By C.J. Stewart — These are my views and my opinion.
Culture matters. In fact, culture matters more than coaching.
When people talk about the success or failure of a baseball program, they often point directly to the head coach. But in my experience, it’s the culture — not just the coaching — that determines whether a program thrives, especially for Black players.
I define culture simply as:
“The way people consistently think, speak, and act inside a system.”
And I want to emphasize that word: system.
Because no matter how we frame it, there is a system operating inside American baseball — one that has historically produced outcomes where Black American players are marginalized, disenfranchised, and too often excluded.
Now, when we talk about “systems,” some people get uncomfortable. Calling something “racist” immediately feels confrontational or accusatory to many, even when the outcomes speak for themselves. But what we are often dealing with inside this game — at the college, pro, and amateur levels — is a system of prejudice.
Prejudice simply means:
“A preconceived judgment or opinion not based on sufficient knowledge or experience.”
Many of the decision-makers inside baseball today — scouts, recruiters, administrators, and even some coaches — do not have consistent proximity to large numbers of Black American players. As a result, they may form judgments that shape who they recruit, who they sign, and who they advocate for — judgments that aren’t rooted in malice, but in limited experience.
And when people don’t have proximity, they rely on stereotypes.
They rely on generalizations.
They rely on comfort zones.
This is how systemic prejudice functions: not always as overt racism, but as an accumulation of preferences, blind spots, and assumptions that lead to consistent exclusion.
And yet, within this system, there are exceptions — people who refuse to operate by default.
Recently, Coach Dan McDonnell at the University of Louisville publicly spoke about his commitment to creating a culture that attracts Black players. I don’t know Coach McDonnell personally. I’ve observed his work over the years — especially when he was at Ole Miss — and always respected his work ethic and presence. In my limited interactions, he’s been cordial and professional.
I do personally know Tim Corbin at Vanderbilt and Coach Erik Bakich at Clemson. Both men, who happen to be white, are unapologetically recruiting Black players — young men who are academically strong, high character, and who can flat out play at the highest levels.
Now, I don’t know in detail why these coaches have chosen to be so intentional. They haven’t fully shared their personal convictions with me. But I do know this: their actions speak as loud as their words.
And in a system where Black American players are often disenfranchised, action speaks volumes.
There’s a common statement that “baseball is baseball” and “we’re all human beings.” But if that were entirely true, the data would tell a different story. We cannot ignore the statistical reality that signals there’s still significant work to be done to make college baseball — and the entire sport — more inclusive for Black Americans.
The Current Reality
- Only 6% of NCAA Division I baseball players are African American.
- African Americans make up only 3% of players participating in this year’s College World Series.
- Roughly 70% of MLB Draft picks come from college baseball programs.
- Only 6.2% of MLB Opening Day rosters (2025-26 season) are African American.
When less than 7% of college rosters and MLB teams include Black American players, this isn’t about talent — it’s about access, intentionality, and culture.
The 10 Signals of a Strong Black Baseball Culture
Based on my professional experience, here are 10 signals that indicate a baseball program has a healthy, thriving Black culture. If you’re a Black player or parent considering a program, this is your checklist:
- The Head Coach Publicly and Privately Says “Black.”
Programs that avoid using the word Black often avoid fully addressing Black needs and realities. Silence is not strategy.
- Hair Acceptance as Identity Acceptance.
Players can wear their hair naturally — including cornrows, locks, fades, or afros — without facing unspoken or explicit pressure to conform.
- Music is Welcomed, Not Policed.
Programs create space for Black cultural expression, including music preferences, without stereotyping or shaming.
- Clear Anti-Racism Policies with Accountability.
When racial incidents occur (because they do), there are real consequences, clear policies, and leadership that protects Black players.
- Visible Black Leadership Beyond the Field.
From athletic departments to academic advisors, there is intentional Black representation in support roles.
- Brave Spaces for Black Students.
Programs don’t pretend that race isn’t real. They foster brave spaces where Black athletes feel the courage and support to speak their truth, address challenges, and engage in real conversations — even when it’s uncomfortable.
- Direct Support of Black Mental Health.
Programs proactively address the mental health needs of Black players — providing resources for dealing with racial stress, isolation, and identity fatigue.
- Advocacy Beyond Baseball.
Coaches act as advocates, not just instructors — helping Black players navigate NIL, transfer portals, career planning, and personal development.
- Recruiting Based on Full Humanity, Not Just Utility.
Programs seek Black players not simply to fill a need, but to build legacy — developing them as complete people, not commodities.
- Courage to Challenge the System.
The head coach openly pushes back against structural inequities and uses his platform to call for systemic change.
The Truth About Advocacy
Players don’t just need coaches. Black players need advocates — people who protect their minds, bodies, and souls.
In this current political climate, many diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives are being dismantled. But the need for thriving spaces where Black players can fully exist — not simply survive — is more urgent than ever.
Being Black in America statistically means being at or near the bottom in nearly every quality of life category. Therefore, any space that refuses to name and address this reality will struggle to truly serve Black athletes.
This is not about pity or privilege. It’s about protection and preparation.
A Story That’s All Too Familiar
I’ve seen this pattern play out many times.
A talented Black player takes a visit to a strong program. The facilities are beautiful, the coaching staff is professional, and everyone speaks about “family” and “fit.” But at no point is there a direct conversation about race, culture, or what it means to be Black within that program.
When the family asks respectfully about how Black athletes are supported, the answer is often some version of:
“We don’t see color here — we just recruit good kids.”
That may sound inclusive on the surface. But for Black families, it often signals a lack of cultural awareness and intentionality. It signals that their son may enter a system where his full identity won’t be fully seen, supported, or protected.
In contrast, when a program is bold enough to say, “Yes — we see you, we value you, and we’ve built the infrastructure to support you,” trust is built. When that happens, Black athletes thrive — on the field and in life — because they don’t have to check their identity at the door.
That’s culture.
Engagement Questions: Rounding The Bases
Home to First:
How does your program publicly and privately acknowledge Black identity beyond generic statements of diversity?
First to Second:
In what specific ways does your program create emotional safety and brave spaces for Black athletes to fully express themselves?
Second to Third:
How are you preparing Black athletes spiritually and mentally, not just physically, for the challenges of college baseball and beyond?
Third to Home:
What legacy will your program leave for the next generation of Black athletes — beyond wins and losses?
Final Word
This is not a critique of any one program, person, or coach. These are simply my views, my experience, and my opinion. But if we are serious about growing this game — not just for Black boys but for all boys — then culture has to become the lead-off hitter.
Because culture isn’t what you say.
Culture is how you act.
About the author:
C.J. Stewart is the Co-Founder of LEAD Center For Youth and Co-Owner of Diamond Directors Player Development. With over 28 years of professional coaching experience and more than 50,000 hours of coaching, he has developed athletes from amateur levels to Major League Baseball, while focusing on the holistic development of Black boys into Major League Players and Major League Citizens.