Content warning: suicide
If Mike Trout fails to catch a routine fly ball, yeah, I am going to be mad. I’ll probably call him a few explicit names, cite the $426.5 million contract we’re paying him and then attribute the Angels’ loss of the game that day to this error — in the case that we had lost, not that I’m speaking from recent experience.
Like many baseball fans watching from the bleachers of the ballpark or our living room couches, it’s easy to view the lives of MLB players as the fame of playing for a large global crowd, the fortune of millions of dollars in contracts and the fruition of little-league dreams come true. However, I’ve learned it’s something much more than that.
I recently watched a Netflix documentary series chronicling the historic Boston Red Sox franchise, where director Greg Whiteley takes viewers on an almost unfiltered journey through the team’s mediocre 2024 season. From trade meetings in the front office to conversations between players and their families, all the way to the score operators behind Fenway’s notorious Green Monster, we get a good glimpse of it all. Although the storied Red Sox finishing the year with an 81-81 record and failing to make it to October baseball for the fourth time in five seasons doesn’t appear to warrant a compelling drama, “The Clubhouse: A Year with the Red Sox” does exactly that and more. The series ultimately paints a moving portrayal of the ups and downs of America’s cherished pastime, a look at everything within the daunting 162-game season.
Although I’m a die-hard Angels fan, I found myself unexpectedly rooting for the players and staff of the Red Sox organization showcased in the series. One episode in particular features pitcher Cam Booser as he recounts his difficult journey with the sport, including an early career battling injuries and addiction, and eventual retirement in 2017 to work as a carpenter. But his return to the game is nothing short of inspiring. The docuseries managed to include the emotional moment in the Worcester minor league office where Booser, at 31, learns he’s being called up to the majors. Booser’s pure reaction is caught on raw, unscripted footage filmed on a hidden iPhone, and it makes the moment more intimate. We also get a view into the life of Joe Castiglione, the legendary voice of the Red Sox and the team’s longest-tenured radio announcer of 42 seasons, as he shares his bittersweet decision to “hang up the microphone” during one of his final broadcasts. Wherever your team allegiance lies, it’s stories and moments like these that remind us: How can you not be romantic about baseball?
Still, beneath the display of passion and dedication shown for the sport, there comes another current running through the series — one that reveals the strain professional athletes carry beyond the scoreboard.
In today’s sports landscape, factors like the rise of fantasy leagues, legalized sports betting and the omnipresence of social media have all redefined how fans engage with the game. Traditional loyalty to teams has, in many ways, given way to a new emphasis: loyalty to individual players. With that shift comes heightened scrutiny. For many fans, when financial or competitive stakes are at risk, they now expect constant performance and, thanks to social media, have unprecedented avenues to voice their criticism directly. This increased investment in parasocial relationships with athletes has blurred boundaries, often reducing players to their stats and their productivity. But the impact cuts much deeper than a lost fantasy bet or a busted parlay.
As Red Sox manager Alex Cora puts it in the series, “The numbers don’t tell you the whole story.”
Something eye-opening in the documentary is how intimately it captures players in real time — miked up in the dugout, muttering self-affirmations between pitches or cursing themselves after a strikeout. These unfiltered soliloquies reveal the pressure these athletes carry internally. It becomes clear that the amount of heckling players receive from fans often doesn’t come close to how brutally hard they are on themselves.
One of the most profound storylines from the series comes from outfielder Jarren Duran, who delves into the toll that major league expectations, especially pressure from fans, have taken on his mental health. The episode, titled “Still Alive,” traces Duran’s struggling rise from being a seventh-round draft pick in 2018 to his first All-Star appearance in 2024. Despite being touted as a promising hitting prospect when he debuted in 2021, Duran struggled to find his footing, spending his first two seasons back and forth between the majors and minors. In the documentary, he speaks candidly about his struggle with self-worth and doubt.
“I couldn’t deal with telling myself how much I sucked every f—ing day. I was already hearing it from fans and what they say to me, it’s like I haven’t already told myself ten times worse than that in the mirror, ” Duran said in the episode.
