In the dwindling hours of Tuesday night, LaMonte Wade Jr. emerged from the Giants’ clubhouse with Giants first base coach Antoan Richardson. After typical postgame responsibilities, Richardson had summoned local reporters to the Oracle Park bowels.
Richardson decided to explain why he’d been thrown out of the night’s game. If he hadn’t decided to detail what happened, most people wouldn’t have ever thought twice about his second-inning ejection.
Richardson said Padres coach Mike Shildt, while looking for his longtime friend Alex Wood, used a phrase that “reeked undertones of racism.”
Richardson noticed Shildt looking into SF’s dugout and asked if he could help him with anything. Shildt, who is white, ignored him and told SF manager Gabe Kapler “you need to control that motherfucker,” referring to Richardson, who is Black.
When Richardson walked up the dugout steps onto the field and responded “excuse me,” umpire Greg Gibson tossed him from the game, telling him he instigated the confrontation. That’s another issue.
“The words that were used directed toward Antoan and the Black community was foul,” Wade, who is Black, told KNBR.com Thursday. “And I feel like it’s just something that is a trigger. It’s something that people might not understand, that words and actions can hurt. Especially sensitive with race. Moreover, the fact that Antoan was the only one ejected for defending himself didn’t really sit well with me.”
The “trigger” word, Wade said was “control” — something that can be interpreted as dehumanizing or associated with a slave-master dynamic. Wade called that word, in that context, “blatant disrespect.”
There’s no place in baseball — or anywhere — for Shildt’s words, Wade said. He wants to make that sentiment known for the same reason he heard Richardson say in the Oracle Park hallway: microaggressions exist, they matter to marginalized communities, and bringing attention to them can make people of color feel less-than.
By being present that night, Wade wanted to show love and support for Richardson. Wednesday morning, when Richardson and Shildt addressed the media in a joint press conference behind home plate, Wade looked on from the dugout railing. Again he hoped to make sure his coach knew he’s not alone.
Now the 2021 Willie Mac Award winner wants to ensure this story doesn’t just fade away. The 28-year-old outfielder knows by addressing it publicly, he risks criticism on social media or in road parks. But letting the story get lost in the minutiae of a baseball season would defeat the entire purpose of Richardson going public with the interaction — to recognize the hurt language can cause on people of color.
“I do think that this issue needs to be brought up and needs to have more light shined upon it,” Wade said.
“Because stuff like this goes on every single day unfortunately. And it kind of just gets put on the back-burner. People in the Black community tend to bottle up our emotions and not let them out, keep them to ourselves. I think we need to be vocal about what’s going on in our lives and what’s going on in our communities…Just to get the message out there, I think, is going to be key and important to eventually bringing some change. Because if we’re just going to continue to wear T-shirts and we can talk about it all we want, but until there’s actually real change, the fight isn’t over.”
LaMonte Wade Jr. was just taking batting practice one day in the cages when a coach approached him. It was years ago, and the coach, who worked in the Twins organization, asked Wade about the explicit rap music that was blaring during the workout.
Wade recalls the coach, who is not African American, used the N-word multiple times.
“A particular coach who was not African American came over and asked me why are we listening to this N-word music?” Wade said. “And why do they keep saying the N-word? As he’s saying the N-word to me. And then he also was asking why is it okay for me or whoever was on this song rapping to say the N-word but it wasn’t okay for him to say the N-word?”
Wade shared that story to about 200 members of the Giants’ organization this spring. The team held an optional meeting devoted to race in sports — particularly African Americans in baseball — and gave anyone the chance to share stories or experiences. The floor would be open for questions.
Six or seven people detailed their experiences, Wade calling their stories even more powerful than his. Wade said people walked away from the meeting “touched and moved.”
“They really felt like they were in a safe space and felt comfortable being vulnerable in front of people like that,” Wade said. “I know it was a special day.”
When Wade stood up to describe the batting cage incident, he marveled at the diversity of the room. Never before had he seen so many Black people in a baseball atmosphere.
“It’s just amazing, because you think that you’re alone in which these isolated incidents happen,” Wade said. “But then you have a meeting like that and you see that you’re not alone. You see that it’s happening to other people as well. And that’s the frustrating part. And that’s the part where people need to talk and express their feelings and voices need to be heard.”
Without an organizational commitment to addressing issues like race and mental health, Richardson wouldn’t have been able to explain what he went through. He may have felt isolated, dismissed or worse.
But the Giants have Richardson’s and Wade’s back. Wade thanks the organization for allowing Richardson and himself to be able to talk openly about issues like this. It’s likely not every club would.
Before Wednesday’s series finale with the Padres, just hours after the incident, Kapler walked through San Francisco’s clubhouse to have conversations with players about what transpired, the manager told reporters. He called the baseball game soon to commence “secondary” to the importance of having difficult conversations about race.
One Giants veteran, who is white, hadn’t heard details of the incident when he walked in Wednesday morning, but said the team is fully behind Richardson and commended the dialogue the team has had since 2020 — the summer of protest that began after George Floyd’s murder.
So while Wade was the only player physically with Richardson as he faced the media, the rest of the team may as well have been right there, too, supporting him even as he knew he’d face some public opinion consequences. As they will for Wade.
“But that didn’t scare him,” Wade said. “He’s not afraid of that. He felt he needed to share the story and needed to be heard, and he wasn’t thinking about anything that comes after that. That’s where I can commend Antoan. Because it can be tough to come out here and talk like this.
