CC Sabathia: Hip-hop’s first Baseball Hall of Famer

Hip-hop has its first Hall of Famer in Cooperstown.

When Carsten Charles Sabathia Jr. got the call that he would be enshrined in the National Baseball Hall of Fame on Jan. 22 — on the first ballot no less — the Vallejo, California, native celebrated with friends and family and it hit me clear as day.

My generation has never had a member, born and bred of the culture, elected to the Hall until last week, when legendary Japanese outfielder Ichiro Suzuki and flamethrowing lefthander Billy Wagner joined him on the ballot to have their busts presented to the thousands of fans in New York state. To be clear, none of this is some sort of culture-measuring contest outside of the diamond — namely because, for one, there isn’t a competition.

But mainly, what the Black Ace represents is the culmination of excellence that includes the highest of the high on the biggest stages in the world, alongside the depths of struggle which we as a community often keep behind closed doors until someone turns up dead or behind bars. When I see Sabathia standing tall alongside his wife and children, I think of the evolution of a generation that was barely given a chance in society but managed to thrive anyway.

“I think he was definitely a culture on his own,” said Adam Jones, the four-time All-Star who played against Sabathia quite a bit as a member of the AL East’s Baltimore Orioles. “Especially all the guys that played with him, they all have said that, you know, like, you know when you play against him, hey, he’ll want to rip out your heart, but when he’s your teammate, I mean, he’s the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet.”

A question posed in this space often is: why does any of this matter? In this case, it’s because baseball’s identity crisis in dealing with its myriad personalities and cultures effectively hinges on some measure of immortality, so that entire populaces don’t get forgotten. Meaning, if a guy like CC can’t get in, in our collective minds we risk erasure of an entire swath of players that will not likely have their numbers retired anywhere. These players do fall squarely into the “name some guys” category that we all appreciate so fondly, even just through association.

“It just shows that you can be fiery, competitive, you can be a winner, but you can also be human, yeah?” said Jones, who last week was named as a special advisor to the GM and community ambassador for the Orioles. “You know him, you’ve been around him. He’s one of the coolest dudes in the room. And obviously he’s larger than life being 6-7. So, he stands out no matter where he’s at. He’s always just been cool with everybody and he’s a big part of the passing of the torch of this culture to the new one, and especially the new initiatives that you’ve seen with Major League Baseball over the last few years, those are spearheaded by him.”

What he’s referring to are Sabathia’s efforts The Players Alliance, the group specifically made up of former Black players that are doing everything they can to not only touch the community with opportunities but remember the guys that actually played in the bigs but will never be on anyone’s ballot for anything.

You all aren’t thinking about guys like Mark McLemore, Darren Oliver and Tony Beasley. The Players Alliance is handing out flowers every All-Star Break these days. Crew love, if you will.

Hip-hop is about more than just music, both in definition and practice. Sure, there are the four pillars (graffiti, DJing, MCing and breakdancing) but as this country has evolved and the music industry has evolved, so has the game. Sabathia is arguably the most important athlete to have first married the two, in a true business — nevermind cultural — sense.

He signed with RocNation when that company was still looking to establish itself as something beyond a plaything for a record company headed by one of the biggest rappers on earth. But nonetheless, the connection was priceless. Now, CC’s wife Amber — an absolute gem of a person by all accounts — is an agent herself, among other things.

“It was a big deal. CC was a core, legitimate athlete, professional and then champion,” said Peter Rosenberg, morning radio DJ at New York’s HOT 97 FM and afternoon jock at ESPN NY, whose show also aired on the YES Network. “Don’t get me wrong, there have been other guys who have popped up and came and went, but early on, when they were establishing themselves as a legitimate sports entity and Sean Pecos was transforming from music guy to credible sports guy, CC Sabathia, he is such an integral piece of what they’ve been able to do.

“You just think generationally, where he sits, age wise, I mean, listen, Ken Griffey Jr. had a sneaker, you know, and so did Deion [Sanders], right? And Deion was even involved in hip-hop stuff. But in terms of truly being a kid when hip-hop was becoming hip-hop, CC probably is the first one. He’s an 80s kid. He really grew up born and bred. It’s not like he grew up listening to you know, James Brown, and then hip-hop was formed. Like he’s of the hip-hop generation, which is, as you know, it’s just a different thing.”