At one of his lowest moments in 2022, Duran opened up about attempting to end his own life: “I got to the point where I was sitting in my room, I had my rifle and I had a bullet, and I pulled the trigger and the gun clicked, but nothing happened.” Reflecting on that moment, he adds, “But I took it as a sign of, like, all right, I might have to be here for a reason.”
Duran’s story is jarring, but it’s also part of a much-needed conversation happening across professional sports: the broader reality of the prevalence of mental health challenges among athletes. A 2019 consensus report from the International Olympic Committee found that nearly 45% of male athletes in team sports experience anxiety and depression — significantly higher than the CDC’s estimate that one in four adults live with a mental health condition. Over the last 20 years, several players have been placed on the injured list for mental health-related reasons, including former All-Star players like Dontrelle Willis, Joey Votto and Zack Greinke. But it’s really only within the last couple of years that the league has started to treat mental health as a serious and legitimate concern.
Just last year, the MLB Players Association, an independent labor union representing major and minor league players, launched a mental health and wellness program to offer holistic support outside of individual teams. The program acknowledges the social stigmas that police the sport, which can make seeking help intimidating or uncomfortable for some athletes. As a result, the MLB Players Association plans to implement a new approach that is tailored to the unique stressors of playing professionally while also recognizing players as individuals beyond the game.
Mental health challenges are not a new phenomenon to baseball, but the way the sport and the athletes are talking about it is starting to change. Following the release of the docuseries, Duran, in a statement through the Red Sox, said, “Talking about this wasn’t easy, but it felt important.” The title, “Still Alive,” references the mantra Duran writes on his wrist before every game and takes on a powerful reminder of resilience.
That kind of honesty threads through the team with “The Clubhouse,” also opening the discussion to a range of emotional experiences across the roster, including those faced by international players like Dominican pitcher Brayan Bello. In March of 2024, Bello was signed by the Red Sox to a six-year extension and given the honor of the opening day start of that season.
However, beneath the excitement of the moment lies a much deeper story. One episode in particular dives into the MLB’s complex and high-pressure pipeline from the Dominican Republic: a network of baseball academies and scouting systems across the Caribbean island designed to forge pathways for international prospects. For many Dominican teens playing baseball, getting signed by an MLB team is the dream — often seen as the most promising, and sometimes only, way to financially support their families.
“I stopped studying to focus more on baseball. I got it in my head that I 100% needed to get to the big leagues because I had to help my family,” Bello explains in the episode.
But even when that dream becomes a reality, the challenges faced by international athletes are a lot bigger than simply stepping on that American diamond. Venezuelan outfielder Wilyer Abreu brings up the difficulties of the transition to life in the United States, from struggling to communicate with other teammates to feelings of loneliness and missing his family.
These stories off the field are just as much part of the game as everything under the lights, and they also ask something of us as fans. Being a passionate sports fan is a beautiful thing that becomes part of our identity. We feel our teams’ wins and losses deeply — something that almost every sports fan can attest to. But if this peek behind the curtain of the ballpark stage has shown us anything, it’s that the humility and grace we grant our athletes goes a long way. Empathizing with players doesn’t mean we should care less for the game or lower our expectations. If anything, it means we love it more deeply.
At the end of the last episode, Duran is seen embracing his fellow outfielders as the final out of the season is recorded, and he tells them, “I wish we had baseball tomorrow.” I never expected to understand and appreciate those words as much as I did. At the heart of the series and even the sport itself, the simple truth we often forget is that athletes are human too. And above all, they love the game just as much as we do.
So the next time Trout can’t make an easy out, will I still be frustrated? Absolutely. I’ll most likely still groan or say something I don’t mean. But at the end of the day, there’s more to baseball than just a routine pop fly, so once the heat of it wears off, I’ll take a breath, remember everything I’ve come to see, and pray to the actual angels up in heaven that he goes yard in his next at-bat.