Editor’s Note: This story was originally published in April 2022 to mark the 75th anniversary of Jackie Robinson breaking Major League Baseball’s color barrier. Today, MLB will again be celebrating Jackie Robinson Day throughout the sport.
FIVE YEARS AGO, during one of my eldest daughter’s first Little League games of the season, I noticed her bouncing around at first base on each pitch. It was clear she was imitating someone, and given the only game she’d seen me play in at the time was the Hall of Fame game when she was 3, she was definitely not copying me.
She proceeded to steal a base every chance she could.
When pressed to explain her sudden love affair with stealing bases and aggressively advancing on every pitch, she dropped one name:
Jackie Robinson
Before that baseball season, my daughter, who is turning 13 this summer, had seen the movie “42” at home, with parental protection on full alert. We wondered if it was appropriate at her age, but we also knew Robinson’s story was too important to miss an opportunity to share through a medium that speaks so well to this generation of fans: movie entertainment.
By this point, our four kids — one son and three daughters — already had a preliminary and personal understanding of some of the dynamics of race in America: that sometimes the weight and power of race knocks you off your feet, no matter how prepared you think you might be. But we still prepared them for the portrayal of the awfulness of Philadelphia Phillies manager Ben Chapman, as well as how Florida spring training would capture Robinson and his family being under constant threat.
The movie resonated, as demonstrated by my daughter’s mimicry on the diamond. All of my kids would become fans of Jackie Robinson the baseball player right away, but it was just as important to my wife and me to tell them the story of the complete Jackie Robinson. The figure who testified in court, marched on the streets, opened a bank. Jackie Robinson wanted equality to mean an open door for anyone to play baseball — or to do anything else.
Robinson spent his later life weaving his impact into other areas of American life. He had no intention of stopping progress at first base, and his post-baseball efforts became an extension of his Hall of Fame career, hitting the conscience of the board room, the political elite and the institutions of power, including MLB. When he retired, the line he crossed was not a finish line, but a starting one. His integration of baseball was an early domino in the civil rights gains that would come later, and even without a bat in his hand, he was part of those, too. This fuller picture of Robinson helps frame how he remains significant 75 years after he broke into Major League Baseball: It was the kind of change that reverberates and endures.
LIKE MY KIDS, I was introduced to Jackie Robinson’s story when I was growing up in New Jersey. His story had always been larger than life for me, as it was for so many kids, young baseball players and to Black America. Jackie and his family are royalty to us and yet they somehow still feel close at all turns. But I was fortunate to get even closer through the opportunity Jackie helped give me — a chance to play major league baseball.
I met his widow, Rachel, for the first time right before the 1991 MLB draft. As a 20-year-old, seeing her took my breath away.
When I was playing for the Phillies in 1998, Jackie’s daughter, Sharon Robinson, embarked on a tour inspired by the principles of their family. It was called “Breaking Barriers,” and one of the principles was education, so big leaguers would join Sharon in classrooms to talk about Jackie’s story (the program still exists today). I was chosen to meet her in Philadelphia, the city in which I went to college and where I was playing, to meet with students. The opportunity was surreal — it took me some time to absorb what it meant to be a representative of Jackie Robinson, to know that his daughter would share my story with the next generation … to know that I had become a part of their story.
I’ve done extensive media work sharing the Robinsons’ story over the past two decades, including an interview with Rachel in Cuba in 2016, and within it has always been a little bit of desperation, because I worry about how Jackie Robinson’s legacy will endure. It is one of the greatest American stories ever, but like any story, with time, it can fade. A big step in sustaining it is sharing it with children young enough to be his great-great grandchildren.
I’ve seen the effect this has firsthand, after speaking with players on the UCLA baseball team, a team Jackie once played in his college days as a four-sport athlete. For my preparation to call the game between Stanford and UCLA on Jackie Robinson Day today, I interviewed two sons of my former teammate, Eric Karros. I learned how much they knew about Jackie, and how much their coach, John Savage, had committed to telling his story.
