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April 15, 1947.
That day spurred a new controversy never before heard of in Major League Baseball.
Should blacks be allowed to play with the likes of white players?
On that day, the baseball world took a huge step toward equality and integration among players.
One man broke the color barrier, becoming the first black player to join the ranks of white players in Major League Baseball.
He helped the Brooklyn Dodgers, who became the Los Angeles Dodgers in the 1950s, to six World Series appearances and helped them win it all in 1955.
In his 10-year career, Jackie Robinson won Rookie of the Year in 1947, was named to six-straight National League All-Star teams from 1949 to 1956 and earned the honor of National League's Most Valuable Player in 1949.
An inspiration to many, if there is one way to describe his style of play, it'd be encompassed by two words: pure instinct.
And while I wish I could write this column as if I watched Robinson play growing up as a kid, all I can refer to are the classic MLB DVD collections I've accumulated over the years and the countless ESPN Classic documentaries done on Robinson.
It's hard to put into words what Robinson gave back to the game.
He was liked by his teammates and eventually won over fans, including white fans who were utterly opposed to the idea of a black man partaking in a "white man's game."
He was thick-skinned, never allowing the countless taunts or racial slurs slung his way to affect him, his play or his life.
His widowed wife, Rachel, probably put it best. She said that, to her, he was "Jack," and that to the rest of the baseball world he went by his stage name, "Jackie."
A stage name implies some type of show - and did he ever put on a show.
More importantly, though, he played the game how it was supposed to be played: pure.
He was an all-around, all-purpose player. He could hit, throw and run.
The base paths were where he was most notorious, as he could unnerve even the most composed pitchers - especially when he was on third and inching closer towards home.
As a second baseman, Robinson had a career fielding percentage of .983, an astounding number considering he received nearly 4,000 balls at the position.
April 15, 2007.
In fitting fashion, the baseball world honored Robinson on Sunday, 60 years after he broke the color barrier.
Black, white, yellow or blue, no matter what your race, you could honor Robinson by donning his No. 42.
It was a fitting tribute, and major league players fell nothing short of demonstrating the demeanor of Robinson when he was on the field.
Detroit outfielder Curtis Granderson looked like the prolific base runner himself, going from second to home on a botched pick-off play against the Toronto Blue Jays.
Tampa Bay outfielder Delmon Young went yard as he aided in a victory against the Minnesota Twins.
And Atlanta outfielder Andruw Jones flashed the leather in the Braves' win against the Florida Marlins.
While these are everyday occurrences in Major League Baseball, on Sunday they held more of a special feeling.
But even on a day when there was a lot of reminiscing of the legend's past, there was one part of the game that Robinson never got to see - a black manager.
Even though Robinson missed that historic event, it was his strides and his dedication to equality that helped paved the way for the baseball community to where it is today.
Sixty years after throwing out segregation in the majors, Robinson's legacy, like the speedy second baseman himself, is still running strong.
