Jackie Robinson’s indelible mark on baseball and all he was able to accomplish is truly as much a testament to the human spirit as it is his athletic ability. He remains a constant in the the sport and a not-so distant reminder from where we have come. It is an odd thing, though, the steady decline in the number of African-Americans playing professional baseball today.

So it was yesterday, after a long day at the home office, I was getting my growler refilled at the bar and glanced up to watch a few highlights from Wakefield’s bid for a no-no. Needless to say a bid that goes into the 8th is the often the product of more than a few incredible defensive plays. The first I saw was the shortstop going to his right, fielding a ball deep in the hole and making a great leaping-twisting-turning throw to first for the out. I made a mental note he was wearing 42. Obviously I was paying more attention to the bartender. The second highlight had the same #42 racing into shallow center to make a diving catch behind second base. I thought, “that fucking guy is everywhere!” It was when 42 made a catch in center and ran headlong into the wall that I finally began to put it together. It all was cemented when I noticed 42 also had an impressive knuckle ball. It was not the same 42. I get it. I failed to note that every batter was wearing 42 as well. For being a league-wide retired number, 42 certainly got a workout yesterday.

That being said, “that” being not much at all, seeing 42 at every position was a welcome reminder of all that Jackie Robinson, and those who came before and after, have had to endure. It is a shameful past our nation and nation’s pastime share. What we can do now is only our best to ensure it is not repeated as we move forward as a community, as a culture.