Editor’s Note: This story focuses on the sensitive topic of domestic violence. We believe readers should be informed of that before consuming the entirety of the article.
When Marcell Ozuna became the latest player with a domestic violence suspension to sign with the Pittsburgh Pirates, it stopped feeling like coincidence and started feeling like policy.
One signing can be explained. Two might be rationalized. But four in a two-year span — plus another player investigated by MLB — forces an uncomfortable question: What exactly is the standard in Pittsburgh?
First, there was Ji Hwan Bae. Then, there was Aroldis Chapman. Then, Domingo Germán. Now, Ozuna (and Mike Clevinger). There’s a difference between offering second chances and establishing a pattern, and the Pirates have unequivocally crossed that line.
This isn’t about saying people can’t change. It isn’t about declaring that someone who has made a mistake is irredeemable. Growth and accountability are real — but so are patterns.
When general manager Ben Cherington was pressed this week on the organization’s repeated willingness to take these “bets,” his answer boiled down to this: The behavior is unacceptable. We do our homework. We evaluate what’s happened since. Sometimes we’re comfortable making the bet. Sometimes we’re not. It’s case by case.
It was a pretty standard, if scripted and emotionally detached, response. But then Cherington lost any remaining shred of credibility he may have had and essentially wrapped his response with: You should see the guys we didn’t sign.
That’s supposed to make fans feel better? Because what it actually sounded like was: Trust us. It could be worse. That’s not accountability. That’s deflection.
If one player with a suspension is signed, you can argue redemption arc. If two are signed, you can argue coincidence. But when it becomes four — plus another investigated player — all within a short window, all connected to one organization, it’s fair to ask whether this is philosophy rather than fluke.
If “unacceptable” behavior keeps clearing the bar, then the bar isn’t very high. It’s as simple as that.
Pirates fans deserve more accountability, less deflection when it comes to player vetting process
I am convinced that Cherington cannot hear himself think or talk because what compelled him to say out loud “oh but you guys don’t see who and how we decide does NOT have moral approval from our organization :3” It’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever read. pic.twitter.com/KC0KwmTe4N
— Connor Williams⚾🏴☠️ (@Wins_Williams) February 11, 2026
The Pirates want to frame this as nuance. But fans are looking at the results, not the press-conference language of “careful vetting” and “due diligence.” If you look at the pattern, you can’t help but wonder whether winning on a budget has quietly morphed into “talent at a discount, no matter the baggage.”
Pittsburgh is a proud baseball city. The team wears the city across its chest. Players don’t just represent a front office — they represent a community. They represent families who bring their kids to PNC Park. Perhaps most importantly, they represent survivors who don’t get press conferences to explain their pain.
When Cherington says, “We’re making a bet,” that’s exactly what it feels like — a bet on talent outweighing optics, on fans eventually moving on, and on outrage fading once the home runs start flying.
Maybe some fans will move on. But this isn’t about one stat line. It’s about organizational identity. Because here’s the uncomfortable question: If every single one of these players passed the Pirates’ vetting process, what does that say about the process?
Second chances should come with transparency, visible accountability, and some acknowledgment that this is bigger than WAR or OPS+. Instead, fans got corporate language and a shrug disguised as prudence.
Pirates fans don’t expect perfection. They don’t expect moral sainthood. But they should expect standards that feel consistent and principled — not situational and convenient.
Of course winning matters. But so does trust — and right now, trust feels like the biggest casualty of all.