Jackie Robinson's Impact Went Beyond Baseball

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This is a noteworthy anniversary in the history of American professional sports. It is the 70th anniversary of the day that Jackie Robinson obliterated the color barrier in major league baseball.

Of course, it wasn't obliterated right away. Social change always takes time. But it got started on this day.

Robinson broke the color barrier long before I was born. I grew up aware of the segregation that continued to exist in my hometown until I was well into my elementary school years but unaware that professional sports had ever been segregated. It took a remarkable person to make it possible for blacks to play in integrated professional leagues — and Robinson was a special person in many respects. There may not have been a better choice to challenge the status quo in 1947.

USA Today honors Robinson's memory today by listing his five greatest achievements.

To no one's surprise, becoming the first black man to play major league baseball on April 15, 1947 is ranked as his greatest achievement of all — and that is surely what he will be remembered for by generations to come. The other four achievements were from his major league career — after the catcalls had ended and the resistance had receded.

But his greatest achievement may have come off the baseball field — before he made history with the Brooklyn Dodgers — when he demonstrated that he had what it took to withstand what he would have to face.

During World War II while stationed at Ford Hood, Texas, Robinson stared down the U.S. military and its pre–desegregation institutionalized racism. He faced a court–martial over an incident on an Army bus.

The Army had commissioned an unsegregated bus line, but the driver ordered Robinson to move to the back of the bus. Robinson would not do so, and the driver contact the military police when the bus reached the end of the line.

The court–martial had its roots in racist questioning of Robinson following the incident, not because of the incident itself. When Robinson proved his case in court, he was unanimously acquitted a nine–officer all–white panel.

It was during the period of his court–martial that Robinson demonstrated the qualities that served the civil rights movement so well in the years ahead. He was able to remain nonviolent in the face of virtually daily rough treatment by other teams, clearly taking a page from Gandhi's playbook in India and lending inspiration to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s.

Baseball has found many ways to celebrate Robinson's memory. Of course, he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1962, his first year of eligibility.

In 1987, 40 years after Robinson broke baseball's color barrier, the American and National leagues renamed their Rookie of the Year awards renamed the "Jackie Robinson Award." Robinson won the award following his rookie season of 1947 — at a time when the award covered both leagues.

On the 50th anniversary of the bashing of the color barrier, Robinson's No. 42 was retired by all major league clubs. Only one other athlete has been so honored by his sport — hockey's Wayne Gretzky.

"Jackie Robinson Day" is observed every year now on the anniversary, and every player on every major league team wears No. 42 in tribute to Robinson.

It is hard to imagine what America would look like today if Robinson had not broken baseball's color barrier 70 years ago today.

The Consensus Grows: Pete Rose Deserves His Shot at Cooperstown

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When he was playing baseball, Pete Rose knew only one speed. He went all out, every day. He wanted to win.

I guess that tenacious drive to win — which was so admired by baseball fans — was what got him in trouble 25 years ago. On this day in 1989, Commissioner Bart Giamatti accepted what was called Rose's "voluntary ineligibility" from baseball for violating its prohibition on gambling.

What that meant, in simple language, was a lifetime ban from major–league baseball.

And a lifetime ban from baseball is exactly what it sounds like, too. It's for someone's lifetime — and then some. Nearly all the time, he has been prohibited from even being in a major–league ballpark. In one of the rare exceptions that comes to my mind was in the summer of 1999, he was part of the All–Century squad that was honored prior to the All–Star game at Fenway Park.

Rose was given a standing ovation from the fans that evening, by the way.

Why is gambling such a serious matter? Well, it has to do with the integrity of the game, the sport's assurance to its fans that the games are on the level. And the penalty isn't as severe if the player or coach bets on a game involving two other teams, but if a bet involves the team for whom the player plays or the coach coaches, it is much worse because such individuals are in a position to influence the outcome.

Rose was alleged to have made bets on games involving his own team, a charge he denied for 15 years — but finally admitted in 2004.

There's been considerable debate over the years over whether Shoeless Joe Jackson participated in the conspiracy to throw the 1919 World Series; if he did, his performance in the Series didn't show it (at the plate, he had 12 base hits and the only home run for either team; in the field, he committed no errors). Yet his ban remains in effect, nearly 100 years later — and more than 60 years after his death.

