In the hours leading up to their scheduled game Wednesday night, some members of the Los Angeles Dodgers and San Francisco Giants saw an opportunity. Already Aug. 26, 2020, had registered as one of the most significant sporting days in recent memory. A player walkout scuttled three NBA postseason games. Two other games in major league baseball had been postponed. This was the Dodgers' and Giants' chance to do more, to stand up against racial injustice in a meaningful way.
Amid the discussions, sources familiar with the conversations told ESPN, they considered something a number of players thought would be particularly powerful: the teams walking onto the field, like they were about to stage a game, only to turn around and leave before the first pitch, together, unified. In a sport that for so long has treated racial issues as a third rail, this would be an indelible image: a ball on the mound, players unwilling to use it because police shot a Black man in Wisconsin.
Ultimately, it would not happen. Too many players, sources said, were uncomfortable with an on-the-fly protest of that level -- with attaching symbolism to action. On this day, when the basketball world shut down and offered no clear path to a restart, the postponement of the game between the Dodgers and Giants would have to be enough. Getting baseball even to that point took years of work.
As remarkable as Wednesday was -- the sport that saw a single player take a knee to protest police brutality three years ago had three games shelved because of it -- it also illustrates how much more is possible. While Dodgers players followed the lead of their star outfielder, Mookie Betts, and committed to sitting out, other teams with Black players who opted not to play -- the Chicago Cubs (Jason Heyward), Colorado Rockies (Matt Kemp) and St. Louis Cardinals (Dexter Fowler and Jack Flaherty) -- carried on with their games. As passionate as Milwaukee Brewers and Seattle Mariners players were in their fervor not to play, one player leader on another team pushed back against the idea of postponements. 'I'm not an activist,' he said, according to a person familiar with the conversation who declined to name the player.
Still, the person sharing the comment said, it's important to understand how pervasive that sentiment remains around baseball -- how a sport that leans culturally conservative has been, and will continue to be, slow to embrace a social justice movement that contrasts with the worldviews of so many. In one clubhouse conversation Wednesday, a player asked: 'What's the point of this?'
The cursory answers revealed themselves as day turned to night. New York Mets slugger Dominic Smith knelt by himself during the national anthem. After the game, tears streamed down his face. 'It was a long day for me,' Smith said. He tried to compose himself, to talk about what it's like to live as a Black man in a world where Jacob Blake is in the hospital because of point-blank gunshot wounds.
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'I think the most difficult part is to see people still don't care,' Smith said. 'For this to continuously happen, it just shows the hate in people's heart.'
He tried to compose himself again, to make his real point.
'Being a Black man in America -- it's not easy,' Smith said.
His words were a clear answer for anyone who asked for a point or purpose to Wednesday's protests. For Smith, it was a quite literal cry for help -- for those who might not agree with him or might not understand to recognize that his pain is not in vain, his tears not crocodilian. It was even clearer with the Milwaukee Bucks, who answered the what and why with lucidity: They wanted to speak with Wisconsin's attorney general and lieutenant governor and offer their voices and platforms to effect change in police accountability that so often becomes politicized. They went to the people who are likeliest to be able to help translate words into actions, a powerful next step that inspired the Brewers.
They've been in near lockstep with the Bucks on social issues. Josh Hader, the elite closer whose racist tweets sent as a teenager stained his reputation, was the first player on the team to speak up on social injustice, saying: 'It's something that just can't stay quiet.' During the team meeting to discuss the possibility of canceling the game, outfielder Christian Yelich, a former MVP, was among the most fervent in advocating the importance of action, according to sources.
'There comes a time where you have to live it, you have to step up -- you can't just wear these shirts and think that's all well and good,' Yelich said. 'And when it comes time to act on it or make a stand or make a statement, you can't just not do it. And that's what we decided here today. Us coming here together, collectively as a group -- making a stand, making a statement for change for making the world a better place, for equality, for doing the right thing.'
Yelich's words resonated. The Brewers are a team with one Black player, Devin Williams. They also play in a city 35 miles north of Kenosha, Wisconsin, where Blake was shot, and proximity mattered. When Brent Suter, the Brewers' reliever and union representative, broached the idea of not playing with Cincinnati Reds players Mike Moustakas and Wade Miley, they were supportive. Moustakas and Miley had played for the Brewers. They recognized why this mattered so much to Milwaukee. So even if some players in Cincinnati's clubhouse wanted to play -- and they certainly did -- they weren't so much as asked their opinion. The Reds were going to be allies.
