Bernie Mac’s ‘Mr. 3000’: 20 years later, the Black baseball accuracy remains

“Sportswriters hate me, but my numbers don’t lie. … They gotta let me in. It’s my year and everybody knows it.”

Those are the words of one Stan Ross, played by the indomitable Bernard Jeffrey McCullough in the 2004 movie, Mr. 3000. A wildly underrated baseball movie in terms of being another vehicle for Bernie Mac to show off his comedic genius, 20 years later it serves with striking accuracy as a fascinating reminder of what the game means to quite a few Black veteran ballplayers.

If you don’t know the film, it’s about a player who in the middle of a playoff chase — playing for the Milwaukee Brewers after getting to the revered total of 3,000 hits — decides to up and retire. Postgame, immediately in a scrum with reporters. An obviously shocking move at the time, his manager, played by Paul Sorvino, without saying a word gives him a look of disapproval that can mean so much in the baseball world. Ross’ rationale is being that he didn’t like any of his teammates anyways and now that he’s got his milestone, he can rest easy knowing he’ll be a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame.

While it seems like a ridiculous premise, it is true in reality. Every single player who has reached that 3,000-hit mark has a bust in Cooperstown, New York. If they don’t, it’s because they’re relatively recently retired and haven’t been voted in yet. Considering only 33 players have done it in the history of MLB, it’s a reasonable thing to surmise.

Last week, the Class of 2025 Hall of Fame ballot was announced featuring three brothas returning to the ballot: Andruw Jones, Jimmy Rollins and Torii Hunter. Additionally, this year, Curtis Granderson, Adam Jones, Hanley Ramírez, Fernando Rodney and CC Sabathia are the five newcomers. If you throw in the Classic Baseball Era Committee (once known as the Veterans Committee) the list of total African American players eligible for enshrinement moves to 13, with Dick Allen, John Donaldson, Vic Harris, Dave Parker and the late Luis Tiant on that list.

(We’re not going to get into a whole sidebar about the delineation of Afro Latino versus Black Americans, because namely, I don’t care to and secondly, as far as this discussion goes it only REALLY matters because Hunter himself once said that the two were not the same in baseball terms and later apologized. I think we’ve all grown past that dated outlook.)

Point is, the film, two decades later, operates on some stereotypes that unfortunately still feel quite relevant, and in many cases are accurate. For one, the idea that in the modern-day big leagues, guys either have to be former stars or young and upcoming hotshots to find a spot on a roster is very real. The so-called above average everyday Black player’s presence isn’t really a thing anymore the way it was in the 1970s and 1980s, never mind the 1990s and early 2000s. Mark McLemore and Bill Hall aren’t walking through that door.

Ross is the old star who comes back to the Brewers after it turns out a scorekeeping error means he’s only actually got 2,997 hits, making all his Mr. 3000 branding on everything from his eponymous sports bar to all his other wacky money-making promotions technically incorrect. As it turns out, since Ross’ number retirement game is the most attended of the season at Miller Park, the team says you can come back and actually play after September call-ups to try and regain the feat … nine years later.

In the clubhouse, Sorvino is still there, still silent, but the new it guy is Rex “T-Rex” Pennebaker, played by Brian J. White, whose dad just happens to be Jo Jo White — a Hall of Fame basketball player. His character looks, talks and dresses like something straight out of You Got Served, which makes complete sense. The line that sums up his character, after hitting a home run he does something that to a younger eye looks like New York Yankees outfielder Jazz Chisolm’s Eurostep at the plate.

“What the hell is that?” the opposing catcher says. “That right there? That’s a little something for SportsCenter, but that’s gonna look tight next year’s video game,” T-Rex replies with a grin.

Looking back on it, that was a surreal time to be a young Black player and fan of the game. In the movie, the marketability of the brothas is the whole central theme. Commercials, video games, highlights, etc. Yet, within the game itself, the very antics that make the game more popular are frowned upon. At one point, the Brewers executive makes it clear that he doesn’t care about Ross getting to 3,000 or the Hall of Fame, he just wants butts in the seats.

It might be a Hollywood movie, but the message is clear: Loving the game doesn’t mean it’ll love you back.

