Far from Common — Thoughts from Dusty Baker

With the release of Crossroads: A Memoir of Baseball and Life, the Olympic Club hosted an evening with Dusty Baker on Friday, September 11, 2026. I wasn't about to miss the chance to meet, greet, listen to, and learn from the former San Francisco Giants manager. D-Bake isn't just one of the cooler cats around; he is beloved. He is anything but ordinary.

Why do I say that? He told me so.

I already knew a little about the Riverside native. He was just four years younger than Bobby Bonds an MLB great whose son Barry played Dusty. Reading about Barry, Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Antihero that gave me a deeper appreciation for the extraordinary place in which they both grew up. What is now known as the Inland Empire was a remarkably vibrant and diverse corner of Southern California, where racial diversity was part of the fabric of the community and young athletes—boys and girls alike—had opportunities to play, compete, and develop.

When Norton Air Force Base closed, the Baker family relocated to Sacramento, where Dusty's father, Johnnie Baker, found work at McClellan Air Force Base. Dusty and his brother enrolled at Del Campo High School in Carmichael. They were the only two Black students on campus—and quite possibly in Carmichael, too.

I know a little about Carmichael because it's home to Jesuit High School. As another school in Jesuits West, I've attended several programs on its campus, spoken with its coaches, and worked with its administrators. They take Ignatian spirituality seriously.

Although Dusty didn't attend Jesuit, the opening passage of his book makes me think he would have understood its approach to people:

I was raised to give everyone a chance. Or at least to try. My parents taught us to keep our eyes open and to trust our feelings about people. If you did that, you could trust that person enough to let them show you who they are. You might end up being disappointed, but more often than not, you would see the good in people. That core conviction has turned into a lifelong philosophy of mine.

That attitude isn't all that different from known a tool in a Jesuit toolbox. The Presupposition is a fancy term that essentially encourages us to assume another’s best intentions. Although Ignatius intended his guidance as a sort of grounding understanding between a retreatant and their guide, the Presupposition is excellent advice for, well, anybody who’s ever had to deal with the idiosyncrasies of another human being. 

I'd argue it's one reason Dusty has found such success in life, in the dugout, and on the diamond.

For over an hour, Dusty shared lessons he'd learned from the likes of Hank Aaron and Willie Mays. He told stories about hunting with Will Clark and working with strong personalities like Jeff Kent and Barry Bonds.

When I had the chance to ask a question, I asked about his experience taking over the Houston Astros in 2020.

You might recall that the Astros fired manager A.J. Hinch in January of that year following his suspension by MLB for his role in the team's sign-stealing scandal. Dusty took over and managed the team from 2020 through 2023, winning the 2022 World Series.

As much as I hated the Astros, it was hard to cheer against Dusty. I know I'm not alone in that sentiment.

Dusty thanked me for the question. He explained that the first thing to understand was that he'd inherited a very good team. Too often, managers are brought in without a roster full of talent. The scandal was infuriating because the Astros had assembled a talented team and then undermined the legitimacy of their accomplishments by cheating. They didn't have to do that!

But Dusty also pointed out that the COVID-19 pandemic had an unexpected benefit: there were no fans in the stands, just cardboard cutouts. The team would have faced much more heat from the fans if the stadiums had been full.

After the talk and Q&A, I went over to have Dusty sign my book.

"You're the one who asked a good question," he said.

Note to self: Make your audience feel seen, heard, and special.

I also congratulated him on his induction into the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum's Hall of Game. I told him I'd visited the museum while in Kansas City.

"With all due respect to what they have there, I think it's totally underwhelming," I said. "Considering what those athletes accomplished, especially under those circumstances, I believe the Hall should make a statement. It's housed inside a modern, multipurpose building."

"I totally agree," he responded.

I explained that I loved the exhibits and learned a great deal, but that the physical space should reflect the extraordinary significance of the people and history it preserves. Across the way is a jazz museum. The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum deserves to stand alone, too."

