Baseball Baroness’s Colorado Rockies 2025 Season Review
How does one capture the calamity that was the Colorado Rockies’ 2025 campaign? With utmost delicacy—for it is not every season that a franchise pirouettes so dangerously close to immortal infamy. By the narrowest of margins, these Rockies avoided etching their name into the annals of the worst season in Major League history. A dubious record sidestepped, though hardly a triumph worth celebrating.
One cannot help but wonder: what, pray tell, do the Monforts consider “rock bottom”? If this season does not qualify, then surely their definition lies in the molten core of the earth itself. For the faithful who dared to hope, the Rockies have proven themselves masters not of baseball, but of disappointment. Still, even in the darkest hour, faint glimmers shine. Hunter Goodman, Ryan Ritter, Blaine Crim, and Kyle Karros dared to hint at brighter tomorrows. Veterans Kyle Freeland, Brenton Doyle, and Ezequiel Tovar led with weary grace, striving to wring hope from the ashes. But kernels of promise cannot sustain a starving fanbase, and this city is ravenous.
Let us not mince words about what went wrong. Kris Bryant—once the crown jewel of a gaudy seven-year, $182 million signing—has become the Rockies’ gilded millstone. Since 2022, he has managed just 170 games. That is an average of 42 per season, barely a quarter of the calendar. Truly, no acquisition in memory has inspired such collective regret. The phrase buyers’ remorse scarcely suffices; organizational ruin feels more apt. Meanwhile, the bullpen has been reduced to a comedy of errors. Blowouts of ten runs or more became a recurring humiliation, and yet nothing changes. Kyle Freeland’s brilliance was a lonely flame in an otherwise endless darkness, surrounded by colleagues who turned near-victories into certain defeats with almost artistic precision. But such collapses are no novelty here—merely a tradition stretching back to their last fleeting postseason in 2018.
And then, the front office. Bill Schmidt, once billed as a steward of progress, has instead perfected the art of doing nothing. The unceremonious dismissal of Bud Black, replaced with the untested Warren Schaffer, left the team adrift without an experienced hand at the helm. To expect Schaffer to save this sinking vessel is akin to handing a violin to a man on the Titanic and insisting he play the Rockies to safety. At this point, the fans’ cries are unified: Sell the team. The Monforts, however, remain content to preside over mediocrity, their ambitions no higher than filling seats with Coors Field’s mountain views and craft beer while the product on the field rots away.
Thus ends another wretched chapter in this franchise’s history. Unless swift, radical change is embraced, the Rockies are doomed not to climb but to dig ever deeper—into obscurity, into irrelevance, and into the eternal scorn of their own loyal faithful.