Why I have pity for Roberto Osuna
Scenes from the life of Roberto Osuna.
Spring training, 2015, and the just-turned-20-year-old is hovering at the edges of a media scrum with novice pitching sensation Miguel Castro, a zipper-skinny Dominican who’s been touching the radar gun at 100 mph. Castro doesn’t speak a word of English so Osuna offers to translate. At some point, the questions turn to Osuna and we learn of his hard-scrabble youth — quitting school at age 12 to work in the Mexican potato fields alongside his father, following his dad as a raw teenager in the Mexican league, a boy playing with men. On his right forearm, the long scar from early Tommy John surgery.
Both rookies break camp with the Blue Jays, surprisingly. But only Osuna will stick, a gem of a closer, a found treasure.
He is sweet. He speaks softly. He hurls heat. He is fearless.
April 8: Osuna makes his major league debut at Yankee Stadium, youngest Toronto pitcher to ever take the mound, and strikes out Alex Rodriguez.
Oct. 24: Game 6 of the American League Championship Series, Toronto returning to the post-season for the first time since 1993, in no small measure because of Osuna’s 20 saves. But he surrenders the 4-3 go-ahead run in the eighth inning to the Royals, Jays eliminated. “I feel sad and happy at the same time. Sad because we’re obviously out, right? But we worked really hard this year and I’m happy about what we did all year.”
April 3, 2016: An opening day save for Osuna. By the end of the regular season, he’d have 36
More dismissive with reporters, though. Shades of big league ego, in a clubhouse where there’s no shortage of attitude.
June 24, 2017: After mystify- ingly not being available for a save in a tie game — he’d racked up 18 in a row — Osuna faces beat reporters in the Kansas City visitors’ dressing room and makes a dramatic admission: he’s been seized, crippled, by mental distress. Off the mound, not on it.
“I feel like I’m not myself right now. I really don’t know how to explain it. I just feel anxious, feel like I’m lost a little bit right now.”
The scene is heart-wrenching. The Jays are supportive of their young stud. And within a short span, Osuna seems to have sorted himself out. He’s named as a replacement for the all-star game.
Sept. 10: Jays manager John Gibbons stuns his pre-game confab with journalists, revealing Osuna has left the team to attend the birth of his child in Mexico. He’s all of 22.
May 9, 2018: A photo is leaked to Global TV of Osuna sitting on a bench in a jail cell. Overnight, he has been charged with assault in a “domesticrelated” incident.
The city is shocked. The club releases a carefully worded statement. “We are taking this matter extremely seriously, as the type of conduct associated with this incident is not reflective of our values as an organization.” The Commissioner’s Office puts Osuna on (paid) administrative leave, which has been extended four times since.
None of the allegations have been proven in court. Osuna is, of course, presumed innocent. How did we get here? How did Osuna get here?
The accusation alone is seismic.
Osuna’s career will doubtless recover, as it has for other ballplayers who’ve been investigated and suspended for domestic assault. There’s always a team that will step up, risk public opprobrium, if the asset is sufficiently enticing. Closer Aroldis Chapman — who was never actually arrested — was suspended for 30 games to start the 2016 seasons, for allegedly choking his girlfriend. Cincinnati traded Chapman to the Yankees, who flipped him to the Cubs at the trade deadline, Chicago riding his powerful left arm to a World Series championship.
Charges against ex-Jay Jose Reyes were dropped in 2016 after his wife refused to cooperate with the prosecution. It’s a common frustration.
MLB has had a joint domestic violence policy with the players’ association, in place since 2015. Punishment is summary and arbitrary, regardless of whether charges are laid.
Professional baseball isn’t a democracy. It’s a privilege.
Osuna is scheduled for court — domestic violence court at Old City Hall — on Monday. It’s more likely than not that he won’t attend in person. He can sign a designation, which allows a lawyer to appear on his behalf at this juncture. Sources told the Star Osuna has gone through a couple of lawyers already.
Osuna would attend in person only if he plans to plead guilty right off the top or to set a trial date.
There has been no contact between Osuna and the franchise since his arrest. New York has discouraged — to put it mildly — any interaction with the player, while the league conducts its own independent investigation.
The question is whether Osuna will ever wear a Jays uniform again.
Some commentators have been quite outspoken about it — he should not, whatever transpires legally. They contend the fan base in Toronto is woke to domestic violence and would never tolerate Osuna’s continued employment. I’m not so sure that’s true. In fact, I’m pretty sure it isn’t true. But speculation is the Jays will trade him or release him. Domestic assault carries massive character baggage.
In a legal context, this is what would probably happen if Osuna is found guilty — if, in fact, the matter ever comes to trial, which would depend largely on whether the alleged victim agrees to testify. “No reasonable prospect of conviction” arises when a complainant doesn’t want to take the stand. It remains unclear in this case if the alleged victim was the complainant; some media reports claim it was a third-party complainant who called police. (Osuna’s bail conditions ban him from having any contact with the alleged victim and he must not go within 100 metres of the downtown building listed where she resides.) It has been reported that the alleged victim gave police a videotaped statement.
As a first-time offender with no record, on a minor assault, the matter would likely be routed to a diversion program, with such extrajudicial sanctions as an anger management course. Upon completion, the charge would be stayed and the accused would have no record.
A court might take into account the impact a conviction would have on Osuna’s ability to cross borders. His profession depends on it. And he is entitled to make a living.
The matter could also be resolved via a peace bond, although that’s not likely on a domestic violence charge.
I may be crucified for saying this, but I feel pity for Osuna, a young man from a macho culture who is the ATM for his entire family, putting his younger siblings through private school. His personality has changed over the past three years but of course he inhabits a pro sports world of entitlement and adoration. I’ve never seen a hint of violence in his nature, which is not uncommon for men who raise fists to loved ones in private.
People are fundamentally unknowable.
Details of the incident remain sketchy. A search of Mexican media stories, however, turns up disturbing accounts: a law suit filed at the end of 2017 by a young woman with whom Osuna allegedly has two daughters is demanding child support. Several citations have been delivered to the home of Osuna’s parents, which have allegedly been ignored. A son with another woman. In Canadian media, the identity of the girlfriend allegedly assaulted has been protected by a publication ban. In Osuna’s home state weekly newspaper, she has been named.
Who is this other reckless and allegedly volatile Osuna? And should the apparent messiness of his private life matter?
It should be kept in mind that Canadian justice is as much about rehabilitation and restorative outcomes as it is about appropriate punishment for the crime.
As someone from within the Jays organization told me: “Everybody deserves a second chance.” .
I hope Osuna gets it. I hope he gets it in Toronto.