I purchased a book while I was there, "Satchel Paige: Maybe I'll Pitch Forever."

He responded "I played with Satchel."

I could hardly believe it! I said, "well, I'm mentioning that because if you ever want to add a quote to the front of your book, he has a good one. It was also used in the first episode of Ted Lesson, Season 4, when Higgins visited the Negro Hall of Fame." I handed Dusty my iPhone so he could read it from the screen.

“Ain't no man can avoid being born average. But there ain't no man that got to be common.”—Satchel Paige.

I said, "that's you."

"I never thought I was common. Not me" he replied.

I loved the quiet confidence of that response. Dusty knows who he is, and he doesn't need to pretend otherwise. There's something compelling about that kind of self-assurance, especially when it comes with a willingness to build others up.

Throughout the evening, Dusty spoke candidly about race and acknowledged the challenges he'd faced. But what struck me most was that he didn't seem interested in letting those challenges define him—or in allowing them to keep him from seeing the good in others. His philosophy is rooted in giving people a chance, recognizing their gifts, and treating them as more than whatever assumptions others might make about them.

Perhaps that's part of what makes Dusty Baker so special. He knows he's not common, but he doesn't need to make anyone else feel small to prove it. He remembers the person who asked a good question. He credits the talent of the team he inherited. He carries the wisdom of the people who came before him. And he makes room for others to be seen, heard, and appreciated.

Satchel Paige was right: Nobody has to be common. But maybe the real measure of an extraordinary person isn't simply knowing that about yourself. It's helping other people believe it about themselves, too.

Standing Shoulder to Shoulder: Golf and Grace

Congratulations to the St. Ignatius varsity girls' golf team for beating WCAL rival Valley Christian for the first time in 14 years! With half the varsity squad made up of freshmen, the last time the Wildcats defeated the Warriors, most of these players were still in diapers. This talented, spirited, and spunky team has come a long way, baby! Cheers to the players and their dedicated, hardworking, and outstanding coaches.

Today, the team competed in its final league match against the Lancers of Saint Francis. The win secured a tie for first place in the WCAL. But this is just the first leg of the journey to see how far these Wildcats can go. The goal? Make it to the state championship—and go to Disneyland.

Still riding the wave of the previous day’s victory, the girls arrived with plenty of momentum. Before the match, head coach Dan Schwabe offered a reminder.

Mind you: Dan has the gift of gab. He’s never met a stranger and is seldom at a loss for words. And yet, amid all those words, his messages have a way of hitting home. As I listened to him that day, he offered an image that will stay with me—and, I suspect, with the team. He said...

Go out there and have fun today. Play well. Play smart. Remember, today you get to walk shoulder to shoulder with your teammates. (In the remaining tournaments, players will be grouped with golfers from other schools and leagues). 

When we walk shoulder to shoulder creates the trust and This allows us bond as teammates and reminds that you are NOT out there alone!

You are able to gain a sense of calm and confidence from knowing we are in this together!

We gain strength from our teammates and when it seems like your scores may NOT count, make sure to remain engaged in the competition to make sure your partner NEVER feels alone!

Why? Because Together We Rise

His words served as the ideal bridge to our prayer.

As we gathered for our pregame ritual, I realized that we were standing shoulder to shoulder. We formed a circle and began with our traditional antiphon: Let us remember... We are in the holy presence of God. We linked arms and bowed our heads.

I invited everyone to pray for the person beside them, touching their right shoulder. Then I asked them to pray for the person standing on their left, touching their left shoulder.

Over the course of this season, we have walked together many times. I invited the team to take a moment to pray for the teammates and coaches with whom they had walked, shoulder to shoulder.

We concluded with the Prayer of Generosity.