Then there was the day when my personal connection to the Robinsons extended to my own family. After meeting Sharon on that tour two decades ago, it has become a more grounded friendship. A few years back, the two of us had been playing phone tag, and she happened to call back when my eldest daughter was in the car. So they had a conversation. For me it was a mind-blowing experience — listening to them talk about gymnastics and their childhoods, two daughters of big leaguers sharing notes. I just got out of the way.
In that moment, for my daughter, Jackie Robinson went from history to family.
THE PARTS OF Robinson’s story that endure are universal examples of what we all seek from the world: relevance, respect, inclusion, fairness. Robinson did it with grace, fire, exceptional talent and a message that sought equality for all.
It helps that he could do this through sports — as Kyle Karros said during my interview from the dugout at UCLA. “It’s not like he was just some great athlete, which he was,” Karros told me, “it’s that he stood for so much more than just baseball … he used baseball as a vehicle to impact so many people, and that’s ultimately what we should strive to do, leave a positive lasting impact on the world we came into.”
Baseball gave Robinson a microphone, and he used it to confront and change the world, not just to amplify his personal success on the field.
This is a wonderful lesson for any generation.
Sharon has written a few books about her family and her father’s legacy, one of them a memoir about the year she turned 13 (“Child of the Dream: A Memoir of 1963”) and another (“Stealing Home: An Intimate Family Portrait by Jackie Robinson’s Daughter”) about their home life during her father’s “retirement” — which was really anything but. (As Jackie would write in a letter to Dwight Eisenhower: “I have become more aggressive since I stopped playing.”) They faced the same challenges any family would with a father who was on the go all of the time, being pulled in so many directions.
An entire nation — including Martin Luther King Jr. and a long list of U.S. presidents — was looking to her father. But he would carve out daddy-daughter days in New York. And he’d make time to check the ice on their lake to see if it was frozen enough for her to skate on. About this, Sharon would write one of the most beautiful passages I have ever read, in “Stealing Home”:
It was Dad’s official job to test the ice on the lake to determine its safety for skating. We kids lined up along the shoreline and shouted words of encouragement as Dad proceeded out onto the snow-covered ice. Before he placed one big foot in front of the other, he would tap the ice with his broomstick. After what seemed like forever, Dad would reach the deepest part of the lake, give one last tap with his stick, then turn to us and call out: “Go get your skates!” I thought Dad was very brave.
Now I think it even more. He was as brave then as when he entered baseball, a feat it took me years to appreciate. It dawned on me only gradually what it had meant for him to break the baseball color line, the courage it took for him to enter uncharted, and dangerous waters. He had to feel his way along an uncleared path like a blind man, tapping for clues. That was Jackie Robinson. And that was my dad — big, heavy, out there alone on the lake, tapping his way along so the ice would be safe for us.
And he couldn’t swim.
It was 75 years ago when Robinson played his first game with the Brooklyn Dodgers, breaking a color barrier in a major professional sport for the first time. It was also a world event, helping set off what would be the integration of a nation and inspiring everyone who understands the pain of trying to cross a color line. That line was more like a wall, covered in barbed wire, yet Robinson climbed it anyway.
He tested the ice for all of us, through his fearlessness, through moments of doubt, of love, of frustration — the path to social change is never linear. He did all this not just for his children, but for the children of his dreams. He also left behind messengers and parents, mentors and coaches, who know that with all of his achievements, at his core he was always trying to be a better father, because that love always endures.
My daughter would go on to steal more than 30 bases that Little League season — according to my calculations as an admittedly biased third-base coach. She jumped from base to base, often taking another one on a passed ball or a wild pitch. After realizing that only a few kids could throw strikes consistently, she stopped swinging the bat at all, deciding that was her best chance to get on base and show what she could do. She finished the season as a two-outcome girl: walk or strike out looking.
I told her that her strategy was sound, but that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer — in the upcoming seasons, opposing pitchers would get better. It didn’t matter to her, though. Once you feel like Jackie Robinson, you will always be Jackie Robinson.
COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. — Ichiro Suzuki became the first Japanese-born player to be enshrined into the National Baseball Hall of Fame on Sunday, one of five new members of baseball’s hallowed institution.
After enduring the baseball tradition known as a rain delay, the five speeches went off without a hitch as the deluge subsided and the weather became hot and humid. Joining Suzuki were pitchers CC Sabathia and Billy Wagner, and sluggers Dick Allen and Dave Parker, both of whom were enshrined posthumously.
“For the third time, I am a rookie,” Suzuki said, delivering his comments in English despite his long preference for conducting his public appearances in Japanese with the aid of an interpreter.
For the American audience, this provided a rare glimpse into Suzuki’s playful side. Teammates long spoke of his sense of humor behind the closed doors of the clubhouse — something the public rarely saw — but it was on full display Sunday.
When Hall voting was announced, Suzuki fell one vote shy of becoming the second unanimous selection for the Hall. He thanked the writers for their support — with an exception.
“Three-thousand [career] hits or 262 hits in one season are achievements recognized by the writers,” Suzuki said. “Except, oh, one of you.”
After the laughter subsided, Suzuki mentioned the gracious comments he made when balloting results were announced, when he offered to invite the writer who didn’t vote for him home for dinner to learn his reasoning. Turns out, it’s too late.
“The offer to the one writer to have dinner at my home has now … expired!” Suzuki said.
Suzuki’s attention to detail and unmatched work ethic have continued into the present day, more than five years since he played his last big league game. That was central to his message Sunday, at least when he wasn’t landing a joke.
“If you consistently do the little things, there’s no limit to what you can achieve,” Suzuki said. “Look at me. I’m 5-11 and 170 pounds. When I came to America, many people said I was too skinny to compete with bigger major leaguers.”
After becoming one of the biggest stars in Japanese baseball, hitting .353 over nine seasons for the Orix BlueWave, Suzuki exploded on the scene as a 27-year-old rookie for the Seattle Mariners, batting .350 and winning the AL Rookie of the Year and MVP honors.
Chants of “Ichiro!” that once were omnipresent at Mariners games erupted from the crowd sprawled across the grounds of the complex while the all-time single-season hits leader (262 in 2004) posed with his plaque alongside commissioner Rob Manfred and Hall of Fame chairman Jane Forbes Clark.
Despite his late start in MLB, Suzuki finished with 3,089 hits in the majors and 4,367 including his time in Japan. Suzuki listed some of his feats, such as the hit total, and his 10 Gold Gloves.
“Not bad,” he said.
Sabathia’s weekend got off to a mildly rough start when his wife’s car broke down shortly after the family caravan departed for Cooperstown. They arrived in plenty of time though, and Sabathia was greeted warmly by numerous Yankees fans who made the trip.
After breaking in with Cleveland at age 20, Sabathia rocketed to stardom with a 17-5 rookie season. Alas, that came in 2001, the same year that Suzuki landed in the American League.
“Thank you most of all to the great players sitting behind me,” Sabathia said. “I am so proud and humbled to join you as a Hall of Famer, even Ichiro, who stole my Rookie of the Year Award in 2001.”
Sabathia focused the bulk of his comments on the support he has received over the years from his friends and family, especially his wife, Amber.
“The first time we met was at a house party when I was a junior in high school,” Sabathia said. “We spent the whole night talking, and that conversation has been going on for 29 years.”
Parker, 74, died from complications of Parkinson’s disease on June 28, less than a month before the induction ceremony. Representing him at the dais was his son, Dave Parker II, and though the moment was bittersweet, it was hardly somber.
Parker II finished the speech with a moving poem written by his father that, for a few minutes, made it feel as if the player nicknamed “The Cobra” were present.
“Thanks for staying by my side,” Parker’s poem concluded. “I told y’all Cooperstown would be my last rap, so the star of Dave will be in the sky tonight. Watch it glow. But I didn’t lie in my documentary — I told you I wouldn’t show.”
