, “something will have gone terribly wrong.”
The humor was self-aware, but the subtext was unmistakable. This isn’t about fear of competition. It’s about context.
Kershaw is no longer fighting for legacy. That work is finished. Eighteen seasons. A Hall of Fame résumé. Championships. Awards. Records. The WBC isn’t a proving ground for him — it’s a farewell.
And farewells carry weight.
His role with Team USA is expected to be limited, likely out of the bullpen, much like how he closed his Dodgers career in October. He isn’t being asked to anchor rotations or chase matchups. The roster is stacked with arms designed specifically to neutralize hitters like Ohtani.
Mason Miller. David Bednar. Griffin Jax. Gabe Speier.
Younger. Harder. Built for this moment.
Kershaw knows that.
Which is why the idea of facing Ohtani isn’t thrilling — it’s unsettling.
Not because of Ohtani’s talent, though that speaks for itself. In their MLB matchups, Kershaw actually held the upper hand. Ohtani went 0-for-11 with four strikeouts. Even in the 2022 All-Star Game, after allowing a broken-bat single, Kershaw erased him with a pickoff.
But numbers don’t tell this story anymore.
This would be different.
This would be the end.
One last appearance. One last uniform. One last competitive moment — potentially against a player who represents the future of the sport more clearly than anyone else.
That’s a heavy thing to carry onto the mound.
Kershaw’s comment wasn’t bravado. It was honesty. The kind that rarely slips out from athletes of his stature. He wasn’t worried about getting hit. He was worried about what the moment would mean.
Because sometimes, the matchup everyone wants is the one the player hopes never arrives.
If Team USA and Team Japan meet again in the final, baseball will celebrate the spectacle. Cameras will zoom. Graphics will flash. Narratives will collide.
And somewhere in the bullpen, Clayton Kershaw will hope — quietly — that someone else takes the ball.
Not out of fear.
But out of respect for the moment.
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