That, actually, was a clear takeaway from Wednesday: The baseball clubhouses with strong, outspoken leadership can accomplish things even in a sport in which a diverse ecosystem makes consensus almost impossible. Baseball players can't agree on what food to order, let alone the prevalence of institutional police brutality and systemic racism, and clubhouse environments have not typically fostered discussions about complicated subjects. And yet here were the Dodgers, coalescing behind Betts, with future Hall of Famer Clayton Kershaw at the forefront, saying: 'As a white player on this team, how can we show support? What is something tangible that we can do to help our Black brothers on this team? Once Mookie said that he wasn't gonna play, that really started our conversation as a team as what we can do to support that. We felt the best thing to do was support that in not playing with him.'
The tangible efforts of Betts and Kershaw; of Yelich and Suter and Williams and Ryan Braun; of Moustakas and Miley and Amir Garrett; of the Giants and Padres who refused to accept forfeit wins; and of Dee Gordon and Taijuan Walker and Kyle Lewis and the Mariners -- they made MLB's response stand out. Numerous players expressed disappointment to ESPN that the league, in a statement, didn't offer support for players who chose not to play, saying instead that it 'respect[ed] the decisions': 'Given the pain in the communities of Wisconsin and beyond following the shooting of Jacob Blake, we respect the decisions of a number of players not to play tonight. Major League Baseball remains united for change in our society and we will be allies in the fight to end racism and injustice.'
It was a cautious response on a day that called for more. It also was reflective of a sport that does not face nearly the same level of pressure the NBA does from its players. The respect level between the players and commissioner pales compared with that in the NBA, too. Baseball remains stuck in that unfortunate place where some high-ranking officials want to do the right thing, where some team executives push for it, but where not enough owners have shown they believe in the fight for social justice for the sport to feel fully committed.
Even if the teams return as expected after a one-day absence, the consequences of Aug. 26 won't go away anytime soon. Consider: On Wednesday, Walker, Seattle's 28-year-old starter, was standing up in an emotional meeting with the Mariners, explaining why he believed it was necessary for them not to play. On Thursday, he was traded to Toronto. And on Friday, as Walker starts the intake process with the Blue Jays, the sport will celebrate Jackie Robinson Day.
Typically held on April 15, the day is meant to honor all of Robinson's contributions to baseball. It is largely ceremonial, even though there's opportunity for so much more. There is no greater time on the baseball calendar to show what the game can be, to go beyond videos and words, to fulfill the real legacy of Robinson, one that may still live on in baseball after all: actions.
Major League Baseball Opening Day.
Just typing that phrase makes me feel a bit better. I mean it. Mentally and physically better. I cannot sufficiently explain the way the game is good for my soul, but I know that it is. I take pleasure from the game, and I am thankful to God for that pleasure. Opening Day certainly involves optimism as fans attempt to convince themselves that their team has at least a chance this season. Of course, as an Atlanta Braves fan, I know such thoughts are currently an empty sentiment, but I still enjoy the mental dance.
My delight in the game came to me the way it has for many—my dad loved the game, and passed that love down to me one ground ball, fly ball, game of catch and batting practice at a time. Baseball is a communal and conversational sport that cannot be played or practiced for much benefit in isolation. My parents bought a house, in part, because it was next to baseball fields when I was young. I had a makeshift-pitching mound in the backyard where my father catechized me on the finer points of pitching. I played baseball informally and formally, as often as possible, under a sunny Alabama sky.
Baseball is not simply a sport that I enjoy. The game is baked into who I am. What I have learned from the game, and just being around it, affects the way I lead, husband and parent. Now, do not get me wrong, baseball is just a game, but our games can be formative, and none are more so in American history than baseball. It was former Major League Baseball pitcher Jim Bouton who said, “A ballplayer spends a good piece of his life gripping a baseball, and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.” I am creeping close to having lived half a century, and I find myself just as eager and excited for Spring Training and Opening Day as I have ever been.
