The crowd in Baltimore didn’t know his name the way they knew Seaver or Koosman. But on that October night, in 1969, in the Mets dugout, everyone knew without a doubt who Ron Taylor was. When the bullpen gate slowly swung open during Game 2 of the World Series and Taylor walked onto the field, it wasn’t about showing off; it was about exuding a sense of composure. He didn’t just throw strikes; he threw lifelines. And that night, he didn’t just notch a save. He helped lift a World Series.

Ron Taylor, the soft-spoken Canadian who quietly became a pillar of the “Miracle Mets,” passed away Monday at the age of 87, as confirmed by the club officials. His name may not be the first you see in highlight reels, but within baseball circles and especially in Queens, Taylor was the guy who always showed up when the stakes were the highest. He was the stabilizer in a season built on chaos.

“We don’t win the title without Ron Taylor,” said former teammate Art Shamsky, reflecting the sentiment of every Met who took the field that year. Taylor’s pivotal performance in Game 2 wasn’t a statistic in the record book; it marked a shift in momentum and showcased New York’s resilience as they faced off against Baltimore without backing down from the challenge as the perceived underdog.

Taylor didn’t make headlines during his baseball career. He earned that in the process. Managers leaned on him. Teammates counted on him. Throughout his career spanning 11 seasons across five teams, he secured two World Series championships. The one with the 1964 Cardinals and the second one with the ’69 Mets.

Despite his accomplishments, in victories and saves, he maintained a demeanor, avoiding any pursuit of fame or attention.

And then, he did something few athletes even dare to dream: He walked away on his own terms and became a doctor. Not just any doctor, the team physician for the Toronto Blue Jays. From saving games to caring for players’ injuries, Taylor’s second act was just as meaningful as his first. It’s the kind of full-circle story that feels rare, almost cinematic.

He was recognized by Canada in 1985 when they inducted him into the Sports Hall of Fame not only for his performance in the game but for embodyinɡ consistency, humility, and a stronɡ commitment to his goals.

Ron Taylor didn’t need a signature pitch or a spotlight to become unforgettable. He just needed the ball, the moment, and his quiet, steady composure. Now, the game says goodbye to one of its unsung architects, and Canada says goodbye to a hometown hero.

MLB legend: From World Series to medicine

When Ron Taylor threw his final pitch in 1972, most assumed he’d fade into the background like so many quiet relievers do. But he traded in the ball for a stethoscope and wrote one of the most remarkable second acts in baseball history.

After retiring from the game, Taylor returned to school full-time, enrolling in medical studies at the University of Toronto. While many athletes chase coaching jobs or front office roles, Taylor pursued something far more demanding and deeply personal.

“I never really thought about coaching,” Taylor once told The Globe and Mail. “What I really wanted was a career where I could make a difference long after baseball.” And he did exactly that.

After earning his medical degree, he became a physician and eventually served as the team doctor for the Blue Jays. Blending his firsthand understanding of a player’s body with clinical precision. It wasn’t just a title; he was part of the clubhouse, advising players, treating injuries, and bringing empathy that few in his position could match.

Taylor’s dual-career life, World Series champion turned medical professional, is more than a trivia note. It’s a testament to discipline and vision. He didn’t just transform himself. He showed that greatness can span beyond a moment in time.

Truly, Taylor’s influence extends beyond his achievements. He will be remembered not only for his success in MLB but also for how he used those lessons to shape a meaningful life outside of baseball.