Parker finished with 2,712 hits and 339 homers, won two Gold Gloves on the strength of his legendary right-field arm and was named NL MVP in 1978. He spent his first 11 seasons with the Pittsburgh Pirates and entered the Hall representing the Bucs.
Wagner, whose 422 career saves ranks eighth on the all-time list, delivered an emotional but humorous speech about a small-town guy with a small-for-a-pitcher 5-foot-10 stature who made it big.
“I feel like my baseball life has come full circle,” Wagner said. “I was a fan before I could play. Back when baseball wasn’t so available on TV, every Saturday morning I watched Johnny Bench and so many of the other greats on a show ‘The Baseball Bunch.'”
In one of the moments of baseball serendipity that only Cooperstown can provide, the telecast flashed to Bench, sitting a few feet away from where Wagner was speaking.
Allen’s widow, Willa, delivered a touching tribute to her late husband, who died in 2020 after years of feeling overlooked for his outstanding career. The 1964 NL Rookie of the Year for the Phillies, Allen won the 1972 AL MVP for the Chicago White Sox.
“Baseball was his first love,” Willa said. “He used to say, ‘I’d have played for nothing,’ and I believe he meant it. But of course, if you compare today’s salary, he played almost for nothing.”
Willa focused on the softer side of a player who in his time was perhaps unfairly characterized for a contentious relationship with the media.
“He was devoted to people, not just fans, but especially his teammates,” Willa said. “If he heard someone was sick or going through a tough time, he’ll turn to me and say, ‘Willa, they have to hear from us.'”
As part of the deal, the Cardinals will cover the majority of what remains of Fedde’s $7.5 million salary for 2025, a source told ESPN.
Fedde, 32, is a free agent at season’s end, making him a surprising pickup for a Braves team that was swept by the Texas Rangers over the weekend and is 16 games below .500, trailing the first-place New York Mets by 16½ games.
But the Braves have sustained a slew of injuries to their starting rotation of late, with AJ Smith-Shawver (torn ulnar collateral ligament), Spencer Schwellenbach (fractured elbow), Chris Sale (fractured ribcage) and, more recently, Grant Holmes (elbow inflammation) landing on the injured list since the start of June.
Fedde reestablished himself in South Korea in 2023, parlaying a dominant season into a two-year, $15 million contract to return stateside with the Chicago White Sox. Fedde continued that success in 2024, posting a 3.30 ERA in 177⅓ innings with the White Sox and Cardinals.
This year, though, it has been a struggle for a crafty right-hander who doesn’t generate a lot of strikeouts. Twenty starts in, Fedde is 3-10 with a 5.22 ERA and a 1.51 WHIP.
BOSTON — Los Angeles Dodgers two-way star Shohei Ohtani is expected to start on the mound Wednesday as he continues his buildup from elbow surgery that kept him from pitching all last season.
Manager Dave Roberts said Sunday before the Dodgers faced the Boston Red Sox in the finale of their three-game series that the plan is for Ohtani to work four innings at Cincinnati, with an off day to recover before hitting in a game.
With the Japanese superstar working his way back along with left-hander Blake Snell, who pitched 4⅔ innings on Saturday in his fourth rehab start for Triple-A Oklahoma City, the Dodgers will be using a six-man rotation.
“Shohei is going to go on Wednesday and then he’ll probably pitch the following Wednesday, so that probably lends itself to the six-man,” Roberts said.
In Ohtani’s last start, he allowed one run and four hits in three innings against Minnesota on July 22. He struck out three and walked one, throwing 46 pitches, 30 for strikes.
Roberts said this season is sort of a rehab year in the big leagues and doesn’t foresee the team extending Ohtani’s workload deep into games for a while.
“I think this whole year on the pitching side is sort of rehab, maintenance,” he said. “We’re not going to have the reins off where we’re going to say: ‘Hey you can go 110 pitches.’ I don’t see that happening for quite some time. I think that staying at four [innings] for a bit, then build up to five and we’ll see where we can go from there.”