Jackie Robinson Day

If there is a guiding principle that informs my writing on this blog, it is that everything is politics. Indeed, it is in matters that superficially seem as far removed from politics as possible that you often get the most valuable political insights. One common mantra that is often repeated holds that sport and politics don’t mix. And yet sports clubs are more than just groupings of people that want to play the same sport – they form their own communities, with their own identities, with their own distinctive memberships. So while the ostensible aim of such clubs may be to play a sport, they cannot exist without revealing subconscious attitudes about the role of those mini-communities in a wider context.

 I mention this because April 15, 1947 is a day that is rightly celebrated in America. It was the day that baseball’s colour barrier was broken for the first time; Jackie Robinson making his debut for the Brooklyn Dodgers, and in so doing becoming the first black man to play in the major leagues. Robinson has righly become a hero in American society – for while it is unquestionable that a black player would have made the leap into the major leagues sooner or later, Robinson displayed all the qualities necessary to make it a successful move, in what was a thoroughly unenviable task. For Robinson could not just be an ordinary player, jobbing around the league. He had to be more than worth his place in the team, to demonstrate that he was giving something to baseball that could not have been provided by a white man. And all the time, he had to put up with some unbelievable provocation. Joe Black, who would later become a team-mate of Robinson’s at the Dodgers, recounted how teams used to sing “Ol’ Black Joe” at him from the opposing dugout. Black’s response was to throw a fastball at the head of the next seven batters he pitched at – as a means of showing them he wouldn’t be intimidated. Can you imagine if Robinson had shown such an attitude?

No, Robinson not only had to be an outstanding player in the league, but he also had to show the strength of character not to respond to such racial taunts. It is no wonder that Robinson remained an outspoken character after his retirement, calling for positions in management to be given to African-Americans, too. Even today, only a small percentage of major league teams are managed by black men; certainly far smaller than the number of black players.

Since his retirement, Robinson’s number, 42, has become iconic. On the 50th anniversary of Robinson’s debut, the Commissioner of Major League Baseball announced that the number 42 would be retired from baseball (that is, no player in the major leagues would be allowed to wear the number on his uniform). Symbolic, yes. Obscuring broader problems regarding racial integration, probably. Yet also an important sign of contrition from Major League Baseball; that their racial segregation was wrong, and that those who had the strength of character to fight it and create opportunities for so many others in the future should not be forgotten.

The number 42 has been the centre of attention this week, too, as Sunday marks the 60th anniversary of Robinson’s debut. Ken Griffey Jr., an All-Star outfielder for the Cincinnati Reds, asked the league if he could wear the number 42 for one day as a tribute – little realising that he would set a fairly large ball rolling. Authorities announced that they would allow any player who wished to wear the number to do so. Six teams, including the Dodgers, and a whole assortment of other players have since indicated that they will wear the number. This in itself has proved somewhat controversial – for many believe that having so many number 42s will dilute the impact of the tribute.

For what it’s worth, I think that it’s encouraging that so many people do want to wear the number – although I’m less sure that whole teams should choose to replicate the tribute, save for the Dodgers themselves. If it becomes something that’s seen more as an enforced decision rather than a voluntary tribute, then it does lose a lot of its power – as well as forcing recalcitrant members into a position they don’t want to take. One player explained his decision not to follow the trend by saying “I could never live up to Jackie Robinson.” Taking note of a special, remarkable occasion does not have to take the form of an outward display.

One thing that is slightly buried in much that has been written about the whole affair, however, is that the players that have chosen to wear 42 are almost exclusively black. One white player, Eric Byrnes, who expressed a wish to wear 42, was later omitted from other lists – and ESPN’s Baseball Today podcast suggested that may have been because he did not want to tread on the toes of a black teammate who wanted to wear 42 himself. I hope that’s not the case. If it is, then it shows that for all the strides that have been made as regards integration, there is still a huge way to go.

The biggest significance of Robinson’s debut 60 years ago was unquestionably for the black community, and the new opportunities that he created. No longer were the Negro Leagues the limit of a talented black baseball player’s ambitions. But integration is only really achieved once race does not become a factor at all. Jackie Robinson, for enduring what he had to in fighting for what was right, should be a hero to all baseball players (and, indeed, an inspiration to us all) – not just to a smaller grouping. It would be a great symbolic act if the players wearing 42 of their own volition were of all races – that baseball is doing all it can to remove racial distinctions between its players. For while 42 may be little more than a number randomly assigned to Jackie Robinson, its cultural – and political – connotations are so much greater.