Activism in athletics no longer in vogue

It was February 2006, and “New York’s other team” was just turning the corner. The year before, it was ace Pedro Martinez and outfielder Carlos Beltran. As a follow-up, the Mets landed Delgado and closer Billy Wagner. New York seemed to be preparing for something big.

But what was supposed to be a glorious day for the franchise turned ugly when the Mets management announced that Delgado’s changing teams would also bring about a change in the first baseman’s attitude. Once one of the few politically outspoken athletes in Major League Baseball, Delgado had agreed to stop making waves; to censor himself and his opinions; to become just another player.

“[Carlos] is going to have his own personal opinions, which he is going to keep to himself,” said Jeff Wilpon, son of Mets CEO and owner Fred Wilpon, on the day Delgado was introduced to the New York media. Delgado himself echoed those same sentiments, promising, among other things, to stop his refusal to take the field for the singing of “God Bless America.” Delgado originally started the protest because of his opposition to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the increased presence of U.S. troops in Latin America.

At the time, I found it simultaneously sad and darkly humorous. Here stood the man who was going to add incredible power to the Mets’ lineup, and yet, as he held up his jersey, smiling for the cameras, he appeared completely powerless.

I love the Mets. I have loved them my entire life, but I was ashamed of what they did to Delgado. They forced him to shelf his personal beliefs and become another one of baseball’s 800 robots.

“Employee Number 21,” Delgado called himself upon joining the Mets, an Orwellian title that becomes especially ironic considering that Delgado’s #21 is a tribute to Roberto Clemente, the ideal athlete, one whose impressive on-field talent gave him a platform upon which he accomplished myriad political changes.

Where have these athletes gone? Clemente was a strong voice for economic and social justice, as well as a successful advocate for Latin American equality in baseball. During his lifetime, there were a number of others like him. Muhammad Ali, Tommie Smith and John Carlos were all athletes who, in the 1960s, used their fame to draw attention to controversial but pertinent political topics. In today’s sports world, however, a politically active athlete is as rare as an openly gay star. Somehow, activism of any kind has become the ugly and unfortunate taboo of our modern superstar culture. Most teams, and players for that matter, are afraid to present any opinion or orientation that deviates from the norm, a stifling of individuality, that, when compared to men like Clemente, becomes a monumental injustice.

Imagine for a second how important it would be for young children across the country if their heroes became more than just muscular automatons with the ability to dunk from the free-throw line or hit a baseball 500 feet. Imagine the progressive impact of a politically active — or openly gay — American athletic superstar.

The music world has Bono and Hollywood has George Clooney, but the sports world’s contribution to political activism is quite lacking. It is impossible to assign blame for such inactivity, but the onus, in this case, falls on both team management — starting with owners such as Wilpon — and the players themselves.

In the early 1960s, the Pittsburg Pirates did not want Clemente to play because his activism made him a troublemaker and a headache, but his incredible talents gave them no choice. They eventually called him up, knowing that with his four batting titles, 12 Gold Gloves and 15 All-Star selections came his political views. Delgado, like Clemente, should have used the leverage garnered by his talent to accomplish a similar goal. Would the Mets really have passed on the opportunity to sign one of the league’s best sluggers because he stayed in the dugout during the seventh inning stretch? I think not.

Two weeks ago, after hitting two home runs in a 6-3 victory over the Atlanta Braves, “Employee Number 21” rejected the fans’ customary requests for a curtain call. He had been booed all season and refused to give the fans the satisfaction of forgiving their harsh treatment by tipping his hat to their cheers.

After the game, as Mets fans condemned Delgado’s audacity, I saw the same fire in Carlos’ eyes that was extinguished two years ago.

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“There are moments [to stay in the dugout], and there are moments [to celebrate] ... I don’t think that was the moment [to celebrate],” he said after the game, before adding that he had too much respect for the sanctity of the game to let drunk fans dictate how he conducts himself on the field.

Granted, this is a far cry from Delgado turning back into the man who declared, “Sometimes, you’ve just got to break the mold. You’ve got to push it a little bit or else you cannot get anything done.” But it is undoubtedly a step in the right direction.

We give our athletes everything — our undying love, admiration, respect and more money than they know what to do with — but what do we get back in return? The bare minimum: their incredible talents during competition and an unfortunate silent passivity when the games are not being played.

It is time for someone to, as Delgado once said, “break the mold.” It is time for a sports superstar to use the fans’ greatest gift — public recognition — for a good cause. Carlos Delgado was once that player. Hopefully, he still is.