Dustin May, two-time World Series champion. We appreciate your participation in two championships and your enthusiasm each time you took the mound. I wish you luck in Boston!

Dustin May, your journey through Major League Baseball has been one of grit, talent, and dedication, and as you embark on a new chapter with Boston, it’s important to pause and reflect on what your time in Los Angeles has meant—not just to the organization but to the fans who watched you grow into the remarkable pitcher you are today. It’s not every day a player becomes a part of two World Series-winning teams, but you did more than just make the roster. You contributed, competed, and embodied the spirit of what it means to be a Dodger. From your fiery mound presence to your distinctive red hair whipping in the wind, you left a mark that will not be forgotten. You were never just another arm in the rotation; you were a symbol of the future, of the next wave of homegrown talent ready to keep the Dodgers competitive for years to come. And even as injuries attempted to derail your trajectory, you remained resilient, returning with the same intensity and hunger to contribute.

Your journey with the Dodgers was as promising as it was turbulent. Drafted in the third round, you quickly rose through the ranks, flashing the kind of stuff—fastball movement, curveball bite, command—that got fans excited and hitters flustered. You weren’t just good. You were electric. That sinker, touching triple digits with arm-side run that seemed to defy physics, was the stuff of highlight reels and nightmares for opposing batters. You earned your first call-up in 2019, and even then, it was obvious you had a ceiling few could reach. But what stood out more than your raw ability was your composure. There’s something about a young pitcher who doesn’t just rely on his arm but pitches with a quiet confidence that suggests he belongs—because you always did.

In 2020, a season that was unlike any other, you played a key role in helping the Dodgers break through for their long-awaited World Series title. Amid the challenges of the pandemic-shortened season, the pressure to perform was immense, and you stepped up with poise well beyond your years. It’s easy to talk about wins and losses, earned run averages, and strikeout numbers. But what fans remember is how you made them feel when you took the mound. They remember that long stride, the torque in your delivery, and that moment of silence before you unleashed a pitch that seemed destined to paint the black. You brought excitement to every outing, even when you were still figuring things out. And you always did so with energy and enthusiasm—an unmistakable fire that never dimmed, even when adversity struck.

That first championship cemented your place in Dodger lore. But you weren’t done. The next few years brought their own set of challenges. Injuries are cruel in this game—especially for pitchers. Your Tommy John surgery in 2021 was a gut punch, not just for you, but for fans who had come to rely on your presence as a staple of the Dodgers’ pitching staff. Yet you handled that setback the same way you handled a bases-loaded jam: head down, focused, determined to return. And return you did. When you made it back to the mound, you showed everyone that your journey wasn’t over. You were still that electric arm, still that competitor, still that Dodger.

And then came another title. Another chance to celebrate with your teammates, with fans, with the city that embraced you from day one. Back-to-back titles are rare. To be a part of both is even rarer. But for you, the success was never just about accolades. You never carried yourself with ego. You let your play do the talking, and it spoke volumes. You were always a competitor first, a teammate second, and a star in the making. But now, as you move on to Boston, it’s worth saying clearly: You were more than a piece of the Dodgers’ puzzle. You were a cornerstone of a golden era.

There’s something poetic about sports. Players come and go, cities change, rosters shift. But memories remain. And those memories—of you firing a two-seamer that tails into a right-hander’s hands, of you walking off the mound with a slight nod after a strikeout, of you embracing your teammates after big postseason wins—those will stay with us. Because they weren’t just moments. They were part of a larger narrative. They were the story of a team that climbed the mountain, not once, but twice, and you were there for both summits.

Boston is lucky to have you. That’s not just fanfare. It’s truth. They’re getting a pitcher who knows what it takes to win at the highest level. They’re getting someone who understands the value of perseverance, of work ethic, of staying locked in even when the lights are brightest. And they’re getting someone who knows how to be part of a culture that demands excellence every single day. You’ve lived that life. You’ve thrived in it. And now, you’ll bring that mindset to Fenway, where fans are just as passionate and hungry for success. You’ll take the mound there and hear a different crowd, wear a different uniform, but the fire inside—that same fire we saw every time you took the hill—will still burn. That’s who you are.

For Dodgers fans, this is bittersweet. It’s always hard to say goodbye to a player who meant so much, especially one who still has so much to give. But the nature of this game is movement. Players move on. Teams adjust. What doesn’t change is appreciation—real, deep, earned appreciation for what someone gave to a team, a city, and a fanbase. You gave your all. And even when the results didn’t always go your way, you never gave less than your full self. That kind of presence isn’t replaceable. That kind of energy isn’t manufactured. It’s natural. It’s authentic. It’s Dustin May.

Thank you for every pitch, every strikeout, every battle you fought. Thank you for representing the Dodgers with pride, for wearing that jersey like it meant something—because to you, it did. Thank you for showing us what it looks like to be both talented and tough, confident and grounded, fierce and humble. Those aren’t traits you find everywhere. And though your path now takes you elsewhere, what you gave here is permanent. Engraved. Remembered.

As you take your talents to the East Coast, know that you leave behind a legacy—one of perseverance, fire, and championship grit. Boston may be your future, but Los Angeles will always be a part of your story, just as you will always be a part of ours. You were never just a player on a roster. You were a champion—twice over. And more than that, you were someone who gave fans moments they’ll tell their kids about. The kind of player who brings a city together, who gets everyone tuning in on a Tuesday night just to see what kind of magic might unfold. Because with you on the mound, anything felt possible.

This isn’t goodbye. It’s a heartfelt thank you. From the dugout to the upper deck, from the press box to the bullpen, from Little Leaguers watching at home to seasoned fans who’ve seen it all—you made an impact. And you’ll continue to do so, wherever you go. That’s what true professionals do. That’s what champions do.

So here’s wishing you all the best in Boston. May the next chapter bring health, success, and more moments that showcase who you are—not just as a pitcher, but as a person. We’ll be watching, cheering you on from afar, proud of what you accomplished here and excited for what’s to come. Good luck, Dustin May. And thank you, from the bottom of our baseball-loving hearts.