At the inaugural North American Sports and Arts Chaplaincy Conference, Father Nate Wills, C.S.C., chaplain to the Notre Dame football team, urged those serving in this role to do more than simply show up. "This is more than a ministry of presence. I believe a chaplain is there to listen, engage, stay courageous and give/bring hope."

I don't think we can underestimate the importance of showing up. In the busyness of life, too many people don't. But ministry asks more of us than simply being present. It asks us to pay attention, to listen, to engage, and to offer hope.

I found a message of hope in Coach Schwabe's words. Golf is an individual sport, but high school golf is also a communal experience. Players may compete one shot at a time, but they don't have to walk the course alone. They share the journey, encourage one another, and learn to carry the weight of a difficult round together. And eventually, they must step into tournaments where they will walk alongside unfamiliar competitors, carrying with them what they have learned from the community that shaped them.

I don't entirely understand how I came to this position as the team's chaplain. Perhaps it was a calling.  I sensed a need in the life of the school, and responded with a team I knew. This is my first year in the role, and I'm still discovering  what it means to serve these young women.

But perhaps understanding isn't a prerequisite for responding. Sometimes we recognize a need, feel an invitation, and take the next step. We show up. We listen. We engage. We hope.

In her book, "Traveling Mercies" one of my favorite spiritual authors, Anne Lamott writes, "I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us."

Sometimes, grace meets us standing in a circle. Shoulder to shoulder.

Photo Credits

More than a Musing: Encountering Notre Dame

Back when I was a young adult (in the eyes of the Church), an outspoken member of our group asked me about this blog. “It’s just a bunch of your musings, right?”

Given the time, energy, and thought I had invested in Sports and Spirituality, I was surprised—and miffed—that this was her interpretation of my writing. I have always come to this space intending to do much more than share a story or market a musing. I pen a post because I have something to say: a lesson I’ve learned, a connection I want to make, or a hope I want to share.

I’ve been writing this blog for almost 17 years, and I haven’t let go of that intention or of that comment. I think I know why: I recently returned from a short but sweet trip to Notre Dame, and what I want to share are my musings. I guess she was right. And perhaps what you read here with resonate with you, too.

Pilgrimage Made Easy
Travel to Notre Dame has never been easy. Growing up in the Bay Area, I didn't have the luxury—let alone the option—of driving to campus. Getting there required planes, occasionally a train (the South Shore), and certainly automobiles. Given the weather conditions in and around South Bend and the stress of getting from point A to point B—or, in this case, point ND—the journey itself is an unknown venture. But, this weekend, United Airlines offered a great assist: a direct flight from SFO to SBN.

In fact, I'm still thinking about it. Effortless. Smooth. Not only was it Easy like Sunday Morning, it was easy on Sunday morning. We left at 11:00 a.m. and landed at 12:45 p.m. Pacific time.

A sight to see every other year. SFO-->SBN

This flight is offered every other year when Stanford plays at Notre Dame. I felt like I was on an airbus chartered by Irish fans. It is however, but a temporary luxury. 

One chapter of my book, Caminos on Campus, addresses the effort it takes to get to Notre Dame. To me, that speaks to the very notion of pilgrimage. The journey matters. The effort matters. Although this trip was much easier, the destination is my spiritual home. And I take heart in knowing that, even when the journey gets easier, pilgrimage remains.

Culture of Encounter
One of the joys of returning to Notre Dame, especially for a fall football game, is walking familiar paths. I love taking in the beauty of campus, noticing what has changed, and discovering what's new. I never have to worry about meeting my daily step count! But what keeps me coming back is not simply the beauty of this walkable space. It's the people I encounter along the way.

Some encounters are expected. I walked past Father Pete McCormick, C.S.C., whose joy is palpable. From across the Quad I could see the joy oozing out of him. Other encounters unfold over a weekend spent with some of my favorite people: a glass of wine with one of my closest friends on the patio of the Morris Inn, a reception at Mendoza College of Business with her daughter, and time sharing space with my dear friend Erin and her family. These are some of the reasons Notre Dame feels like home.