Shoeless Joe went to his grave insisting that he wasn't involved in the conspiracy — but you won't see his bust at Cooperstown.

Rose, now 73, knows there is virtually no chance that he will be reinstated, that even though he is still the all–time hits leader (and likely to remain so — his closest active competition is 40–year–old Derek Jeter, who is retiring at the end of this season and should still be at least 750 hits behind Rose when he does), he will never be enshrined in baseball's Hall of Fame.

And he appears to be at peace with that.

"I'm the one that screwed up," he told Keith Olbermann during last year's World Series. "I'm not mad at anybody. I'm not mad at [present Commissioner] Bud [Selig] or Bart [Giamatti]. I haven't given up on Bud giving me a second chance. I know he's retiring after [the current season], but I'll continue to be a great ambassador for the game of baseball and try to keep selling the game of baseball because I love the game."

Giamatti died a week to the day after Rose's ban went into effect.

ESPN recently reported that Rose still hasn't given up on being reinstated. At least, he says he hasn't.

My thoughts on Pete Rose have changed over the years. When the ban was put into effect, I was fully in favor of it. I remember saying to a friend, "When Shoeless Joe Jackson is allowed into the Hall of Fame, we can talk about Pete Rose."

I guess I still feel that way — to a certain extent. I don't think it would be right for Rose to be eligible to be enshrined at Cooperstown and Shoeless Joe not to be. I wanted Rose to admit what he had done, and I was angry that he did not when all the evidence pointed to his guilt. But he has since admitted betting on his team, and I'm willing to accept the last decade as his penalty for that.

I was primarily opposed to enshrining Rose, not continuing to ban Jackson, and my position today is that both should be enshrined — or, at least, they should be eligible for it. Whether they are or not should depend upon their body of work as baseball players; on that, I think we can all agree that they not only meet but exceed requirements. Their contributions to the game should be recognized, not denied because of a mistake that one made and unsupported allegations against the other.

Enough is enough.

I don't know how everyone in the sports media feels about Shoeless Joe, but I can report that there is a growing consensus that Rose should be eligible for a spot in Cooperstown.

Briana Altergott of the Atlanta Journal–Constitution takes no sides but summarizes what has been written recently in the sports press. The headline on Altergott's piece asked the question many in sports media are asking: "Does Pete Rose deserve a second chance?"

"If Selig wanted Rose's banishment to serve as a deterrent for those inside the game who were thinking about betting on it," writes John Erardi of USA Today, "Selig got it — a quarter of a century's worth."

Kevin Sherrington of the Dallas Morning News writes, "Rose has admitted mistakes and served his time. Twenty–five years. Time to make him eligible for the Hall of Fame. Leave it up to the process to determine if he's worthy.

"Frankly, I think he's deserving, just as I did 35 years ago and 25 years ago and last week. For better or worse, there's never been another player like him."

I'll go along with that. I saw him play in person once when I was a kid. He was electrifying to watch, whether you were pulling for him or against him. He wants to be part of baseball again. I believe he has learned from his years in the wilderness. "The last thing in the world I'd do now is bet on baseball," he told ESPN. "I would be the cleanest guy in the world when it comes to that because of the scrutiny I would go through. You may think I'm crazy, but I think baseball is in a better place if I'm in it."

I agree.

Pete Rose has paid his debt to baseball for gambling. Baseball has a chance to be generous and forgiving now.

My Last Post (Hopefully) on Barry Bonds

Yesterday, I wrote about Barry Bonds' obstruction conviction (and the mistrial that was declared on the perjury charges).

In that post, I said Bonds should not be enshrined in the Hall of Fame, but I conceded that he would remain eligible. Based on his performances on the field, I believe Bonds stopped talking steroids when baseball inaugurated its anti–steroid policy — and, consequently, was never in violation of the policy.

Even so, it still doesn't seem fair to me that Bonds' records — which were achieved through artificial assistance that is now expressly prohibited and upon which the case for his enshrinement in the Hall will rest — should be allowed to stand.

It seems (at the very least) inconsistent to me that the same sport that would not recognize Roger Maris' single–season home run record without an asterisk (to indicate that it was achieved in 162 games, not 154) will one day welcome Bonds into its Hall of Fame with open arms, well aware that he never would have done most of the things he did if not for steroids.

But that does not bother me as much as it once would have because, as I said, I am indifferent to Bonds now.

