Darryl Strawberry’s road from baseball stardom to redemption just came full circle — with a signature from Donald Trump.
On Friday, the former president issued a full pardon for the New York Mets icon, clearing his name of a decades-old federal tax evasion conviction from 1995. For those who remember Strawberry’s dramatic rise and painful fall, this pardon feels like a closing chapter to one of the most turbulent journeys in pro sports history.
Let’s rewind. Back in the mid-80s, Strawberry was riding high. After an explosive rookie season, he inked a six-year, $7.1 million deal with the Mets — a record-breaking contract at the time. But within that deal was a $700,000 interest-bearing annuity, and here’s where things went sideways.
Strawberry failed to properly report that income on his taxes. By 1995, his playing career was falling apart and his off-field issues were mounting. He pled guilty to tax evasion and received three years’ probation, six months of home confinement, and was ordered to repay $350,000 in taxes and penalties.
The IRS even sold off that annuity to recoup the loss. Still, he paid his dues — literally and legally — and moved on. Now, decades later, Trump is officially wiping the slate clean.
But this pardon isn’t just about taxes or old paperwork. It also shines a light on the long-standing connection between Trump and Strawberry. Their relationship began well before politics, when the former baseball star appeared on Season 3 of “The Celebrity Apprentice” in 2010. Strawberry, then in the midst of his public comeback, was booted early for what Trump called a lack of effort. But behind the scenes, the show painted a raw and redemptive portrait of a man battling his demons.
Trump praised him then — calling him a fighter — and that admiration stuck. Over the years, Trump would often reference Strawberry’s resilience, saying he’d “been through hell and back.”
And that hell? It started early. Strawberry’s struggles with addiction stemmed from a childhood riddled with trauma. An abusive father, emotional neglect, and the weight of early fame all fed into an addiction spiral that would derail his career — cocaine, alcohol, suspensions, and ultimately a full-season ban in 2000.
But his comeback? That wasn’t scripted. In 2003, Strawberry entered long-term recovery and experienced what he described as a spiritual awakening. By 2006, he and his wife Tracy had launched Strawberry Ministries, a faith-based nonprofit that works to restore broken lives through biblical teaching and support. It’s been a total life pivot — from tabloid headlines to ministry work, from dugouts to pulpits.
So yes, the pardon is a legal gesture, but it also feels like a recognition of the bigger picture. This wasn’t just a tax slip — it was a man spiraling, rebuilding, and reclaiming purpose. Darryl Strawberry isn’t just another name in baseball history. He’s a comeback story that keeps going.