My talented classmate and friend, Garret Gray '96.

Then came game day.

After Pete's Pregame, where Notre Dame Athletic Director Pete Bevacqua interviewed Stanford's new AD, Jon Donahoe, I was leaving Jordan Hall of Science when I recognized an alum whose story I had recently read in the summer issue of Notre Dame Magazine.

I had to stop him. I was so moved by the profile piece: Send a Volley and I wanted him to know. I told Ron that he could have been interviewed by Pete, too. A former varsity tennis player who competed on Notre Dame's national championship team, he continues to play the sport he loves, now in a wheelchair.

Reading his story had inspired me. Meeting him gave me the opportunity to tell him so.

It was a brief encounter, just a few moments carved out of a busy football weekend. But it reminded me how much can happen when we pay attention to the people around us. I could have kept walking. I could have admired the campus, checked off the familiar landmarks, and moved on to the next event. Instead, I had the chance break open his story a little more and share that his life and example have made a difference to someone else.

That's what a culture of encounter makes possible. It asks us to look up and around, to recognize that the people sharing our paths are more than passing faces. Each carries a story worth hearing, and sometimes we get the privilege of telling someone that their story matters.

Less Music in this Musing
I am very happy to report that a change has been made! In what is more than a musing, one year ago I wrote "Stay Different Irish." In that post I opined

We're Not Different #3: Speaking of music...

My friend Bill and I caught the Player Walk, a game day tradition whereby coaches and players  process from the Basilica of the Sacred Heart to the Stadium. I love seeing  the team in dress ware—a uniform navy blazer and dress shirt. A few wore ties; all carry their own backpacks.

I realize they are moving from a place of introspection and prayer to a public space that is loud and demands a lot from them. I get that they want to be "in the zone," but I wish they would remove their head phones/ take out their ear buds. To me, silencing the cheers and potential jeers creates a barrier. For example, when I saw Cooper Flanagan, I yelled out "Go Spartans!" I wanted to make a connection to his high school alma mater, De La Salle high school. Those AirPods prevent any sort of communique.

These athletes are modeling what we see every week in the NFL and among their peer group. Am I asking too much in requesting that they be open and stay open to family, friends and fans who call their name and cheer for Old Notre Dame?!

I came to the Player Walk in fear of what I might see. Would they all be wearing over the ear, padded, noise canceling headwear? Turns out, many were BUT they were not covering their ears. All but two players had earbuds/AirPods/a headset out and away (or above their ears). I have to believe a coach said something to the team. Consequently, I felt they were more in the moment. And that singular small gesture allowed me to be, too.

With the People 
I had the privilege of joining a friend in a box seat to watch the game. The padded seats were on the press-box side, facing the opposing team. Our view was unobstructed, delicious food was included in the ticket price, and getting up and out of our seats was no bother. I'm grateful for any chance to see the Irish, especially when they get the W. But given the choice, I'd rather sit somewhere else.

This isn't a complaint. I'm grateful for the opportunity and for an amazing seat. It's just that I think a football game asks something of us. We sit on bleachers, often packed tightly together. We stand up and squeeze past one another to let people in and out. We're close enough to engage with the people around us. We high-five strangers, catch bits of their conversations, and, if you're lucky enough to sit  with my Uncle Jay, you get a referee's POV.

You leave the game feeling as though you played a part in it. When you sit in a climate-controlled box, the experience is different.

Let me be clear: for older fans, people with mobility challenges, or anyone facing extreme weather, box seats can be the way to go. In my mind, I'm still a bit of a young adult, and I think there's something to be said for sitting with and among the people. Part of the Culture of Encounter is showing up, sharing space, and being in the mix. For me, that means sitting in the stands.

