Mondays with Mike: The Mighty Minnie     

Major League Baseball is screwing up in novel but unsurprising ways during what should be an off season of free agent signings and trades. But the season’s not even “off” right now because it’s been locked out by greedy, depraved owners. And nothing will happen until that’s over.

Baseball owners have always been thus—rich, snobby, and lacking visions—with a few exceptions, including the late, great Bill Veeck. His story is more than blog’s worth—it’s a fantastic autobiography called “Veeck as in Wreck,” written with Ed Linn.

Veeck did great fun things in baseball, crazy things in baseball, and truly great things for baseball. He brought the first Black player to the American League—Larry Doby broke the color barrier in 1947 when Veeck brought him to the Cleveland Indians. It was only months after Jackie Robinson had done the same in the National League. Doby suffered just as mightily, but no one ever says “faster than you can say Larry Doby.” (Doby was also a hulluva player, by all accounts and by the numbers.)

Veeck also had the fortitude and moral sense to later to bring Minnie Miñoso to the Indians in 1949. The Cuban-born Miñoso had the distinction of being the first Black Latin player in the Majors, giving bigots a choice to make. From a story by Tyler Kepner in the New York Times:

Many light-skinned players from Cuba had appeared in the majors before Miñoso’s debut in 1949 for Veeck’s Cleveland Indians. Miñoso, however, was dark-skinned. He faced the same kind of racism directed at Robinson and other Black players, without the same command of English to help him get by.

And this:

“My first year in big league, one team — I no tell who — always call me names,” he once told The New York World-Telegram and Sun, which quoted him in broken English, as recounted in Jay Jaffe’s “The Cooperstown Casebook” in 2017. They used foul language and referenced his race, Miñoso said, adding: “I think they try make me afraid.”

Miñoso persevered. From 1951 through 1961, he ranked third in the majors in hits, trailing only Nellie Fox and Richie Ashburn. Miñoso had more steals and a better on-base plus slugging percentage than both.

Fox and Ashburn are Hall of Famers. So, of course, are Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays and Stan Musial, the only everyday players who matched Miñoso in batting average (.300), on-base percentage (.390) and slugging percentage (.450) in that 11-year prime.

Those are some pretty big, very well-known names, but not so much with Miñoso. By all accounts, which are finally coming to light, he was a prince of a man who somehow chose joy and generosity over anger and bitterness. I could use some of that.

Yesterday, Miñoso was finally voted into the MLB Hall of Fame. He wasn’t around to get the news—he died in 2015. In a radio interview on the eve of the vote, Minnie’s son Charlie, who apparently inherited his father’s grace, pointed out that his induction into the Hall would still be a fantastic recognition for Miñoso’s family. Between Cuba and Negro Leagues and a travel-heavy MLB travel schedule, they spent a lot of time without their father and husband around.

White Sox and Cleveland fans have always understood Miñoso’s greatness—he spent decades as Sox ambassador and was golden to any fan who wanted to talk. For those who weren’t part of his fandom, it’s never too late.