Chicago Cubs rookie third baseman Matt Shaw has suddenly found himself thrust into one of the most unexpected controversies of the 2025 baseball season, not because of a bat flip, a defensive error, or a hot streak at the plate, but because of a personal decision that has rippled far beyond the walls of Wrigley Field. In the middle of a tight playoff race, with the Cubs desperately trying to secure their spot in October, Shaw chose to miss a crucial game in order to attend the memorial service for conservative activist Charlie Kirk. The absence was unusual in Major League Baseball, where bereavement leave is typically reserved for immediate family members, and it drew swift criticism from fans, commentators, and broadcasters who argued that every inning at this stage of the season matters, that a rookie especially should be locked in on the team’s playoff push, and that stepping away for something outside the bounds of the sport risked sending the wrong message. Yet for Shaw, the decision was never about baseball politics, nor about making a statement in the culture wars. It was about loyalty, faith, and the bonds of personal connection that, in his eyes, outweighed the stakes of a single game.
Shaw’s relationship with Charlie Kirk was not superficial. The two met years earlier in Arizona while living in the same apartment complex. Shaw was still a young player working toward his big league dream, and Kirk, already a prominent public figure, became something of an unlikely supporter. The two bonded over their Christian faith, and Kirk frequently reached out to encourage Shaw, following his career closely, texting him after games, and cheering for the Cubs. That kind of encouragement, especially during the grind of a minor league career, can carry enormous weight, and Shaw has acknowledged that Kirk’s presence helped him feel grounded during an uncertain period of his life. So when Kirk’s widow reached out and personally invited him to the memorial service, Shaw felt not only honored but obligated. To him, this was not a matter of politics or public optics—it was about honoring a man who had been there for him on a deeply personal level.
Still, Shaw knew that missing a game during the Cubs’ postseason chase would raise eyebrows. Major League Baseball’s rules are clear: bereavement leave is allowed when a player loses a close family member, but it does not extend to friends or acquaintances, no matter how meaningful the bond may be. For Shaw to step away, he needed the team’s permission, and that meant conversations with manager Craig Counsell, president of baseball operations Jed Hoyer, and several veteran players in the clubhouse. To the Cubs’ credit, they treated Shaw’s request with seriousness and empathy, ultimately granting him an exemption to attend the service. Counsell later explained that while the timing was difficult, the organization believed in allowing players to honor their personal convictions. For Shaw, that validation mattered; it gave him the confidence to make the trip knowing that, at least internally, he had support.
But if the Cubs gave their blessing, the public was far less forgiving. Almost immediately after the lineup card went out without Shaw’s name, talk radio lit up with angry calls. Broadcasters questioned whether a rookie who had barely established himself in the big leagues should be missing time in September, when the Cubs needed every advantage they could find. Fans on social media vented frustration, arguing that Shaw had let his teammates down. The fact that the Cubs lost the game only added fuel to the fire, with critics pointing out that in such a tight race, one loss could be the difference between hosting a playoff series at Wrigley Field or watching October baseball from the couch. Some even accused the organization of setting a dangerous precedent by granting the exemption, worrying that it could open the door to more players requesting time away for reasons outside of family emergencies.
Yet the story was never that simple, because Shaw himself was clear and unwavering about why he went. In interviews after his return, he addressed the backlash head-on, saying, “Whatever backlash comes is OK. I feel strongly in my faith that was meant to be. I felt as though it was something that was really important for me to do.” His words carried the weight of conviction. To Shaw, this wasn’t about letting his team down or ignoring the stakes of the season; it was about standing by a decision rooted in faith and loyalty. And in that sense, he was willing to take whatever criticism came with it.
This is where the story becomes larger than baseball. On the surface, it is about a rookie player missing a game. But beneath that, it is about the complicated intersection of sports, personal conviction, and politics. Charlie Kirk was a polarizing figure, and Shaw’s attendance at his memorial inevitably drew attention beyond the baseball world. Supporters applauded him for standing firm in his beliefs and honoring a personal bond, while detractors saw his choice as an unnecessary distraction that placed politics in the middle of the Cubs’ playoff run. In truth, Shaw himself never framed the decision as political, but in today’s polarized climate, every association is analyzed through that lens, whether the individual intends it or not.
There are also broader questions raised about the role of personal life in professional sports. Athletes are often expected to put the team above all else, especially during pivotal moments. But they are also human beings, with friendships, faith, and obligations that exist outside the stadium. For Shaw, his decision may serve as a reminder that no matter how big the game, life sometimes asks players to make choices that cannot be measured in box scores or standings. The challenge, of course, is that the stakes in professional sports are unforgiving, and fans rarely separate personal choices from team results.
Whether Shaw’s absence ultimately matters will depend on how the Cubs finish the season. If they secure a playoff spot comfortably, his decision will fade into the background, remembered only as a momentary controversy. But if they miss the postseason by a single game, or lose home-field advantage by a hair, Shaw’s absence could become a talking point for years to come, the kind of footnote that haunts both player and team alike. That possibility underscores why the decision drew such intense scrutiny in the first place—because in baseball, as in life, timing is everything.
For Shaw personally, this moment may shape his reputation early in his career. Some will admire his conviction, seeing him as a man willing to stand firm in his beliefs, even under public pressure. Others will label him as a player who put personal priorities ahead of team success. Both narratives will follow him into future seasons, and how he handles them may determine whether this becomes a defining controversy or simply a footnote in a long career. What is clear, though, is that Shaw himself has no regrets. His words and actions suggest he knew the cost of his choice, accepted it, and would make the same decision again.
The Cubs, meanwhile, are left navigating the fallout, balancing the need to protect their players’ humanity with the demands of a playoff race. It is a reminder that professional sports, for all their structure and discipline, cannot be separated from the real lives of those who play the game. And sometimes, those real lives intrude at the most inconvenient moments. Shaw’s story is unusual, perhaps even unprecedented, but it is also deeply human—a reminder that even in the high-stakes world of Major League Baseball, players are more than their statistics, and the choices they make off the field can carry as much weight as anything they do on it.
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