In Conclusion
The last visit to Notre Dame was for my class reunion in June. At that time, my mom was still alive and I found solace in talking to my classmates who had already lost a parent. This time, I arrived carrying her memory and talking to others about her life and her death. She provided for a wonderful home where I grew up and returning to Notre Dame felt no different. It is a another home, overseen by a holy Mother where I too have grown up.

Perhaps that's part of what makes returning to Notre Dame so meaningful. We come for all sorts of reasons: the beauty, the traditions, the football, the friendships, the feeling of being home. But we also return as different people than we were the last time we walked these familiar paths. We bring our joys and our losses, our stories and our questions. And we discover that even in a place we know so well, there are still people to meet, stories to hear, and opportunities to encounter something—or someone—that changes the way we see the world.

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What Are Captains For? Christian Yelich and Roy Kent Weigh In...

Although the honor of captain is not uncommon in most sports, it is a rare distinction in baseball. So when the Brewers named Christian Yelich the first official captain in franchise history, it made me pause and revisit a question that some athletic directors and coaches love to ask: Why have a team captain and what should they do? 

When I worked in athletics, I came to learn that a number of athletic directors and coaches wanted to do away with sports captains entirely. They felt the importance of the position was entirely overblown. Others believed leadership should simply emerge from within a team and that a person didn't need a “C” on their uniform to confer that role.

Rather than abandon an opportunity for a young person to exercise leadership, we considered their arguments and grievances and folded those concerns into making the selection process clearer. We returned again and again to the question: Why should a team have a captain? And, to me, that leads to an even better question: What are captains for?

Yelich is one of only three active Major League players with the title of captain, joining the Yankees’ Aaron Judge and the Royals’ Salvador Perez. What is particularly interesting to me is that the idea to name Yelich captain came from within the Brewers' clubhouse.

According to manager Pat Murphy, an unnamed player brought the idea to him. Murphy ran it by the owner and president of baseball operations before presenting it to Yelich.

The Brew Crew's skipper said Yelich consented—but under one condition.

Adam McCalvy writes, “He had one request that we ask Robin Yount before we do such a thing, and Robin agreed wholeheartedly,” Murphy said. “Because in Yeli’s mind, Robin is the first captain.”

That says a ton about Yelich's leadership style to me.

A captain is recognized by teammates—by peers—for much more than talent. They are respected for what they do in the clubhouse, how they treat others, and the way they carry themselves when no one is watching. And, as we see with Yelich, they do all of it with a respect for those who have paved the way and with a certain humility in mind. I love it. 

But the truth of the matter is, I found a great answer to my captain question—*What is a captain for? What should they do?*—from one of my favorite shows: Ted Lasso. Thank you, Roy Kent!

In Episode 7, “Yes & Baby,” Roy Kent is talking with a short-term love interest, Dr. Erin Beaumont. Although he was open to dating, his heart was still with Keeley. Dr. Beaumont knows the end is near. Before she bows out and bids farewell, she summons some gumption and asks:

“Look. There is one question. Why? Why did this happen?”

Roy responds, “What? Us?”

He admits that Keeley wanted him to date other women so that he could learn to fully see someone and let them fully see him.

Dr. Beaumont asks, “So I was just part of some experiment then?”

“No,” Roy tells her. “You were not part of my plan.”

Then, after she asks whether she simply wasn't enough, Roy gives her one of my favorite answers in the entire series:

“Are you kidding me? You’re a f***ing captain.”

She looks confused. “Is that an insult?”

“No! Alright, look. On a football team, captain has three jobs:

1. Make sure everyone’s heading toward the same goal.

2. Stand up for what’s right.

3. Put the well-being of others before yourself.

And you have to be able to hold the center. The way you are with your patients, the way you are with your friends, the way you’ve been with me… You’re a captain. I see you.”

She looks at him and says, “I see you too.”

And there it is. I think that is what captains are for: not simply to wear a “C.” Not simply to speak for the team, take the coin toss, or rally everyone before a game. And certainly not because they are necessarily the best player.