I also expressed my hope that I would not feel compelled to write about Barry Bonds again, but, nevertheless, today I read a column by Sports Illustrated's Jon Heyman, who defended Bonds' eventual (and, I presume, inevitable) enshrinement in the Hall.

In general, I have a lot of respect for Sports Illustrated. I'm a football fan, and I enjoy reading Peter King's writings on the subject for SI. And I have enjoyed reading the other writers on the staff over the years as well.

Beyond the writing, I appreciate the quality of SI's photography (no, I'm not talking about the swimsuit issue, although it is hard to ignore the quality of those photographs). It often captures the emotions that SI's writers — as gifted as they are — are unable to express adequately.

And Heyman is no wet–behind–the–ears sports writer, either. He covered the Yankees for Newsday. He was a baseball columnist for The Sporting News. He's been with Sports Illustrated since 2006.

I would not question Heyman's credentials or his knowledge. Thus, when he writes that he believes Bonds compiled enough Hall–worthy numbers before he began taking steroids (Heyman thinks Bonds started taking steroids in 2000; I think it was long before that) to make moot the point that "not all his numbers are legit," I accept that his conclusion is based on facts — and what Heyman believes to be facts.

"Unless a voter makes a moral judgment," Heyman writes, "the question voters need to ask ... is whether those drugs helped transform the player into a Hall of Famer."

In Bonds' case, Heyman doesn't think the drugs transformed him. He believes Bonds was already there. I disagree.

We disagree on some other points, too. For example, Heyman writes that Bonds is "one of the three greatest players I ever saw in his prime, along with Alex Rodriguez and Rickey Henderson."

I guess that surprised me more than anything else because Heyman is close to my age, and I can remember several ball players who I thought were better than any of those three.

Willie Mays and Hank Aaron were both far better home run hitters than Bonds or Rodriguez, and they had to bat against far better pitchers. So, too, did Mickey Mantle.

Lou Brock was a better base stealer than Rickey Henderson — who didn't have to steal against the cannon–armed catchers Brock did.

And I know Heyman is old enough to remember guys like Roberto Clemente, Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Reggie Jackson, even Pete Rose (who is deservedly banned from baseball but also deserves to be mentioned in this conversation).

I could keep going, but I think the point is made.

As I said yesterday, though — and as I repeated today — I'm indifferent to Bonds now. I don't feel a need to quibble over when he started using steroids. I have my own opinion about that, and it is enough for me. I don't need to persuade others.

I agree when Heyman observes that the standards for enshrinement in the Hall are much lower than they are in a court of law, and that is as it should be. "Scoundrels and cheats are already in," he writes. "So are foul–tempered jerks. Bonds may be all three."

Granted. When the Hall of Fame balloting takes place, it is hardly the College of Cardinals choosing the next pope.

I would like to think, though, that when someone is chosen for a sports hall of fame, he is being chosen in part because he is the kind of person parents would like their children to emulate. He should be honored for his achievements, but it would be nice if he was not a scoundrel, a cheat, a foul–tempered jerk.

Unfortunately, though, if you make that a requirement, you'll have to eject some Hall of Famers like Ty Cobb, who weren't great people but they were great ball players.

So the Hall of Fame isn't ideal. Neither, for that matter, is the criminal justice system.

The difference is that the criminal justice system does keep trying to improve.

Bob Feller Dies

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They just don't make 'em like Rapid Robert anymore. At least, that's what I've been told.

"Rapid Robert" is a nickname that was given to Bob Feller, the legendary pitcher who died last night at the age of 92.

How else can you say it? His was an American story.

He grew up on a farm in Iowa. He even learned how to play baseball on an actual "field of dreams" that was built by his father on the family's land in the early 1930s.

He won 266 games as a pro, and he led the American League in strikeouts six times. He pitched three no–hitters and a dozen one–hitters.

For his career, Feller is 26th in strikeouts. No currently active player has thrown more strikeouts than he did, and it doesn't seem likely that anyone is going to match his personal achievement any time soon.

The nearest active player is 48–year–old Jamie Moyer, who suffered what is thought to be a career–ending injury last month.

(Thirty–four–year–old Javier Vázquez of the Marlins needs 208 strikeouts to pass Feller. Thirty–eight–year–old Andy Pettitte of the Yankees needs 331, and 44–year–old Tim Wakefield is 519 behind.)

