Dodgers Leaving Struggling Reliever on Mound Too Long in Blowout Loss Proves Padres Rivalry Doesn’t Really Matter to Them

The Los Angeles Dodgers have long claimed that their rivalry with the San Diego Padres matters, that it fuels intensity and creates a postseason-like atmosphere any time the two teams meet. But actions speak louder than words, and on a recent night at Dodger Stadium, the Dodgers’ actions said everything. In a game where they were getting hammered, Los Angeles left a struggling reliever on the mound to soak up innings and embarrassment, and in doing so, broadcast a loud and clear message: the Padres rivalry isn’t worth managing like it matters.

The reliever in question was a fringe bullpen arm, one of those guys who lives on the roster bubble, often shuffled between Triple-A and the majors, his very career determined by a few good or bad outings. It was clear from the start of his appearance that he didn’t have it. His velocity was down, his command was worse, and his body language all but screamed “please get someone up in the pen.” And yet the Dodgers never budged. They left him out there to give up hit after hit, run after run, inning after brutal inning. The only thing colder than the temperature on the mound was the managerial indifference in the dugout.

This wasn’t just a one-off mistake. This was calculated. It’s what teams call a “sacrifice appearance,” the kind of outing where a pitcher is knowingly left in a game that’s out of hand to preserve the rest of the bullpen. And sure, that’s sometimes necessary over the course of a long 162-game season. But when it happens against a team like San Diego—a team that’s clawed and spent to make this a real rivalry—it stings. It tells everyone watching that the Dodgers didn’t believe this game was worth the effort. They didn’t value the optics. They didn’t care.

There’s a double standard in baseball, and the Dodgers often sit at the top of it. Because they’ve built a juggernaut of talent and depth, they get to pick and choose when they care. Rivalry games? Playoff intensity? That’s for the Padres, who’ve spent the better part of the last five years desperately trying to earn equal footing in the NL West. When the Dodgers take a series seriously, you know it. They manage their bullpen tightly. They maximize matchups. They adjust rotations. When they don’t? Well, you get what happened this week.

And the message isn’t just sent to the Padres. It ripples through the Dodgers clubhouse. It lands on the shoulders of the reliever who was left to bleed out in real time, knowing his ERA is exploding, his confidence is eroding, and the team behind him is emotionally checked out. It lands on the fans who paid to watch a rivalry game and instead saw a managerial punt on third down. It lands on future opponents who realize the Dodgers only get up for October—if that.

The contrast couldn’t be more striking when you look at the way San Diego handles these matchups. The Padres treat Dodgers games like playoff dress rehearsals. They bring energy. They bring matchups. They burn high-leverage arms if that’s what it takes to steal momentum. For San Diego, Dodgers games are measuring sticks. For the Dodgers? They’re Tuesday night chores.

There are some in the media who will defend the Dodgers’ choice as “strategic.” They’ll say it’s better to lose big once than to burn through a bullpen and risk losing two more. They’ll talk about rest and rotations and the wisdom of long-term planning. But they’ll ignore what gets lost in the margins—the cost of apathy. Teams that consistently manage for October sometimes forget that momentum is earned in May. That respect is built pitch by pitch. That rivalries don’t endure because of history alone, but because of how you show up in the present.

This wasn’t just a case of letting a long reliever get some work in. This was a willful act of disengagement. It was the baseball equivalent of walking off the job and letting the building burn. There’s a human toll, too. That reliever’s career could be altered. In a league where every appearance is scrutinized by front offices and every decimal point on an ERA matters, being left to wear a crooked number in a game where the team had no intention of fighting back is more than cruel. It’s careless.

You have to wonder what that moment felt like in the Padres dugout. Elation? Pity? Or worse—validation. Validation that for all their efforts to turn this into something real, the Dodgers still don’t view them as equals. Not even close. And maybe that’s the root of the whole problem. The Dodgers still carry themselves like the only team in the room. Even when the Padres beat them, it doesn’t change the psychological gap. Leaving a guy out to die in a rivalry game only widens it.

Maybe the Dodgers will get the last laugh come October. Maybe they’ll steamroll their way to another NL West title while the Padres claw at the wild card. Maybe no one will remember a blowout loss in June. But maybe they should. Because these little moments add up. They create resentment. They fuel fire. They create bulletin-board material and clubhouse conversations and fan base fractures. And they erode what makes rivalries matter in the first place: mutual respect and competitive urgency.

Baseball rivalries thrive on the edge. When teams push each other. When every at-bat feels like a chapter in a bigger story. When decisions are made with maximum urgency because the opponent demands it. That’s what Yankees vs. Red Sox looked like at its peak. That’s what Cubs vs. Cardinals has felt like over the years. And that’s what Dodgers vs. Padres is supposed to be. But it can’t be that when one side decides it’s not worth the effort.

If the Dodgers want to claim this rivalry, they have to manage like it matters. That means treating every inning, every pitching change, every matchup like it’s being played under a microscope. That means not leaving your own guy out there to be humiliated while your dugout stares into the distance. That means showing some damn urgency, even in a loss.

Because right now, it doesn’t look like the Dodgers care. And if they don’t care, then this “rivalry” becomes little more than theater—a one-sided drama where only one cast member is actually trying. The Padres deserve better. Baseball deserves better. And that poor reliever certainly deserved better.

The Dodgers can say what they want in postgame interviews. They can talk about rest days and strategic planning and how the season is long. But the next time they face San Diego, everyone watching will remember this night. They’ll remember the reliever who was hung out to dry. They’ll remember the empty energy. And they’ll remember that when given a chance to prove the rivalry mattered, the Dodgers passed.

Maybe next time they’ll treat it like it does. Or maybe, once again, they’ll leave someone out to bleed and remind us all that—for them—it never really did.