Captains are there to help a team remember where it is going, to stand up for what is right, and to care about the people alongside them. They hold the center when things get messy. They notice people. They make sure no one gets left behind.

And maybe the most important thing a captain can do is to see their teammates—and to help their teammates see themselves.

That, to me, is leadership worth putting a “C” on a jersey for. Go Brewers!

Photo Credits
Dr. B and Roy
Cheesehead

More than Praying Over Putts—The Purpose of a Team Chaplain

I am very happy to report and share that I have a new role in St. Ignatius athletics. For the 2026–2027 school year, I am the varsity girls’ golf chaplain.

Last year, I returned to coaching as the JV girls’ golf coach, a job I shared with another coach. But when my fellow assistant welcomed a third child and my responsibilities in the Office of Adult Spirituality grew, it became clear that coaching wasn’t going to be possible. Fortunately, the desire and need for sports chaplains at SI has emerged, and serving in this role is something I have been wanting to try. It's been a joy and a privilege—a win-win. 

A good friend and former coach recently asked me what serving as the golf team chaplain actually means.

“Do you teach them to pray over putts?”

Considering his short game, maybe he should.

His question gave me the opportunity to talk a little bit about the team, the program, and what we have done so far. They are young, and they are very talented. We are all excited to see where this team will go. But I’ve worked with good teams before. As as much as talent and skill are valuable to any program, I am more concerned with who they become. And I mean this on the golf course, too. 

Last week the team went on a Thursday Morning Comfort Run—
Handing out sandwiches in the TL

Scottie Scheffler is a good example of what I mean. He is, by almost any measure, a remarkably successful golfer. But when I think about what I want for our girls, I’m not thinking first about how many tournaments they win, how low they shoot, or where they end up on a leaderboard.

I’m thinking about who they are when they are playing well—and who they are when they aren’t. As as far as I'm concerned, what he did at the President's Cup this past weekend is so much more than an indicator of his character and integrity. He served as a role model for sportsmanship and how the game ought to be played.

Hugh Kellenberger of The New York Times captures the event well. He writes, 

Scottie Scheffler conceded a 32-foot par putt to his opponent on Sunday in the Presidents Cup, an act of sportsmanship after an unruly fan got involved in the match.

A fan yelled, “Go Scottie,” at an extremely loud volume as Nico Echavarria was in his backswing on the 14th hole, causing the International Team member to slice his drive far right. Echavarria dropped his driver in disgust and glared in the fan’s direction.

Scheffler immediately stepped up for Echavarria, looking at the fan and yelling, “There’s no place for that.”

Echavarria’s drive only went 226 yards to the right rough, and he ended up still 32 feet away from the hole after his third shot. Scheffler had 15 inches left for his par and was 3 up at the time, but gave Echavarria his par putt.

It’s also worth noting that this concession was all for naught. Splitting the hole extended the match.

But what I wanted the team to consider is much more than exercising sportsmanship when something is on the line. What spoke to me was that Scottie thought to do it in the first place. He let it be known that what happened on the tee box was not okay. And he took it upon himself, within his realm of control, to show that it wasn’t.

I cannot guarantee that my role as a coach (in the past) or now, as a chaplain will see to it that my golfers would do the same. But I hope, to be planting seeds and pointing the way so that it might. 

After recalling this example, I gave each girl a prayers card from the Australian Catholic Social Justice Council. On the back is A Prayer for Good Sports. I said "this isn't not something you need to say together. Maybe it's one that you keep in your bag and say on your own. It's a great reminder."

That, to me, is where a team chaplain comes in.

I’m not there to teach them how to pray over putts.

I'm there to invite them to consider: Who are they when they are frustrated? How do they respond to a bad break? How do they treat a teammate who is struggling? What happens when no one is watching? Can they find joy in the game without making their identity dependent on the score?

I’m there to help them pay attention to what golf—and the people they play it with—might be teaching them.

Photo Credits