In 1962, he was elected to Baseball's Hall of Fame on his very first ballot with the support of more than 93% of those voting.

Eighteen months ago, at the age of 90, he was one of the starting pitchers in the Hall of Fame Classic.

Yet Jayson Stark insisted in his 2007 book "The Stark Truth: The Most Overrated and Underrated Players in Baseball History" that Feller was "the most underrated righthander who ever lived."

Clearly, he wasn't understood. Maybe it was because he played in Cleveland.

• He was an American icon, writes Bill Livingston in the Cleveland Plain Dealer, the newspaper that serves the city where Feller played his entire major league career.
  
  You seldom find an athlete in any sport anymore who spent his entire career in the same city — unless that athlete's career could be measured in months or, perhaps, a few years, not nearly two decades.
  
  Feller's career began July 19, 1936. It ended Sept. 30, 1956.
  
  Mathematicians will tell you that is more than 20 years, but Feller's playing career actually was a few years shorter than that. It was interrupted by his voluntary service in the Navy, which began the day after Pearl Harbor.
  
  In the next four years, many major leaguers would fight in World War II. Feller was the very first major leaguer to enlist following the Japanese attack. He had quite a distinguished military career — as a gun captain, he received five campaign ribbons and eight battle stars.


• He was the greatest Cleveland Indian, says Bob Dolgan in the Plain Dealer.
  
  And that's tough to argue with.
  
  He is, writes Dolgan, "the only Cleveland pro athlete to be immortalized with a statue." The same cannot be said of the great Jim Brown. It certainly can't be said of Lebron James.


• Feller was a true patriot, writes Pat McManamon of Fanhouse.
  
  "A real natural existed before Roy Hobbs was a creation in a filmmaker's mind," McManamon writes. "A guy who learned to pitch throwing into a makeshift backstop with his father on the family farm in Iowa. A guy who would achieve greatness in baseball and willingly sacrifice some of that greatness for his country."


• I really like what Bob Ryan wrote about Feller in the Boston Globe:
  
  "I’ve often imagined that if I could be one 20th–century American athlete it would be Smoky Joe Wood in 1912," Ryan wrote. "But it wouldn't have been a bad thing to have been Bob Feller in 1940. Or 1946.
  
  "Because to be Bob Feller in those years was to be the baseball equivalent of the heavyweight champ. There were many fine pitchers in those days, just as there were many fine boxers not named Joe Louis. But Joe Louis was boxing to the average person. He was the one and only Heavyweight Champeen of Da Woild and he didn't just defeat opponents; he knocked people out! Likewise, in Bob Feller's heyday he was pitching to the average baseball fan. He owned the preeminent fastball in the world, and he didn't just retire batters; he blew them away!"

By the way, if you crave one more piece about the life of Bob Feller, I recommend David Wade's article in The Hardball Times about the day a kid from Chicago faced Feller in a ball game while the two were in the service — and recorded a single after taking his coach's advice ("When he starts his windup, swing").

A Day of Fame

Today is the anniversary of two similar events in two separate sports separated by more than two dozen years.

On Jan. 29, 1936, the first inductees into Baseball's Hall of Fame were announced. Those inductees were:

• Ty Cobb


• Babe Ruth


• Honus Wagner


• Christy Mathewson


• Walter Johnson

In nearly three–quarters of a century, almost 300 people, of whom more than 200 were players (although managers, umpires, executives and Negro Leaguers are enshrined), have been inducted. Next summer, one former player — Andre Dawson — will be inducted, along with an umpire and a manager.

Twenty–seven years later, to the day, the Pro Football Hall of Fame announced its first group of inductees. A total of 17 people were named on that day:

• Sammy Baugh


• Bert Bell


• Joseph Carr


• Dutch Clark


• Red Grange


• George Halas


• Mel Hein


• Pete Henry


• Cal Hubbard


• Don Hutson


• Curly Lambeau


• Tim Mara


• George Preston Marshall


• Blood McNally


• Bronko Nagurski


• Ernie Nevers


• Jim Thorpe

More than 250 people are in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. This year's class has not yet been announced.

Perhaps it was a coincidence that both sports announced their charter classes on January 29. Or maybe the NFL manipulated things — but why?

Does anyone know?