No Matter What Baseball Game
![No matter what baseball scores No matter what baseball scores](/uploads/1/2/9/4/129423978/395700963.jpg)
A shared passion
Growing up, morning breakfast always included checking the Braves box score of last night’s game and family talk of the game to come. My dad would throw with me almost every day the weather permitted, and thankfully in central Alabama that was most days. Now, my wife and I laugh about one of our sons who was homeschooled and wore a full baseball uniform almost every single day for about five straight years. This is the way a passion for baseball, a love for the game, is passed on to the next generation. I know there have been days in my life I have not thought about baseball, but I do not remember them, and I suspect the same will be true for my sons.
Roger Angell has written, “Baseball and memory come together so naturally.” In what other sport are children playing today able to recall the games heroes of the past? I have tried asking kids on a youth basketball team if they knew who Wilt Chamberlain was, only to be met with blank stares. The same was true when I have asked young football players if they knew who Jim Brown was—nothing but silence. But, there is always a kid on a youth baseball team who knows of Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth or Willie Mays. Baseball encourages its participants and followers in the discipline of communal memory.
When I meet someone for the first time who loves and knows the game, then they are not entirely a stranger to me because we share a common history and language. One of the amazing things about baseball is its consistency. It is essentially the same game that was played in earlier eras. Unlike most major sports, if you were able to take a couple of fans out of the stands of a major-league baseball park in the 1940’s and transport them to a park this opening day, they would be at home because they would still understand and enjoy the game they were watching.
A lesson in American history
I teach my children American history using baseball as a touchstone. Before the Civil War, baseball was played recreationally in communities. After the Civil War, professional teams started forming. The roaring 20s were the end of the dead ball era, and the Great Depression was the era when Babe Ruth starred and the home run became a significant part of the game. Baseball historian John Thorn contends that the 1940s was baseball’s greatest decade, which was the coming of age for the generation some call the greatest. The 40s produced Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams and Jackie Robinson. Robinson, along with Branch Rickey helped the growing the Civil Rights Movement by breaking the Major League Baseball color barrier in 1947. The Negro Leagues existed prior to the Civil Rights era and ended a few years before passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Amendment. The 70s and 80s were the era of disco, parachute pants and big hair. The scene was equally bad in baseball with artificial turf, the DH and multi-purpose stadiums.
No Matter What Baseball Cleats
A constant source of encouragement
No Matter What Baseball Bat
As this season begins, I have been more discouraged about the American cultural landscape than I have been in a while. The American culture seems to be descending into moral chaos at warp speed. The tone of the current political rhetoric would be considered childish, petty and crass on a fifth-grade playground. The modern cultural dialogue also resembles a rival sports team chat room where the goal is to vilify, castigate and humiliate one’s opponents without mercy or reason. Consequently, my soul needs the familiar sights and sounds of spring and Opening Day because, even in the midst of it all, baseball is still baseball. Pitch-by-pitch, out-by-out, inning-by-inning, game-by-game, baseball marches on for a wonderfully rhythmic 162-game season that is built into the very fabric of our lives until the chill of fall.
No Matter What Baseball Bats
Though there are plenty of things I am not happy about in the game today—the DH, instant replay and that absurd single-game wildcard that mocks the integrity of the regular season—it is still baseball, and my family is ready for the journey of a new season. My love of the game cannot be separated from other cherished realities in my life: Baseball brings to mind memories of my Mom and Dad and Joe Marshall Field in Montgomery, Ala., where I grew up playing the game. I think of friends like Rusty Cone, who I played the game with from six-years-old through college, and Buddy Boyle, who took batting practice with me in the snow. More recently, I think of my wife Judi, who has grown to love the game, and of course, I think of my eight kids.
No Matter What Baseball Team
![Baseball Baseball](/uploads/1/2/9/4/129423978/617464167.jpg)
I think one of the reasons baseball means so much to me is because it is so rooted in my life; it helps me remember who I am. And I haven’t even paused to point out the way baseball serves as a metaphor for what is of ultimate importance to me, my Christian faith. Words like hope, delight, rhythm, community, passing on to the next generation, rootedness and history are also the language of my faith commitment. I understand the sentiment of theologian Stanley Hauerwas when he writes, “No matter how bad things get, I have always thought, at least we have baseball.” I am confident that some of you will identify with that sentiment as well. Play Ball!
This article originally appeared at ERLC.com