There are two unopened cases of beer with Kyle Schwarber’s face on them stashed in Stephen Bruno’s garage. Schwarber gave them as a gift last summer; Bruno does not think he’ll ever touch them. “I can’t tear his face off, you know?” Bruno said. That face. Bruno first saw it nine years ago, while the two were minor leaguers in spring training with the Cubs.
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They became roommates in Tennessee, while playing for the Cubs’ Double-A affiliate there. It was 2015. That was the best year, Bruno said, and not because of the baseball. Bruno was in Schwarber’s orbit, and it was spellbinding. They, along with roommates Albert Almora and Daniel Vogelbach, had a routine. They went to McDonald’s, Taco Bell and Krispy Kreme every night because, for some reason, they all played better the next day.
It was dumb. It was Schwarber. “He just makes you feel incredible,” Bruno said. “It’s hard to explain.” Now, Bruno is an officer with the Cherry Hill (N.J.) Police Department. He’s from the Philadelphia area — grew up going to games at Veterans Stadium — and came back when his baseball career ended in 2018. So, he laughed when Schwarber signed a $79 million deal in 2022 to join the Phillies.
It’s different now; no more late-night fast food journeys. They have separate lives. Schwarber, 31, has two sons. Bruno is a public servant. They do not live far from each other in South Jersey. When they have a chance, they’ll grab breakfast. Maybe it’s been months since they saw each other. Whatever. The conversation resumes.
There was always something about Schwarber — something that has made him one of the most revered teammates in all of baseball. “You look at him,” Phillies infielder Edmundo Sosa said, “and you just feel the good vibes and the peace that’s around him.” He is the soul of the 48-24 Phillies, who have captured this city’s attention. He bashed two more homers Monday night. He is the everyman slugger with an empathetic spirit.
Bruno, with perspective from his post-playing life, gets it now. Schwarber’s father was a police chief in Ohio. His mother was a nurse. He has three older sisters, one of whom served in the Army. Had baseball not worked, he says he would have been a first responder — maybe police, maybe the military. There is depth to Schwarber — more than he’d like anyone to know.
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“You put others before yourself,” Bruno said. “And that’s not something that you acquire. It’s something that you’re born with. He is a selfless man. It’s a special trait that he has.”
Once Kyle Schwarber enters your life, he’s never too far.
“I drive to work, I see his face on a billboard,” Bruno said. “And it just puts a smile on my face.”
There is an ease with which Schwarber moves through rooms. He spends most of his time in a big-league clubhouse and dugout — a melting pot of nationalities, egos and money. There was one lesson in particular from his father, Greg, that he has carried with him. “You give ample opportunity to see the best in people,” Schwarber said. He remembers how his mother, Donna, had to console people in their darkest moments.
Sometimes, you just have to listen.
“You just never know what someone’s thinking, right?” Schwarber said. “I’m not afraid to talk to people.”
Maybe that’s why everyone gravitates to Schwarber.
“He is a person I admire because of the way that he treats everyone in the dugout,” Sosa said through a team interpreter. “It doesn’t matter the status — whether it’s a rookie or a veteran player. That’s something that’s made me feel good since I arrived here in 2022. Because he’s made me feel secure. He’s let me be myself. He’s always pushing us to do things right.”
Schwarber could play another decade and he’d still be known best for racing back from a devastating knee injury to help break the Cubs’ 108-year championship drought. But Philadelphia has been his home for two and a half years — longer than any other stop but Chicago — and Schwarber is raising his boys here. The Phillies, for years, invented ways to lose. Inside the organization, many credit Schwarber’s presence for steadying things.
He bristles at the idea of being something more than a guy who likes to have a good time for a long time.
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“The leader stuff got worn out in ’22,” Schwarber said. “It was just like shut the f— up about it already. Right? I’m not the f—ing reason that we’re in the World Series. I’m just being me.
“I’m not saying, ‘I’m the leader.’ I’m just being me. I think that’s the thing. It’s just weird because everyone wants to label that.”
Unprompted, his teammates use that label.
“He’s a great leader,” said Whit Merrifield, who is in his ninth big-league season.
Schwarber doesn’t like that.
“I know,” Merrifield said, “but he’s a true leader. I’ve had teammates that have tried to be Kyle. It’s just not something that you can be. You can’t force it. It’s either you are or you aren’t. And Kyle is.”
Schwarber was 12 when his dad drove him to a baseball tournament. They stopped for gas before they left home in Middletown, Ohio. While there, a man approached Schwarber’s father. “Do you remember me?” the man asked. He had arrested him years earlier. They had a conversation for 10 minutes. It wasn’t something Schwarber thought much of at the time. But that day at the gas station has shaped Schwarber’s approach to his high-profile, lucrative job.
