What Do You Get If You Win The World Series

My buddy Dave spent his entire childhood swinging a plastic bat in his backyard, pretending he was Derek Jeter. Last October, he watched a ball roll under his couch, took a celebratory swig of beer, and said, “That’s it. I’m winning the World Series next year for real.” He didn’t. But it got me thinking: what do you actually get if you somehow pull that off? Forget the parade and the champagne—let’s dig into the real loot.

The Hardware: More Than Just a Trophy

You get the Commissioner’s Trophy, sure, but that thing is massive. It’s a 30-pound silver beast with flags sticking out, and if you drop it on your foot, you’re out for the season. (Seriously, don’t test that.) Each player also gets a World Series ring, which is less “jewelry” and more “wrist-busting bling.”

These rings cost around $30,000 each—diamonds, custom engraving, the whole shebang. You can literally wear your win on your finger, and strangers in bars will buy you drinks for it. But here’s the kicker: the front office and even the ballpark janitor get rings, too. So if you’ve ever wanted to high-five the guy who scrubs the dugout toilets, now you have a reason.

The Cash: Not as Glamorous as You Think

You don’t get a million-dollar check handed to you by the MLB commissioner. Instead, there’s a pool of money—around $100 million combined for the whole postseason—split among the players. The World Series winner’s share per player? For the 2023 Rangers, it was about $500,000 each. Not bad, right?

But hold up: if you’re a rookie who got called up in September, you get a partial share. And the clubhouse attendant who hands you towels? He gets a full share voted on by the players. So you might walk away with a half-million, but you’re also legally obligated to tip the equipment manager. (That’s the part they don’t show in the movies.)

The Glory: Immortality and the Blimp

Winning means your name gets etched onto the trophy in permanent silver letters. That’s forever, folks—centuries from now, aliens might find a 3D-printed replica of your team’s name. You also get your own highlight reel played on every sports network until you’re sick of seeing your own face. (Which takes about 48 hours, trust me.)

And then there’s the parade. You ride in a convertible or on a fire truck, freezing your butt off while thousands of fans scream your name. It’s the closest a baseball player gets to being a rock star—except you’re wearing a polyester jersey and smelling like cheap beer. But you love every second.

The Solid Gold: Wait, Actually?

No, you don’t get a solid gold baseball—that’s a myth. But you do get a share of the gate for playoff games, which is why players fight tooth and nail for a wild card spot. Winning the World Series also bumps your endorsement value into the stratosphere, assuming you’re a star. Justin Turner didn’t become a household name until the Dodgers won in 2020.

But for role players? You might land a local car dealership commercial wearing the ring. That’s the real prize: a lifetime of people yelling, “Hey, you’re that guy from the World Series!” at your kid’s soccer games. (And yes, you have to smile every time.)

The Unexpected Costs: Champagne and Cigars

Here’s the part nobody warns you about: you have to buy a lot of champagne for the locker room celebration. Like, hundreds of bottles. And the clubhouse manager will hand you a bill for the cleanup crew because the sticky stuff ruins the carpet. (True story—the 2018 Red Sox paid $10,000 just for the cleaning.)

Also, each player gets a custom cigar lighter from the team, but if you drop it in the shower, it’s your problem. And the hangover is legendary. You’ll wake up with a ring stuck to your finger, a half-eaten hoagie in your lap, and no memory of the final three innings. Worth it.

The Final Perk: Bragging Rights, Baby

You can walk into any sports bar in America for the rest of your life and say, “I won the World Series.” The bartender might roll their eyes, but the guy next to you will nod with respect. You get a lifetime pass to talk smack about the Yankees, the Cubs, or whoever you beat. (Even if your team loses next year, nobody can take away that ring.)

Oh, and one more thing: you get a phone call from the President—if they’re a fan. If not, maybe a form letter. But Dave doesn’t know about that yet. He’s still swinging a plastic bat in his backyard, dreaming of that 30-pound silver beast. I think I’ll let him keep dreaming. It’s cheaper than buying him a ring.