A Game That Refuses to Forget
C. J. Stewart, former Chicago Cub Outfielder and founder of L.E.A.D.
“In the age of erasure, Safe at Home is a refusal.”
On a cloudy August morning at Georgia Tech’s Russ Chandler Stadium, the 11th Annual Safe at Home baseball game unfolded—not just as a sporting event, but as a living metaphor for what it means to hold space for Black youth in a nation increasingly hostile to their futures.
Hosted by the L.E.A.D. Center for Youth, founded by former Chicago Cubs outfielder C.J. Stewart, the game brought together L.E.A.D. Ambassadors and alums to face off against a team of law enforcement officers from the Atlanta Police Department, the Fulton County Sheriff Department, the Georgia Tech Police, the Atlanta Public School Police, the United States Secret Service Police, and the FBI.
Former Atlanta Brave Dale Murphy coached first base for the L.E.A.D. team, while his foundation stood behind the event as a corporate sponsor. It was a scene stitched with contradictions: camaraderie between youth and law enforcement, joy in the face of systemic erasure, and the crack of a bat echoing against a backdrop of political efforts to defund precisely these kinds of initiatives.
L.E.A.D.’s model of sports-based youth development (SBYD) is no charity—it’s a strategy. With a 100% high school graduation rate and 93% college enrollment among its Ambassadors, the program proves that investment in Black youth yields measurable, transformative outcomes.
Yet in today’s climate, such success stories are often met not with applause, but with austerity. Federal and state measures continue to defund initiatives like L.E.A.D., replacing support with surveillance and mentorship with militarization.
An FBI agent from the Atlanta Office
But the game goes on.
Each inning of Safe at Home felt like a stanza in a poem of resilience. The players moved with rhythm—syncopated, intentional, defiant. They played not just for the win, but for the memory of what it means to be safe, to be seen, to be celebrated.
There’s something sacred about watching Black boys play baseball in a stadium built for dreams; it’s where I dreamed of playing baseball as a college student, but the times didn’t permit opportunities like that dream. It’s not nostalgia—it’s strategy. It’s a reclamation of space, of story, of self.
Dale Murphy, Former Atlanta Braves Centerfielder
Dale Murphy’s presence at first base wasn’t just symbolic—it was strategic. It signaled that allyship isn’t performative when it’s rooted in proximity, in partnership, in shared purpose. The Dale Murphy Foundation’s sponsorship wasn’t just a donation—it was a declaration that legacy must be leveraged, not hoarded.
“My wife and I established the Dale Murphy Foundation to help established non-travel baseball programs receive the funding they need to bring baseball to deserving kids,” Murphy said after the game.
In the age of erasure, Safe at Home is a refusal. A refusal to forget. A refusal to fold. A refusal to let the next generation grow up without knowing that they are worthy of investment, of joy, of justice.
And so the game continues. Not just on the field, but in the hearts of those who understand that rhythm is resistance, that memory is muscle, and that being safe at home is not just a baseball term—it’s a political one.
If you believe in the power of sports to transform lives, consider supporting L.E.A.D. or the Dale Murphy Foundation. Share this story, amplify the rhythm, and refuse to forget.