The San Francisco Giants have permission from Major League Baseball to wear Pride-themed gear. This was explained by commissioner Rob Manfred in a recent letter to Josh Hawley, Republican senator from Missouri. The Giants and Dodgers have a special exemption: Other teams have only the 12 league-wide special uniform events, but these two teams can print and wear (and, of course, sell) Pride gear. As part of the deal, it is the responsibility of the Giants, as a condition of their special exemption, to "speak to the players to make sure they [are] comfortable with the apparel," and to make it clear that they are not required to wear it.
Here is how the Giants and Major League Baseball intend to dart out from under the towering victimhood of Hawley and the hordes of deranged evangelical bigots that he represents: According to Manfred, what happened on June 12, when three Giants pitchers scrawled bible versus onto their Pride caps and were subsequently scolded by the league office, was a simple and innocent miscommunication. "Unfortunately," says Manfred, "this year the Giants communication with players was inadequate and not clear."
This won't survive very close scrutiny. For one thing, all three of the offending players—Landen Roupp, JT Brubaker, and Ryan Walker—were on the Giants last season. For another, this was not a spur of the moment thing, undertaken in the confusion of unclear expectations: Giants players told the San Francisco Chronicle last week that there "were conversations in the days and weeks leading up to the Giants’ Pride Night" about how exactly the small group of dissenters would protest the event. Finally, per the same Chronicle report, none of the three players who were scolded by MLB for writing on their Pride caps felt pressured by the team to wear them in the first place. They knew they had the option to wear normal caps—Sam Hentges, the fourth Giants pitcher to protest the event, wore a standard Giants cap and kept it unmarked—but wanted to make a statement.
Everyone is now bugging their eyes and waving their hands and going whoa whoa whoa in a performance of surprise and bewilderment, but this is a perfectly clear, perfectly Christian-right thing: Some guys had the option of minding their own business, but they chose instead to make clear that they oppose the dignity of queer people. Everyone in the clubhouse, including their manager, knew they were going to do it, and they did it, and a perfectly vigilant right-wing outrage machine was ready to package it and spin it out and weaponize it. It is straightforward coward shit for Manfred to pretend now that this episode arises from bumbled corporate communication. It's helpful to think of it not as an excuse for the actions of the players, but an excuse for why MLB let them off with a warning.
Too late, dipshit: The Florida attorney general has already launched an official probe and issued subpoenas, alleging religious discrimination and designed to further hound queer Americans out of public life. The movement is underway: A minor-league baseball team in York, Pennsylvania had to cancel its Pride Night altogether and forfeit the scheduled game out of embarrassment at how few of its players—less than a third of its 28-man roster—were willing to wear the (actually very cool-looking) Pride jerseys.
The biggest baby in all of this, the hugest loser, the brightest bozo in all the land, is Giants president of baseball operations Buster Posey. Posey held a brief press gathering Tuesday and spent it working to make sure that despite his impressive title he is in no way accountable for this episode. Not for the behavior of his players, not for the supposedly tangled lines of communication, not for foreknowledge of the protest having swirled around his clubhouse for weeks. He is just the poor little baseball guy. Please do not expect him to know anything about anything except which way that little laced-up ball is spinning:
"I've made my statement on it," said Posey, in response to what any of the rest of us would consider a grapefruit of a question about the specific importance of Pride events to San Francisco, which after all is the basis for the team's exemption. "I'll answer baseball questions." What followed was a sequence of baseball questions, insofar as baseball, at the Major League level, involves, uhh, professional employees, and hierarchies, and structures of accountability, and organizational culture. Posey responded to each of them with a refusal to answer.
Here was the statement that Posey intended to leave as his only remarks on the controversy:
"I'd like to recognize that the organization shared its response to Pride Night. I understand that there's strong feelings on this topic. There's differing perspectives, and out of respect to everyone involved it's not something that I'm going to revisit. I understand that some fans are upset and frustrated, and I can promise you that this is something that we've talked about a lot internally and will continue to do so. Our focus is on the team right now, the upcoming draft, the trade deadline, and trying to win games. So anybody that has baseball questions, I'm happy to take baseball questions now."
I understand that some people care about this, but it is not important to me or to the organization I represent. As to the latter point: No shit. Do not bother to hope that such a performance of sniveling cowardice will earn Posey the hook: The majority owner of the Giants is Republican megadonor, Tea Party benefactor, MAGA enthusiast, and Herschel Walker supporter Charles B. Johnson; his dreaded son, MBA-having-ass Greg Johnson, sits as the organization's chairman. Posey sucks at every traditional part of the job, except for two: He looks great in photos, and he shows an aptitude for guiding his operation away from any appearance of wandering ideologically afoul of its vampire owner.
But Posey did hire Tony Vitello, and he did build this roster, and the Giants do stink. Owners may be shameless, but they are uniquely susceptible to embarrassment, and because they have all the power in the world, they can overhaul everything on a whim. Sometimes good things tumble down from their mountaintops. Soon enough, one of those things will inevitably be the head of Buster Posey.
