I went through baseball as 'a player to be named later.'

In the vast story of baseball, where names like Ruth and DiMaggio are carved in marble, there walked also the humble and the forgotten—those who played their part without the glory of immortality. Among them was Joe Garagiola, catcher, broadcaster, and teller of truths. With a mixture of humor and humility, he declared of himself: “I went through baseball as ‘a player to be named later.’” At first, it sounds like a jest, a man poking fun at his modest career. Yet behind these words lies a teaching about obscurity, service, and the quiet dignity of those who live in the shadows of giants.

For in the language of the game, a “player to be named later” is not the star whose signing is announced with headlines, but the forgotten figure, the afterthought in a trade, the piece of the bargain yet to be decided. To describe oneself thus is to embrace humility, to admit that one’s role was not of fame but of necessity. Garagiola knew he was no legend of the bat, no titan of the field—but he also knew that he had played his part, and that part had meaning.

The ancients honored such men as well. Consider the soldiers of Marathon, whose names are largely lost to us. We know of Miltiades the general, we speak of Pheidippides the runner, but the thousands who bore shield and spear are unnamed, forgotten by history’s pen. Yet it was they, the countless “players to be named later,” who held the line against Persia, who secured the freedom of Greece, and whose sweat and blood bought the triumph we still recount. The greatness of the few is built upon the service of the many.

Garagiola’s words also reveal the wisdom of self-knowledge. He did not pretend to be more than he was. He laughed at his shortcomings, but in doing so, he freed himself from bitterness. His humility became a strength, for he transformed his modest playing career into a rich life as broadcaster, storyteller, and advocate. By accepting the truth of being “a player to be named later,” he showed that one’s value is not only in the spotlight of youth but in the purpose one finds afterward.

This is a lesson much needed in our age, where so many chase only the name on the marquee, the fame that burns bright and fades quickly. But Garagiola teaches us that meaning can be found even in the overlooked role. It is not necessary to be the hero of the tale; it is enough to be faithful in the part you are given, and to use that part as a foundation for what comes next. The supporting player, the worker behind the scenes, the unnamed soldier—all carry weight that history too often forgets, but destiny never does.

The story of Epictetus, the slave turned philosopher, shines with the same truth. He was born in obscurity, bound to masters, unnamed in the halls of power. Yet from that life, he carved wisdom so enduring that emperors would later study his words. He too was once “a player to be named later,” yet his voice now rings louder than those of kings. So it is with Garagiola: his humility became the soil from which a deeper legacy grew.

So let us take the teaching to heart: if life casts you not as the hero but as a player to be named later, embrace it with courage. Fulfill your role with dignity. And remember that value is not only in fame but in faithfulness, not only in glory but in endurance. For in time, those who seem least remembered may prove to have left the truest mark. Laugh, as Garagiola laughed, at your own smallness, and then rise, as he rose, to show that even the overlooked have a story worth telling.