Royals prospect John Rave carries his late dad with him while he aims for 40-man spot

MESA, Ariz. — It’s a subtle and almost imperceptibly short step of his routine, but to Royals prospect John Rave, it might be the most important part of every at-bat. After he takes a last hack in the on-deck circle and before he steps in and stares down the pitcher, he’ll etch a quick message with his bat in the corner of the batter’s box. It’s for his father.

Two and a half years ago, just as John was preparing for his first spring training as a professional, Mike Rave died. He was 51. What had seemed like a minor stumble down the stairs had in fact caused significant internal bleeding, which claimed his life within 24 hours. It happened so fast, even those closest to Mike learned he was dead before they learned he’d been hurt.

Gone was the man who’d attended as many of John’s games as possible, from high school all the way through his first taste of the minor leagues. The man who, sitting in the driver’s seat or on the other end of the phone, had been his confidant after countless games. The man who had been “walking advice,” John says, whose every word dripped with wisdom “even if I didn’t think it was advice at the time.” The man who’d always believed he could make it.

Now three years into his career, the 24-year-old Rave is on the verge of proving his father right. The odds were never stacked in his favor. He was the best prep player in his hometown of Bloomington, Ill., but a town of less than 80,000 doesn’t make for the biggest pond. He’d starred at nearby Illinois State, but the Redbirds were hardly a powerhouse. In 2019, the Royals selected him with their fifth-round pick, evidence of both their trust in his talent and the lengths to which he’d have to go to reward it. After all, only a minority of fifth-rounders make the majors, and fewer of them manage to stick around.

Rave already has touched Triple A and is now in the Arizona Fall League, but his minor-league numbers would be more accurately described as good and not great. So later this month, the Royals face a decision about his future. They could add him to their 40-man roster, smoothing his path to the majors and protecting him from the Rule 5 draft. Or they could gamble that Rave will go unselected and leave him off. Though no one from the Royals would say as much, placing Rave in the fall league helps the team make that determination.

It’s a rite of passage for many a player, one that can mess with the mind, but Rave now knows the listen for his father’s advice, even when he’s gone. “He would tell me not to look into any of that,” the outfielder says. “Other people get to worry about that stuff.” He pushes it from his mind, but some thoughts are easier to banish than others. He still feels his father’s absence, and always will. His grief may have morphed, becoming smaller and easier to carry, but it remains. He’s not sure he’ll get used to it. He’s not sure he wants to.

“When I was 22 years old, I had my father pass away,” Rave says. “Now what?”

Over the last two years — and with the help of siblings and teammates and coaches and many others — Rave has been trying to figure that out.

Happy heavenly birthday ole man❤️ missin ya
— John Rave (@john_rave) April 30, 2021

The evening of Feb. 17, 2020, Rave arrived in Bloomington from Arizona, where he’d been staying with a friend and working out at Kansas City’s spring training complex. He wanted to spend time with family before minor-league camp opened at the beginning of March. He shot his dad a text when he got into town — Rave’s parents divorced when he was in high school — but it was late. They agreed they’d catch up the next day.

Ever since middle school, the two had been close, although they’d had to sort out some things in their relationship. Mike, a former Division III basketball player, had coached John in many sports, and the line between coach and father tended to blur. For his part, John admits that he was probably “a little s—head” as he entered adolescence. They agreed they’d both be better off if Mike was only Dad and John was only Son.

From then on, John had no bigger cheerleader. Mike was an insurance agent from State Farm — “kind of a fashionista,” his son insists, eschewing the stereotypical red polo and khakis featured in the company’s ad campaigns — and had the freedom to set his own hours. Most times when John was playing baseball, in high school and at Illinois State, Mike was off work and in the stands. He’d been in Chatham, Mass., when John played in the Cape Cod League before his junior season. He’d visited Lexington, Ky., when John played in the minors after the draft. And after every game, whether he’d actually been there or not, Mike was available as a sounding board.

And then, suddenly, he wasn’t. The night of Feb. 17, the same night John arrived back home, Mike had fallen down the stairs while walking with his dog. It had hurt, but not enough to seek medical attention. He’d gone to bed and even gone to work the next morning before deciding that something more was amiss. He returned home, short of breath, and called a friend to come check on him. By the time that friend arrived, he was dead. John wishes his dad had gone to the hospital. He wishes he’d seen his dad the night before.

The regrets are crystal clear, but everything that happened after his dad’s death remains a blur. John’s sister drove down from Chicago to help with the arrangements. His brother drove nine hours up from Alabama. John went through the week in a sort of disbelieving, zombified state. “I was living in shock,” he says. “There’s a lot of it where you feel like, ‘This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This is just a weird nightmare.’” It didn’t really hit him until he left for spring training. Wherever he’d been in the baseball world, his father had connected him to home. Now that connection had been severed.

