There’s no real point in writing about Pope Leo eventually selecting a “patron saint of baseball,” because Jonathan Liedel of the National Catholic Register already did a marvelous job. But there’s certainly value in appreciating the possibility and pondering what it all means, especially in light of Pope Leo’s evident passion for the game.
We’ve seen it in subtle gestures and viral moments: his holiness signing a baseball that ricocheted around the internet; donning a White Sox cap to digital delight; and waving from the Popemobile as crowds spontaneously chanted, “Let’s go White Sox.” It’s not just a papal fandom, it’s reverence, and it’s real.
Just imagine if Pope Leo were to anoint a “patron saint of baseball.” It would be more than just a headline; it would be a spiritual stamp on America’s pastime, an eternal link between faith and sport. And yes, it would almost certainly go viral.
Liedel, to his credit, explores the process with depth and historical context. Citing historian Kathleen Sprows Cummings of the University of Notre Dame, he outlines the three typical paths by which a saint becomes a patron: through popular devotion, ecclesiastical designation, or long-standing tradition. It’s a thoughtful unpacking of an idea that blends sacred tradition with a cultural touchstone.
Liedel suggests one particularly compelling candidate: Blessed Michael Joseph McGivney, a 19th-century priest from Connecticut and founder of the Knights of Columbus. McGivney’s canonization cause began in 1996, and he was declared “Venerable” in 2008. In 2020, he was beatified by Pope Francis, a significant step on the path to sainthood.
And here’s the baseball hook: McGivney wasn’t just a fan. He played. Well. A May 20, 1872, box score lists him as the cleanup hitter and left fielder for a seminary team. He scored three times and served as the vice president of the club. As a parish priest, he organized games and may have even coached third base. The historian Douglas Brinkley described him as “a naturally talented ballplayer.”
Andrew Fowler, a writer and communications specialist in Connecticut, noted that McGivney saw the game as more than a pastime, but a way to build fraternity and community. The Knights of Columbus have since carried that spirit forward, using baseball to support charitable causes, from Babe Ruth-led fundraisers in the 1920s to raising $65,000 in 2024 to build “McGivney Field” for Little Leaguers with special needs.
But why stop there? Could other candidates be waiting in the wings of Church history, or the dugouts of the devout?
Might St. Sebastian, long considered the patron saint of athletes, be given a new lens through the crack of the bat and chalk of the baselines? Could St. Rita of Cascia, the guiding light for inspiring pitcher Jimmy Morris, who captured our hearts in The Rookie with his improbable journey to the big leagues, become an intercessor for slumping hitters? Could a case be made for St. Peter himself, keeper of the keys and, perhaps, the original catcher?
The canonization process is slow, deliberate, and grounded in thorough theological review. The connection between baseball and Catholic identity, primarily through the lens of McGivney, presents a powerful cultural narrative, one about community, assimilation, values, and the grace found between the lines.
Maybe the Pope doesn’t need to make it official for the faithful to believe it’s real. But if he does, whether through divine designation or ceremonial fandom, it will be a holy home run.
Cardinal Blase Cupich, right, presents former White Sox player Paul Konerko with a jersey signed by Pope Leo XIV during a ceremony honoring the 2005 World Series Champions before a baseball game between the Cleveland Guardians and Chicago White Sox, Saturday, July 12, 2025, in Chicago. (AP Photo/Erin Hooley)