“When this story airs, will there be some backlash? Maybe. But that doesn’t scare me away from my beliefs and how I feel.”
At 9:15 Wednesday morning, Antoan Richardson and Mike Shildt met on the Oracle Park grass for several minutes. They shook hands.
Later, they reconvened behind home plate in front of about 10 cameras and 20 more reporters.
The former Cardinals manager owned up to using the foul language Richardson had accused him of. Shildt, 52, said “I’m sensitive to Antoan’s rightful understanding or experiences of what he feels is oppression that takes place in this world, and unfortunately there’s still an undercurrent of that that’s real to people.”
Overall, Wade believes Shildt’s statements were genuine. He’s not calling the Padres coach a racist. He’s thankful Shildt and Richardson met, found some common ground and faced the media. It was a “huge first step to ratifying the situation,” Wade said.
But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t more to be desired from the entire ordeal.
At times, it felt like the purpose of the press conference wasn’t to apologize, but to clear Shildt’s name. Richardson began by saying Shildt is “not a racist.” He repeated that later and twice said Shildt has been a supporter of the Black community.
Richardson spent more time praising Shildt’s record than Shildt did apologizing to the Black community he may have offended. It’s not clear if Shildt learned from the situation.
Shildt apologized for using inappropriate language, but didn’t specify why his words — and which ones — were hurtful (only that he thought they were misinterpreted). He didn’t clear the air on the intent of his words and said while he said “value as a human is to love people,” he didn’t explain how he plans to be an ally going forward or commit to tangible action.
“I don’t want to have any disrespect toward Shildt and I definitely don’t want to bring any more attention to Shildt and Antoan,” Wade said. “I’m just really trying to talk about the issue and bring attention to the issue. That’s where I feel like the press conference kind of got off-course.”
The mostly white local media covering the team also left more to be desired on Wednesday. One reporter asked a question to Shildt, following up on how he thought his words were misinterpreted. Shildt responded first by saying “I didn’t know we were taking questions,” then by fumbling through an answer explaining the events and noting “I already apologized.”
No other reporter posed a question to hold Shildt to account. The coaches walked back to their clubhouses six minutes after they began their remarks. Shildt spoke for four minutes, 95 seconds of which came from a question he didn’t think he’d have to answer.
If Shildt was genuine in his contrition, he would have had no problem fielding questions. At best, the press corps was over-deferential to an unspoken understanding that Shildt and Richardson weren’t opening up to questions. At worst, the reporters just shrugged their collective shoulders, filed their stories and moved on.
If the media won’t always reveal important truths, Wade will. He feels responsible for keeping the attention on not necessarily Richardson and Shildt specifically, but tolerance in baseball as a whole.
Seventy-five years ago, Jackie Robinson broke baseball’s color barrier. Wade spoke with KNBR.com one day before Jackie Robinson Day, when every player on every team will wear No. 42 on their jersey to celebrate Robinson’s world-changing legacy.
Few of them will be Black Americans.
Black players made up 7.6% of Opening Day rosters in 2021; roughly 13% of Americans are Black. Representation has been steadily decreasing since the 1980s, when Black players represented as much as 18.7% of the league. University of Central Florida’s annual Racial and Gender Report Card graded MLB an overall C+.
The Giants organization prides itself on prioritizing diversity, and have several coaches of various backgrounds on staff — including Alyssa Nakken, Fernando Perez, Nick Ortiz, Kai Correa and Richardson.
San Francisco’s culture empowered both Wade and Richardson to find the courage to make their voices heard — a sign of progress in itself.
But Wade remains the only African American player on the 28-man roster. He said he’s never had an issue in the Giants clubhouse — his teammates love, support and care for him. But being the only African American in the room all the time can still get lonely.
“I’m lucky because I’m in a great locker room full of veteran guys, a bunch of good guys, nice guys,” Wade said. “However, it is hard sometimes. Because you look around and there’s nobody really in that room who can actually, actually relate to me.”
As a league, MLB has made progress, no doubt, on racial and gender diversity.
Last year, the league moved the All-Star Game out of Atlanta to protest a Georgia law civil rights groups said would restrict access to voting — particularly disenfranchising voters of color.
The Marlins hired Kim Ng as general manager, making her the highest-ranking female executive in American sports.
MLB made the past-due move to officially recognize records and statistics from the Negro Leagues.
But this is also a league that can sanction an umpire tossing a coach for stepping on the field and defending himself for what he interpreted as offensive language. Richardson said the reason Gibson, the umpire, provided was that the first base coach instigated the confrontation (MLB’s reasoning pointed to Richardson stepping onto the field).
That doesn’t sit well with the Giants; Kapler remained perplexed as to why his coach got tossed a day after the incident.
“The motherfucker thing, that’s okay,” Wade said. “But the control part? That’s when he reacted. That’s when he said, ‘excuse me, what?’ And that’s when he got tossed. The fact that Antoan instigated it? Those were the words of the umpire — Antoan instigated the matter. Okay, come on. No. Antoan didn’t just walk out onto the dirt and say excuse me. No. He walked out because he was told that he needed to be controlled by Kapler in our dugout. That’s not okay. And if I was in Antoan’s shoes, I would’ve walked out there as well. To tell another man to control me or Antoan, as an African American, that’s not okay.”
This isn’t 1947. And this also isn’t a story about just Mike Shildt or Greg Gibson. What happened outside the Giants’ dugout on Wednesday shouldn’t be treated as an isolated incident. Because it’s not.
LaMonte Wade Jr. feels the need to make that clear.
