The stream of Chandon Brut flowed through the bottle’s green stem, across the shorn-tight skull of Dave Roberts and down his forehead. His face clenched when he felt the sting.
During his first season as manager of the Dodgers, an eight-month odyssey through a record-setting slew of injuries, Roberts had stood on the verge of tears, tested the depth of his stamina and approached the limits of his patience. Now he squinted through the sweetest form of pain: A burst of champagne in his eyes.
“We’re going to be ready to go Tuesday,” Roberts said, “once I get my eyes open.”
Roberts groped blindly for dry cloth. A man nearby offered a...