The Royals had told John to take all the time he needed, but John’s loved ones said Mike would want him to pursue his dream. Less than two weeks after he arrived in Arizona, however, sports shut down due to the rapid onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. John wound up back at home, without a father and without baseball, but also now closer to family. Together, they grieved. It was the smallest of blessings in a year that didn’t dole out many of them.

By the time baseball started back up again, the weight he carried had gotten just a little bit lighter.

The best word to describe John Rave and Jake Means might have been “frenemies.”

They’d played at rival schools in the Missouri Valley Conference, Rave patrolling the outfield for the Redbirds and Jake manning third for Indiana State. “We had a mutual respect of each other,” Means says, “but also a mutual dislike.” Rave once robbed a homer from Means and posted the highlight to his Instagram page. It’s still up there, which is funny because now the two are best friends.

When the Royals handed out housing assignments for the spring of 2021, Rave and Means became roommates. It was a fortuitous pairing — and unintentional, says farm director Mitch Maier — because each happened to know exactly what the other was going through. Six months after Mike Rave died, so did Alan Means. Pancreatic cancer.

That whole spring, the two Royals hitters traded off ordering DoorDash after workouts and shared their grief. They traded stories and talked ball, chatting with each other “the way we might talk to our dads,” Means says. Most of all, they saw themselves in each other. “I could get angry at someone like, ‘You don’t know what I’m going through!’ But I’d look at Jake and he knows exactly what I’m going through,” Rave says. The two roomed together again this year at Double A. At Means’ suggestion, Rave began journaling. Similarly, Means has adopted one of Rave’s rituals. Every game during the national anthem, he stands with his hand over his heart and talks to his dad.

Others in Rave’s life also helped fill the void. His older brother, Matt, now calls and texts frequently after games like Mike used to. “Just trying to make sure that everything’s right in his head,” Matt says. The grind of the game demands so much attention, relatively little is left over for worry and despair. “Baseball,” says Rave, “has helped me through a lot.”

Still, from time to time he’ll look into the stands and notice who isn’t there. Since his father’s death, he’s played in Iowa, Arkansas and Nebraska, all manageable distances from home that his dad wouldn’t have hesitated to cross in order to watch him play. Surely he would have come to Sunday’s Fall Stars Game, which highlighted John as among the best in the fall league. Although the way John sees it, he did.

“I know he’s there with me,” he says. “I know he’s thinking, ‘Go do what you do. Go have fun.’”

Rave’s numbers in the fall league have been … fine. In 17 games, he’s batted .234 with a .706 OPS. He’s hit two home runs and has struck out in 27 percent of his plate appearances. He has played a capable outfield, at all three spots but mostly center, and evaluators view him as a fourth or fifth outfielder with a decent feel to hit.

That’s why Rave might be on the bubble ahead of the Nov. 15 deadline to add prospects to the 40-man roster. The lefty hitter owns a career line of .249/.346/.402 in 260 minor-league games. He gets on base at a solid clip, walking nearly 14 percent of the time at Double A last year, but hasn’t historically done a ton of damage. He hit 16 home runs in 122 games between Double A and Triple A last year — “not anything to be upset about,” Maier says — but still slugged just .412 in the process.

The Royals seem to think there’s more in there. “I don’t like using the term ‘late-bloomer,’” says Alec Zumwalt, the team’s senior director of hitting performance, but “guys figure things out at different stages in their life.” Rave has worked on both his approach, swinging only at pitches he can hit hard, and on mechanical tweaks that increase the number of pitches that fall into that category. “He’s been able to make adjustments to the ball up in the zone,” Zumwalt says. “He’s been able to stay on the ball running away from him better as he’s gotten into pro ball.” This fall, Rave has been “trying to hit for power,” the outfielder admits. So far, though, he’s slugged only .406, although 17 games is a tiny sample.

Rave is a “dynamic” player, Maier says, and perhaps that means he’d be a lock to be selected in the Rule 5 draft next month. Perhaps that also makes him a lock to be protected. Maier says the Royals do not tell prospects going to the fall league to treat it like an audition, but Rave’s agent does. “I tell him to embrace it,” says the agent, Burton Rocks. You either wind up on the 40-man roster or in the big leagues with someone else. At worst, you stay right where you are, in the minors with the organization that drafted you. Unprotected and undrafted players make the big leagues all the time.

If that day comes — and considering he’s reached Triple A, odds are it will, no matter what happens in the Rule 5 — Rave will stride toward the left-handed batter’s box, drop his bat handle to the ground and carve something in the dirt. Just what it will say?

Rave smiles, a warm thought of his father entering his mind. “I think I’m going to keep that to myself,” he says.

Some things should stay between a father and a son.

(Photo of Rave at the fall league: Mark J. Rebilas / USA Today)