Of course, there’s a lot presentation-wise that matters here. For lack of a better term, Sabathia looked like he genuinely could be a rapper. The Vallejo roots, he often dressed like other guys his age with money, and it showed. Tall tees, jerseys, the whole nine. There’s something about the 2000s where if you saw a professional athlete wearing another guy’s kit just out of style and respect, you knew the love that portrayed. CC wasn’t afraid to just be himself in that way. Didn’t hurt that he was a legit ace, either. In short, he didn’t look like a baseball player. Which was the dope part.

Baseball can be a very cutthroat industry. For Black players, yes, there is an extra level of camaraderie, but that doesn’t always shine thru, personality wise. It was never in question with CC to anyone.

“Me and him faced each other the most in our careers. So that’s really cool. I got to see all of CC, I got to see the, you know, 96 to 100 [mph] overpowering CC. And I got to see the 90 [mph] back door 1-0 curveball CC,” Jones described. “I think I’m like 280 something against him [batting avg.] We face each other 100 and something times. The coolest part was when he, after one of his starts, he would invite me to his house and say, ‘Hey, man. We having a party.’ Obviously, between the lines, right? You know, it is what it is. But off the field, there’s a culture we’re trying to set.”

A reality of Sabathia’s life, nevermind career, is that sometimes that party vibe caught up with him. As he described in the 2020 HBO documentary “Under the Grapefruit Tree,” the pressures of life and trying to be his best self led to the lowest moments of his career. He had never truly unpacked the death of his father and closest cousin while he played, which led his alcoholism and spiraling from fun-loving guy to downright addict who couldn’t even get it together to throw a bullpen session in the playoffs.

Looking back on incidents like him getting photographed smoking weed on a balcony in Atlanta wearing a LeBron James jersey, or an altercation on a Toronto street that ended up in TMZ, if you were to ask haters, that all felt a bit too in line with what people assumed were the most toxic parts of hip-hop culture. But he had a problem and he did his best to solve it, even if it meant leaving the glory of the team behind.

And when you look around the landscape of actual rappers and artists of our generation — who are quite literally dropping dead left and right from so-called natural causes — it’s a blessing to think that CC is still around at all, nevermind thriving, giving back and lighting the way for the next crop of Black folks around this game.

“He is super hip-hop. And then, of course, you know, I think the most legacy cementing thing that he may have done as a Yankee beyond the championship was at the end, when he risked his bonus, by throwing at that dude, yeah, like that shit right there that that might have been the most hip-hop shit I’ve ever seen in baseball,” Rosenberg recalled with a laugh. “Like, yes, yes, we love to get money. Yes, we love all the great things. But when push comes to shove, nah, right? I’m gonna show you what I’m about, right? I was on the air when it happened, and it was just such an awesome thing to see him do, bro, like, so yeah, he’s cemented, like, even before the Hall of Fame.”

Perhaps, it’s because CC and I are close to the same age. Or because I can remember standing right next to him when it was announced at Rickwood Field to the crowd that Willie Mays had passed and we were just looking at each other and all the other people around in awe. The day before, we’d all played in a celebrity softball game that he’d organized there which brought people from all walks of life to the historic yard to celebrate Mays.

There’s only one of him, but we all know someone just like CC if you’re from certain places in America: The guy who made it out but wanted so bad to give back that he almost lost it all to his demons just trying to cope with the pressure.

“He represents Black baseball to the to the core, and he’s done so much to promote it, and with tons of other guys, and it’s going to be a great show out in Cooperstown on his behalf,” Jones said with pride. “It’s just amazing for someone you know firsthand to be a Hall of Famer. I played with a few: Jim Thome and Vladimir Guerrero, but obviously I caught them at the tail end of their career. And I was fortunate enough to, you know, play with CC in the heyday of his career. Yeah, just a blessing to just be a part of.”

Whether talking about his life journey or his command on the mound, for Sabathia, it’s always been Hall of Fame stuff.