With the crack of bats echoing in the background and the buzz of the Home Run Derby all around him, Brent Rooker sat down on the sidelines and picked up a bottle—not a bat. The MLB outfielder cradled his 11-month-old daughter, Blake, and fed her her nighttime bottle under the bright lights of Globe Life Field, while millions watched on TV.
It was a quiet moment. Intimate. Parental. And somehow, for one viewer, too much.
In an event known for fireworks and fanfare, Rooker’s small act of caregiving briefly stole the show—and sparked a larger conversation about parenting, visibility, and the evolving expectations around fatherhood.
The criticism — and the calm clapback
Not everyone saw the beauty in the moment. Shortly after footage aired of Rooker bottle-feeding his daughter during the Derby, a fan took to social media to complain.
“Hey Rooker… did you really need to feed your baby on camera? Sometimes people just want to see you play,” the fan wrote in a post on X (formerly Twitter).
Rooker didn’t meet the comment with anger or sarcasm. Just clarity.
“Yes, it was necessary to feed my 11-month-old child her night time bottle at like 9:00 pm,” he replied. “Thank you for asking.”
That one sentence did what a thousand fiery replies couldn’t: it calmly and completely reframed the moment. In that moment, Rooker was doing what parents do: caring, adapting, and showing up without hesitation.
Related: The Male Privilege of Being a Stay-At-Home Dad
Why this moment matters more than a bottle
At first glance, it was just a dad feeding his baby. But for many watching, it was something more: a rare and powerful image of a father prioritizing care over performance—on one of baseball’s biggest stages.
For generations, caregiving has been framed as a maternal act—something mothers are expected to do instinctively, and fathers are applauded for only occasionally attempting. That’s slowly changing, but moments like Rooker’s still feel surprising. And that’s the point.
When a professional athlete doesn’t step away from parenting just because he’s under the spotlight, he disrupts an old script: that dads are providers, not nurturers; that their most valuable contributions come on the field, not the floor beside the crib.
In a cross-cultural study published in the American Journal of Sociology, Scott Coltrane found that active father involvement in childcare was positively associated with women’s status—a finding pointing to how caregiving reshapes gender roles.
Rooker responded with calm clarity, modeling the kind of present, capable fatherhood that often goes unseen—and underestimated.
Related: The scientific benefits of a father’s presence in their kid’s lives
The radical normalcy of caregiving dads
There was nothing performative about what Brent Rooker did. He didn’t hold his daughter for the camera. He didn’t ask for praise. He simply did what parents do all the time—juggled two priorities at once, choosing presence over optics.
And yet, it still felt radical.
Because as much progress as we’ve made, the image of a father feeding a baby at a major sporting event still stands out.
In the world of professional sports, athletes are often portrayed as hyper-masculine, detached from domestic life, and wholly focused on competition. But that narrative is shifting. From NBA stars like Stephen Curry bringing their kids to press conferences, to NFL players posting diaper duty videos during the off-season, dads have been showing up. What’s changing is the visibility.
And this visibility matters. A research published in Journal of Family Issues points out, when men actively participate in caregiving, it challenges cultural norms and opens up space for more equitable parenting roles.
What Rooker did wasn’t revolutionary. But the reaction to it reminds us that there’s still work to do before “dad feeding the baby” feels as unremarkable as “mom doing it.”
Related: Dad’s mental health in the first two years has a lasting impact on kids, new study shows
A broader shift in sports culture
Brent Rooker isn’t alone. Across leagues and locker rooms, a new generation of athletes is showing that being a father doesn’t pause for the game—and that masculinity can make space for nurturing, softness, and showing up.
Think of Kobe Bryant, whose legacy as a “girl dad” became as culturally resonant as his championship rings. Or NBA players like Steph Curry, who brings his daughters to press conferences and proudly shares glimpses of his parenting life. Even NFL linemen like Jason Kelce have gone viral—not for game-day highlights, but for babywearing their kids post-game.
What we’re seeing isn’t staged. It’s the real rhythm of family life. And these dads are slowly dismantling the idea that caregiving is gendered work—or something that dads must keep hidden to maintain credibility on the field.
What matters isn’t the novelty of dads showing up—it’s the fact that in many spaces still shaped by toughness and detachment, their presence as caregivers remains rare and deeply needed.
Kids don’t care about home runs — they care who showed up
When the Home Run Derby ended, and the buzz of the stadium gave way to the quieter moments afterward, Brent Rooker didn’t walk off alone. Sitting beside him were his wife, Allie, and their two daughters—3-year-old Blair, pink headphones on and head tilted sweetly to the side, and 11-month-old Blake in his arms, fed and soothed under the lights.
This is what will live in his daughters’ memories. Not the score. Not the stadium. But the presence. The feeling of a father who didn’t compartmentalize parenthood, who didn’t push aside care in the name of competition. A father who held them close—right in the middle of it all.
Rooker’s presence reminded us that fatherhood isn’t what you do when the cameras stop rolling. It’s what you do when your child needs you, no matter where you are. And for kids, that presence is everything.
Home runs are fun. But bedtime bottles and sideline snuggles? That’s legacy.
A win beyond the field
Brent Rooker may not have won the Home Run Derby that night—but in the eyes of many parents watching, he hit the most important mark. He showed up for his child, in a moment that mattered, without hesitation and without fanfare.
In doing so, he reminded us that parenting isn’t always polished or planned. Sometimes it’s feeding your baby in front of millions. Sometimes it’s blocking out noise—literal or metaphorical—to care for the person who needs you most.
This moment was a reminder: caregiving doesn’t pause for big meetings, broadcasts, or milestones—it happens in real time. That emotional labor isn’t bound by gender. And that love, when shown openly and without apology, can quietly reshape culture.
So here’s to every dad normalizing nurture. To every parent who shows up, whether the world is watching or not. And to every child who grows up knowing that love comes first—bottle in hand, heart wide open.
Sources:
- American Journal of Sociology. “Father-Child Relationships and the Status of Women: A Cross-Cultural Study”