For a lot of the brothers now up for the Hall, that was their era of the game. That time where we contradictorily hated on guys inside the game for doing things like “not wearing their hat properly” but also used their quirkiness to market the game. Sabathia and Rodney wearing their hat to the side, or Adam Jones rocking jewelry on the field or Rollins with the straight back cornrows.

We look back on that stuff with pride now and wonder where all the swag is, but at the time all that was legit frowned upon. A lot of it was effectively socially regulated out of the highest levels of the game until very recently. I do wonder how those same Baseball Writers’ Association of America members who have unconscionably kept Dave “The Cobra” Parker out of Cooperstown and their generational counterparts will treat this current crop of Black players who dared to be themselves.

Additionally, the movie is an incredible look back at a simpler time. We get jokes about the stigmas of using the erectile dysfunction drug Viagra, and the newfangled workout craze known as “Pilates,” which sounded so ridiculous at the time. There’s plenty footage of ESPN anchor Stuart Scott and the image of Bernie Mac at an outdoor recreational center batting cages hitting from the left side in a pair of gators is downright hilarious.

While the movie feels a little over the top with some scenarios, if you know a lot of old big leaguers, particularly Black guys, the idea of being in a big mansion all by yourself with trophies everywhere, pining after old lovers (Ross’ old girlfriend is portrayed by Angela Bassett, no less) but nothing really to show for it in terms of what you think of yourself on the inside? That is so real.

A lot of these dudes gave up their lives: years in the bush leagues just trying to make it the majors, then being on the road constantly, often under constant duress that their counterparts didn’t have to deal with, or never even getting the chance to be great when they knew they had the talent. For those who actually did excel at the highest level, the idea of sitting around talking about the glory days or, for that matter, making constant over-the-top references to your career to make sure people remember, is a real part of life.

It’s not ego, it’s human nature to want to be rewarded for something you committed your existence to and excelled at, at the highest level. You have no idea how many Black players I’ve met, broke bread, attended family functions or spent time with wince when I ask them when was the last time they went to a big league game. Guys from all levels of winning experience all the way from the College World Series in Omaha, Nebraska, to real-live Commissioner’s Trophy winners. It’s heartbreaking.

It’s why the job that some of the guys on the list are doing with The Players’ Alliance to recognize the community and just plain show up for fellowship are so important. It’s not all parties and pictures for social media.

Perhaps most striking part about reliving Mr. 3000 on its 20th anniversary was Bernie Mac himself. A huge baseball fan, he died in 2008. It would have been so cool to see McCullough, a kid raised on the South Side of Chicago, see some of the guys he enjoyed watching get their flowers. We’re talking about a guy who once put White Sox pitcher Jon Garland, as himself, on an episode of his Fox sitcom, The Bernie Mac Show just because he wanted to. Honestly, Bernie Mac would have been the perfect public face for this era of Black baseball.

No matter what these Cooperstown committees decide at the winter meetings Dec. 8-12 or otherwise regarding who should and should not be enshrined. To end the film, after apologizing to his manager to no reply, when Ross gets called out on a bad call with what would have been hit No. 3,000, his manager finally utters his first line of dialogue and gets thrown out defending his player, to everyone’s shock. Ross never gets to 3,000 hits, because in his last chance to do so, he lays down a sac bunt so the young hotshot T-Rex can score and win the game.

He plays “the right way” and is ultimately rewarded with a Hall of Fame berth for finally being a solid guy in many minds. Earlier in the movie, the most touching part is obvious. Sitting in the dugout the two stereotypical Latin players are seeing who can sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” fastest as a bet.

When Ross tell them to shut up because he’s trying to watch a ball game, he tells them a story.

“That ain’t no real baseball song. You want to hear a real baseball song? Yeah, listen,” he says, proceeding to reel off a tune that sounds more like carnival music than anything. “Man, when I was a kid on South Side Chicago, we used to play baseball. Man, when we got out of school. Man, till it got dark, you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face. I used to play center field and every single day, man, Mister Softee ice cream truck use to park right behind me and play that damn song.”

The close of the film is appropriately corny. He gets the girl, he gets the erectile dysfunction commercial with his old flame, and he does something really cool. He starts an ice cream truck, in his old park, with the moniker “Mr. 2999 Ice Cream.”

Hopefully, for all those dudes who are hoping to maybe grace the Cooperstown stage and tell their baseball life stories, they still have just a little Mr. 3000 left inside them, too.