Do I remember exactly where I was when I first met Tony Clark? I do not. Do I remember exactly what happened when I did? Certainly. It was either an Opening Day, an All-Star Game or a World Series about a decade ago, when this sportswriter was still trying to feel like I belonged in the world of baseball journalism after years of breaking my back to make an impact.
Why is it so fresh in my mind? Because I had no reason to talk to him, or enter his sphere, until he approached me. The personal dynamics of how these relationships work on the field during pregame of big league ballparks is a large part of how respect is gained, nevermind earned in the sport.
Clark, the now-shamed former executive director of the Major League Baseball Players’ Association, broke away from a conversation behind the batting cage with some league officials and players, and came over to me, specifically, to tell me something very simple, but very important. “I see you out here, Yates. Keep doing what you’re doing representing us and let me know if you ever need anything, I got you.”
That first encounter came with a huge slap-dap and hug, from the towering 6-foot-8 former big leaguer whose stature and beard are impossible not to stand out on a diamond, who took the time to recognize the collective cause of what Black journalists mean to the game. Had he probably done the same thing for a million other brothas and sistas who were around the game? Surely. But the day Tony Clark recognized me and went out of his way to make a connection was the day I truly felt like I belonged trying to tell the stories of our people around this sport. He backed it up. When I called, he answered. Baseball or not, just Black man to Black man.
But this has nothing to do with me. This is about Clark, the 14-year MLB veteran, who stepped down from his position after an internal investigation revealed an inappropriate personal relationship in his personal life that very actively overlapped with his professional capacity. Clark hasn’t just let me down, he’s let down a generation of Black folks who gave him the benefit of the doubt on his decency, because we just don’t have enough people in big league leadership positions not to support each other.
Tony Clark’s behavior, nevermind his ability to do the job or lack thereof, have set African Americans in baseball back in ways that aren’t truly calculable by time.
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If you don’t know, Clark is the first ever player to hold the position of players association president. Not only is he a Black man that played in the 90s, he was certainly the first Black man to do so. Everyone else was a labor or lawyer type, and when Michael Weiner passed at the age of 51 in 2013, his deputy, known as Tony the Tiger during his days in Detroit, was unanimously selected. It was groundbreaking in reality, not just concept.
To be clear, his ouster isn’t as simple as the salacious chalk talk of what’s going on with his in-laws. While people are free to hold their own judgments about those choices, how it intersected with his personal life is impossible to ignore. As the story goes, back in late 2024, a whistleblower filed a charge against the National Labor Relations Board and MLBPA, accusing various individuals — Clark included — of using the outfit OneTeam Partners, started in 2019 in conjunction with the NFLPA to “serve our athletes and business partners worldwide through a single, unified commercial platform,” according to their mission statement. There’s a decent amount of legal mumbo jumbo involved in all of it, but effectively, the accusation is that Clark was using the company to enrich himself, hire his kids — and ahem, family members — and doing it all on the backs of a cause ostensibly designed to help players cash in on their popularity as athletes to gain better financial opportunities.
The truth is, I don’t particularly care what consenting adults do with their clothes off, but the charges levied were shameful enough to deem wildly inappropriate (if not intentionally deviant) at best, to dastardly at worst. As the first player ever to lead the MLBPA, if you’re a part of an operation to basically steal money from current players, that’s a disasterclass in leadership. It’s also illegal — hence why there’s a federal investigation.
Add on top of that the timing — right before the actual 2026 season is supposed to get underway, with a labor stoppage looming come Dec. 1 — it just feels like such a blow to morale for the game overall. Lord knows what’s going to happen with the TV deal, a potential salary cap and floor, but there’s no world in which your leader getting caught with his pants down is a good look for anyone.
We can analyze why this is potentially a good thing for the MLBPA, for sure. Better now than after the season. And some people don’t think Clark was any good at his job, anyways. While salaries have gone up at the top end, more guys are on minimum deals than ever. There’s a straight line between mid-level players becoming “bad investments” from a CBA standpoint for franchises and the high decline of Black ballers over the last decade. Short version, if you’re not a James Wood (young phenom with tons of power who was a second-round pick, and a second-year All Star) or a Mookie Betts (I shouldn’t have to describe him to you), then you might not have a place on a roster. Pokey Reese ain’t walking thru that door. Ironically, there are far less Tony Clarks in the game then when he started his job. Carry as he climbed, he did not.
To be fair, these billionaires who don’t like the line Clark held on (trying to get a better piece of the pie for the guys who actually play) have tried to get him out the paint a few times before. He worked to help change the league’s drug policy in addition to trying to help unionize MiLB players. This isn’t about who the good guys versus the bad guys are, it’s about what’s best for the game. Trust me, I will never be trusting billionaires on that front.
Which is what makes this so tough. Even if Clark wasn’t to be the primary point man for negotiations of a labor deal — versus Bruce Meyer, his deputy — to be playing in people’s faces like that when the future of the game is on the line is legitimately super disappointing. Are the players rattled? Maybe, maybe not. Were quite a few caught off guard? Absolutely.
But this one feels like one for the ancestors. Moving like that with so much on the line just reinforces so many stereotypes about who we are when you put us in charge. Folks are scratching tooth and nail to get ANY foot in the business, and the guy who is supposed to represent the people we’re there to see is operating like this? A more crass person would probably call this by a much uglier word: ghetto.
I was in the building in Birmingham when Clark spoke very eloquently about how important it was to him as a Black man to hold his position and give back to the generations that came before him. It was genuinely moving — and at the time the words I used were ‘visiting pastor” vibes at the Southern Negro League Museum — complete with so many cultural dignitaries before the Rickwood Classic, held in honor of Wille Mays the day before he passed.
Ultimately, the players are the people who matter most in saving the game. This much is clear. But for the career of the one Black man who got a chance — who, fairly or not, some people didn’t even think deserved said chance — to end like this?
They not like us, and we can’t act like them and expect to get away with it. None of this was ever designed to be fair, but there was always a good reason to play by the rules.
But if another brotha ever wants that job, we’ll know whose legacy is standing in his way. Damn shame.
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