Inside the legend of ‘D,’ the Blue Jays’ clubhouse heartbeat

TORONTO -- DeMarlo Hale is the only person in the Blue Jays’ clubhouse who does not jump at the opportunity to tell you stories about DeMarlo Hale.

The rest of them sound like they’ve been waiting for someone to ask. The first thing you need to know about Hale is that, somehow and in some way, he is connected to everyone and everything that happens in this clubhouse.

The Blue Jays are a media-friendly bunch. Typically, when you ask a player for a few moments of their time, you’ll get a quiet nod, maybe, "What you got?" When they hear Hale’s name, though, the same smirk hits each of their faces, knowing they finally get to talk about him. "Oh, this is about D?"

When manager John Schneider was asked if he had a few minutes later in the day, he instead slammed his laptop shut and pointed to the other chair in his office. Even long after the recorder turned off, Schneider kept telling stories about Hale, the man he calls “mythical.”

This story began with a baseball card. On the front is Hale, 40 years younger, his final year playing in the Red Sox's system for New Britain in 1986. He looks like he could snap the bat with his bare hands. Myles Straw, a card collector, lit up the moment he saw it. Remember: Hale is connected to everyone and everything. He and Straw share a special connection going back to their days together in Cleveland. Some of those were good days, others were not.

“Honestly, as much as I hate to say it, he’s like a father figure to me. I love him,” Straw said. “He’s one of the best coaches I’ve had in the game. Hopefully, he doesn’t see this, because I don’t need his head to blow up.”

Hearing about this later, Hale laughed, shook his head and took off his hat.

“My head’s big enough. I don’t know how much bigger it’s getting,” Hale said. “This ain’t from compliments.”

If Hale is the father figure, then Straw and Ernie Clement -- another throwback to Hale’s Cleveland days -- are the two kids always giving him a hard time, always grinning, hoping they’ll get away with it.

“We love him. I can’t even put into words how special that guy is,” Clement said.

This is the story of "D."

Origin stories

Schneider remembers approaching Hale one day during Spring Training. It might have been 2016. Schneider was still a Minor League manager; Hale, the bench coach for John Gibbons.

Hale gave Schneider one of his lineup cards from a game the season prior. It laid out everything from bullpen splits to outfield arms, who runs well and 50 other things. A young Schneider took that back to Single-A Dunedin, where he managed that season, and used it as a model for his own game sheet. That’s what he still uses today, with Hale now by his side as his associate manager.

Hale has 45 years in pro ball and 24 years coaching in the big leagues, so he’s as well-connected as anyone, often spanning multiple eras of the other person’s career. Again, Straw comes up.

“Oh, great Myles story. When we got Myles, D called me and told me a little bit about him,” Schneider began. “Myles had signed that contract in Cleveland, and DeMarlo, when he was bench coaching for [then-Guardians manager] Tito [Francona], always told guys, ‘You’re always on the bubble unless you sign a contract.’ That was his line. He’d always use it. So Myles signed his contract, and DeMarlo goes to Myles and says, ‘Hey man… you’re still on the bubble. I meant a contract.’”

Hale says that he wants to be two things: honest and true. Sometimes, that comes in the form of tough love, but Hale has a way of landing that tough love without too much of a thud at the bottom. He is the bridge between Schneider and the clubhouse, crucial to any manager.

“He covers it all. At heart, he’s a manager. He’s a dinosaur in this game,” Straw said. “He’s been around forever. He keeps the clubhouse loose. He gives you that confidence to play freely, so you’re never worried about the game.”

Hale’s gift is his feel for people. This game can make players feel like replaceable objects or a series of numbers on a screen, but they’re not.

“He cares about you as a person,” George Springer said. “He doesn’t just care about the baseball aspect of it. He understands there’s going to be good days and bad days, but he always asks you how you are doing and how you are feeling. It doesn’t have anything to do with the game, just you as a person. It just shows you that he cares about you as a person, you’re not just a player.”

This comes from the Minor Leagues. Hale climbed every ladder and had every conversation you can have in this game, from telling a young player their dream has come true to telling them it’s over.

“If you want to be a coach at this level, you’re going to have some tough conversations with players. They respect that,” Hale said. “One thing I’ve learned. … I had this rule in the Minor Leagues. My door is always open, but you’ve got two options. You can come in, and if you take your hat off, it’s man to man. If you keep your hat on, it’s manager to player. There was not one player who came into my office who kept his hat on. They always took it off. Now, if it’s man to man? We’re adults. You may be 20 years old, but it’s an adult conversation.”

‘Mr. Fix-It’

If you need something, ask D.

Prior to a recent game in Minneapolis, a reporter noticed that the sewing on the bottom hem of their pants had started to give out. Schneider knew that no problem would be too obscure for the man who seems to have everything on him at all times.

“I asked D if he had a safety pin, and he was like, ‘Come on, man.’ And he had a safety pin,” Schneider said, laughing. “He’s got Canadian cash, American cash, he’s got every marker and pen ever available that was ever sold. He’s like Mr. Fix-It. Seriously, it’s unbelievable. If it’s pregame, in-game, after the game, he’s just a step ahead of everybody. There’s nobody like him.”

Players like to joke that Hale is always on the move. Once they point it out, you quickly realize they’re right. … The man is never standing still.

“DeMarlo just likes to walk around. He likes to make sure he sees certain people, make sure everybody hears his voice,” Springer said. “He’s just as big a part of the clubhouse as any of our staff or any of us are. … He thinks he has swagger. He’s loud, too. You can always hear him.”

Schneider tries to keep up with Hale’s shoe game, but it’s tough. Even the way Hale moves through the clubhouse has its own air. One day in Chicago, Hale’s hometown, Straw stopped mid-sentence and pointed at him, rolling through the room.

“Look at this guy,” Straw said. “He even walks differently when he’s in this city.”

“He could definitely drip out a little bit better, but the aura is there,” Straw said. “He talks about how he’s from the South Side of Chicago and how he’s tough, but that’s definitely not him. By the time it’s all said and done, we might need to put on the boxing gloves and go at it.”

Everyone, everywhere

When the Blue Jays’ players and coaches look at Hale’s 1986 card, they have two reactions: one for the front, and one for the back.

1. “That can’t be D.”
2. “D stole 17 bags?”

Hale’s playing career ended in 1988. He tried out for some international leagues, including one in Italy, but the Red Sox soon offered him a coaching job.

“I went from a prospect to a suspect to an organizational player,” Hale said.

The beauty of how Hale approaches this game is in its simplicity. He’s not here to talk your ear off about bat speeds, attack angles and horizontal breaks on sliders, even though he could. He wants these players to enjoy the game. Even when he’s asked what he loves most about this game, Hale points it right back to the players.

“They get better. When they get better,” he said, without even pausing to think.

Hale loves this game and what it’s given him. He wants every player and coach in the locker room to feel the same about their own career. That’s why he’s everywhere, with everyone, all the time.

“It’s about embracing it and getting better. This career, it goes…” Hale paused for a moment and snapped his fingers. This was when Kevin Gausman walked by, and Hale pointed at him. “It’s these guys, too. I was over in Baltimore when [Gausman] got drafted. I left before he got to the big leagues, but just to see who he’s become ...”

They all want to tell another story about "D," knowing Hale won’t tell many himself. Somehow, some way, Hale is connected to everybody.

After Springer tells his stories, he’s still holding Hale's card from 1986. He’s a Connecticut boy, but Hale’s playing days in New Britain came before he was born. Then, Springer squints and looks closer. He points to the brick building behind Hale in the photo.

“... Wait,” Springer said. “That’s my high school.”