Yellow Springs Roots for Rodríguez December 15, 2026 -- You feel something when António Rodríguez comes into the diner. It’s like everything calms down, like the world gears itself down a notch. The people tone down go chill. The wait-staff gets an extra hue to their smiles. He clears his throat, takes a sip of water, and then orders a BLT club with avocado. Yes to the fries. Iced tea, lemon.
He’s still in Yellow Springs this winter, working on the knee that he blew out earlier this summer in a meaningless minor league game: Flagstaff vs. The Gothom Heroes.
“It wasn’t meaningless,” he corrects me. “We won. 5-3.”
Rodríguez hit a double that day, scoring the first run. He slid into second base, though, and knew something was wrong the moment he collided with the defender. Broken knee cap. Season done. He’s been here ever since, working closely with Dr. Lonnie Winn, the team’s chief medical coordinator and doing physical therapy. He’s a week out from getting the okay to go to the batting cage.
“I’m more ready than I can possibly say,” Rodríguez says, knowing full well that most of the Yellow Springs World would parrot that expression back at him.
António Rodríguez is 27 years old. He has been an upcoming ball player for the past four seasons, and despite the hype, and despite his demeanor (which plays quite well with the community), António Rodríguez is the first to admit that he’s not lived up to the hype. He’s a big left-handed hitter from the Dominican, with a swing as sweet as cane molasses, a swing that’s geared to lace line drives all over the gaps of Chavez Memorial. His line is supposed to like more like 20 HR, 105 RBI, .315/.390/.450 than the 11/40, .247/.356/.365 numbers he created two seasons ago, and the 3/20, .224/.316/.340 numbers that got him sent to Flagstaff to begin with.
António Rodríguez knows that the club is more ready for that breakout season than they can possibly say. Not that they need to say anything beyond the fact that an arbitrator awarded him an $800K contract this year, and that the expectation is that he’ll probably platoon—if he makes the team, anyway. He knows he’s going to be competing for his position with both rookie Kelly King (who dropped a huge season as a 23-year-old part timer, and even with veteran Marv Slater, who has proven to be consistent, if not spectacular.
“I figure I’ve got this spring to get myself focused and prove to Ron (GM Ron Collins) and the rest of the guys that I belong.”
He’s probably right.
He’s also, to be honest, got the guys rooting for him. If there’s anyone more admired in the clubhouse, we can’t imagine who it would be. “António’s my guy,” said 23-year-old reliever Jason Olson. “He’s always there for you, you know? I mean, you come in after things didn’t go like you wanted and he just sits there with you and finds a way to get your head back on. I love the guy.”
Other people love him, too.
High school kids who he’s been working out with in his rehab love him. The Physical Therapists who laugh at his jokes as he gets his knee stretched and massaged love him. And, yes, reporters who meet with him for lunch love him, too. We love the fact that he doesn’t pull punches, that he talks about his chance this year without fatalism, but with a heads-on sense of destiny. The man is facing his moment, and he’s facing it with dignity and passion.
“I love playing baseball,” he said. “I’ll play baseball or be in baseball in some way or another for the rest of my life.”
We talk about a lot of other things, too. His wife is traveling with her mom now, and his boys are at school. He’ll have to pick them up in two hours, but he’s got to get to the grocery before then, and get the produce put away. He’s taking them to a movie over the weekend. Something Pixar. He’s wishing he could get back to the Dominican over the winter, but getting healthy was more important, and, yes, everyone there understands exactly how important it was, too. He got a care package from his hometown three weeks ago. He wants his boys to know what it’s like there.
Then the interview is over. I tell him to go ahead and go as I pay. He’s got things to do, you know? I don’t want to hold him up. He gets up to go, wishes me a great day, and waves at the waiter as he leaves. I swipe my card.
The door swings closed behind him, and suddenly the world seems to pick up a gear. The people around me seem to wind themselves up, and the wait staff watch him leave with a wistful expression of sorrow on their faces that I would never have picked up if it weren’t for the fact that I was feeling the same thing.
“You go, António Rodríguez,” I think as I put my charge card away. “You go.”