TORONTO — George Springer steps to the plate in the final game of the regular season at the Rogers Centre. Right foot first, then left. He taps the plate with the tip of his bat. Takes a deep breath.

Springer feels it again. It swells from within. It sits on his shoulders. Runs through his hands. It's not a sensation, but the absence of one. A tangible calm. For a time, he thought he lost it. Age, the relentless failure of baseball, his own inner dialogue, they conspired to rob him of perhaps his greatest strength. But as he digs his cleats into the dirt and stares at the mound, he believes it's back.

Conviction.

"I essentially got away from me being who I was," Springer said, "and what kind of made me successful."

It's always been his secret sauce. The permission for his uncanny ag

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