Some time ago, I started counting. Not officially. No scorebook was involved, or some grand theory I was trying to prove. I was just watching baseball the way I usually watch it, which probably means too closely.
I’d be at Wrigley before first pitch, looking across the field, into the dugout, toward the bullpen, then behind the plate. Eventually, I started looking around the stands, too. Who is playing, who is coaching, who is watching, and who seems to be missing? There was no motive behind it. I was simply curious. I wasn’t trying to turn a baseball game into a courtroom. I observe. I watch. I over-analyze, that’s what I do. After a while, patterns start emerging whether you go looking for them or not.
The decline of Black participation in baseball has been well documented. I notice it as someone who grew up watching a game that looked and felt a little different from how it does now. Rickey Henderson. Andre Dawson. Darryl Strawberry. Barry Bonds. Ken Griffey Jr., Gary Sheffield. Dave Stewart. Albert Belle. Barry Larkin. Doc Gooden. I’m not saying the past was perfect. I’m saying the game was a better version when the best players seemed to be coming from everywhere. And where is the Black catcher?*
*Catcher’s gear can add $450 before you even count the standard equipment needed to play.
That was the count. Repayment is what came next. When I talked with Dalen “DJ” Sledge, coach of the Montgomery Black Barons of the Minority Baseball Prospects Collegiate League, the conversation was natural and energetic. It felt like two baseball people trying to describe the same thing from different seats in the ballpark. DJ did not talk like someone trying to win an argument. “I wake up every day and think, how can I repay this game that gave me so much?” he said. That word stayed with me.
Repay.
Just give back to a game that gave first. Baseball people usually understand that part. Whether they played professionally, coached, scouted, wrote, or just fell in love with the thing when they were young, the game gave them something. Joy. Structure. Purpose. A place to go. A way to connect. A thing to think about when the rest of life may have been too loud. That last one resonates with me.
DJ’s version is more direct than most. Baseball gave him discipline and education. It gave him food when he needed it. It kept clothes on his back when summer shopping was not a guarantee. So now he gives back.
The obvious version of this article would be to say baseball has a representation issue and stop there. That would be true, but too obvious. The more useful version is to ask how the roads into the game changed. DJ said minority American players: Black American players, Afro-Latino players, Puerto Rican-American players, Mexican-American players — are being “priced out” of the kind of youth baseball now seen as necessary to advance.
That hits home because it matches what a lot of us can see. Baseball used to be easier to stumble into. Now, too often, it has to be purchased, scheduled, driven to, specialized, showcased, measured, and survived financially before it can ever be loved. The talent didn’t just disappear. The routes narrowed, and access got expensive.
This is where DJ is valuable, because he does not talk as if this is a far-fetched theory. He has names, he has teams, and players that came through the league, and went back to their schools, and produced. That’s what matters, because theory is simpler, proving it is harder. “Don’t tell me that I can’t go to this SWAC tournament this weekend at Rickwood Field and see a bunch of dudes that can play,” he said. That is a coach saying the players are there if the game is willing to look in the right places, with the right eyes.
There is another part of this that people can sometimes complicate and oversimplify things at the same time; representation matters. In baseball terms, it can be pretty simple. Sometimes a player gets around people who understand him, push him, believe in him, challenge him, and expect more from him. Sometimes the game opens up when a player gets a few weeks in a place where he’s understood before he’s evaluated — where he can compete without being forced into someone else’s idea of “the right kind” of player. That alone can give a kid confidence to keep trying to advance to the next level. DJ said several of his players described the summer as the most fun they had playing baseball. Fun is amazing, fun is fuel. It’s where confidence can come out. When a player is having fun, he stops surviving the game and starts playing it again. “Maybe it just works,” DJ said, and listening to the stats and awards he rattled off from his players sure sounds like he’s got something figured out.
The Black Barons are not built on vibes alone. DJ’s version of care is not soft. It is his presence, discipline, and staying consistent. It’s reminding his boys about staying hydrated in Montgomery's (AL) heat. He starts his practices with a minute of silence and a little mental projection. He is making sure the work has intention; there is no going through the motions. And he is blunt about his success as a manager. “If the guy gets here in June and he’s not better in July, I have ultimately failed my athlete,” he said. Better as a player, yes, but also better as a man. Better mentally and physically. The player goes back to school carrying something with him. So does the person. That is the part I respect. DJ is not just coaching summer ball; like hoisting a trophy is the only goal. He wants to win, of course. But the trophy is not the whole job. “A shortcut will cut a long run short,” he tells his players. That sounds like baseball. It also sounds a lot like life.
Repayment doesn’t have to be grand or symbolic. It is simple: the game gave something, so you give something back. You notice who is missing, then you find the people still doing the work. The ones coaching in the heat and the ones opening doors. The ones answering texts. The ones who understand that baseball is not just a game kids play, but a thing that can shape them if the right adults are around when it matters. Near the end of our conversation, DJ talked about what actually sticks with him. Not just the championship or the record. It’s the calls, a text from a player thanking him for the summer. Bobby Torres, calling DJ after winning a championship that DJ was not even part of. Those moments hit different because they are not expected or forced. They are about impact. “I almost cried when Bobby called me,” DJ said.
The count is just how I got here. It made me notice the absence, and talking with DJ gave that absence some shape. He is not the answer. He is a baseball guy doing the work in front of him. Baseball is not the villain here either. It is the thing both of us care about enough to look at honestly. The absence matters because the game matters. The routes into baseball have changed, and for some kids, those routes have nearly disappeared. But their game is not gone. The talent is not gone. The love is not gone. People like DJ Sledge are making sure of it.
Roster as of 5/19/2026
Zakaree Newton - Huntingdon College
Talik Alston - Warner University
Shakir Rodriguez-Muhammad - Montgomery College
Josiah Carter - Kansas Wesleyan College
Ryan Gross - Wallace State-Hanceville
Daniel Salter - Stillman College
Trey Walker - Miles College
Niguel Jenkins - Alabama State University
Jacoby Cox - Brewton Parker Christian University
Ashton King - Stillman College
Dawson Betts - Calhoun CC
Pedro Peguero - Cayuga CC
Taurus Ceasor - Stillman College
Robert Chatmon II - Bevill State CC
Cameron King - Gordon State College
Dontre Henry - Dillard University
Naji Cain Jr - Mississippi Gulf Coast CC
Joshua Hooten - Stillman College
Joshua Guyton - East GA State CC
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