“He takes an interest in caring about others,” Nick Castellanos said. “And it’s not something that he fakes. It’s something that was ingrained in his childhood from an early age. It’s natural.”
One afternoon last month, Schwarber drove to 35th and Walnut and parked on the street in front of a building at the University of Pennsylvania. He walked into a room on the second floor and observed for a few minutes as eight veterans continued a training session with their service dogs. Then, when there was a break, Schwarber started to move around.
He talked to two veterans new to the program, which is run by a Conshohocken, Pa.-based nonprofit called Team Foster, about his father’s old K-9. He told another veteran a story about how he couldn’t agree on a breed with his wife in 2015 and that’s how they became owners of a Dalmatian. There was some baseball talk, but not much. Everyone ate some lunch.
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A few hours later, many of those veterans and even more first responders gathered in the seats behind home plate at Citizens Bank Park during Phillies batting practice. After he hit, Schwarber came into the stands. He asked every person there to introduce themselves. A line formed to take pictures with Schwarber. Some of Schwarber’s guests just wanted to talk.
“Have fun,” Schwarber told the group. “This is what it’s all about.”
After the Phillies play Wednesday, Schwarber and his wife, Paige, will host 350 people for a block party at Yards Brewing Company to benefit Schwarber’s Neighborhood Heroes, the foundation they created to support first responders. Then, on Thursday when the Phillies are off, the Schwarbers will host 200 guests — all families of first responders — on the field at Citizens Bank Park.
Schwarber’s foundation has funded programs like Team Foster. He takes an active role in determining where the raised money goes; Schwarber said he is not interested in supporting programs that are blind to a community’s actual needs.
“He hears their stories,” said Nick Liermann, a veteran who founded Team Foster. “He’s having normal conversations that have nothing to do with baseball. And sometimes they do have something to do with baseball. It’s special in a way that’s hard to describe. And it means so much to our folks.”
A veteran who was volunteering with Team Foster to help train the dogs approached Schwarber after the event. She had to relay what one of the other veterans had said: “It’s like God sending down an angel.” Schwarber shook his head.
“There’s a lot of people who’ve gone through tough s—,” Schwarber said. “If you’re able to be another ear for someone and you’re able to put a positive experience in their mind, that’s something else they’re able to think about and carry with them for a day, a week, a month, a year, the rest of their lives — whatever it is. Right?”
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He paused.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Schwarber said. “Do I want to be a great player and be known as a great player? Absolutely. But I don’t ever want to be on someone’s s— list, right? I want to hopefully have a good name in the game. If my career ended today — there’d be a lot more things I wanted to do in this game — but I’d also be pretty damn happy with the things I’ve been able to accomplish. And, hopefully, people would respect that.”
Two times last week, an opposing manager came to see Schwarber. Orioles manager Brandon Hyde, an old Cubs coach, cornered Schwarber for almost 15 minutes behind home plate at Camden Yards. Alex Cora walked across the grass at Fenway Park and sat on a ledge with Schwarber.
Cora reminisced about his introduction to Schwarber when the Red Sox acquired him at the 2021 trade deadline. There was a pregame hitters’ meeting in which coaches went over the opposing pitcher’s arsenal and tendencies. They asked if anyone else had anything to say.
“Bro, this guy stinks,” Schwarber said on his first day with his new team. “Let’s go kick their ass.”
“We’re like,” Cora said, “‘Oh s—.’”
Phillies players have shared similar tales of Schwarber’s assuredness — whether it’s found in a dugout, a karaoke bar, or a casino. He bats first for a reason. Cora believed in the power of Schwarber’s words. He still does.
“That set the tone,” Cora said. “Play with confidence, go out there and do your thing. And he did. It was fun to watch.”
Years ago, Bruno was struggling at Double A. Schwarber was still there. They were hitting in the cage together.
“Dude,” Bruno said, “what do you do when you’re going up to the plate?”
“I’m trying to hit a homer,” Schwarber said.
“But how?” Bruno said.
“I want to find my pitch,” Schwarber said, “and I want to hit it as far as I can.”
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Bruno can appreciate the simplicity now. Find your pitch, Schwarber told him. It doesn’t matter what it is — wait for what you do best. It is analogous to life outside the batter’s box. That is Schwarber. It’s hard to hit baseballs far against big-league pitchers. It’s hard to be an empathetic person when thousands and thousands of people expect you to be perfect every night. It’s hard to always see the best in people.
This is why anyone who enters his orbit feels it.
“I love Kyle for Kyle — not the baseball player he is,” Bruno said. “He’s just an unbelievable human being. And I love being around him.”
(Top photo: Mitchell Leff / Getty Images)