Imagine stepping up to the plate, feeling the weight of the bat in your hands, and crushing a pitch with everything you’ve got. The ball rockets off your bat, a line drive screaming toward the gap, the kind of hit that should be a double, maybe even a triple. You’re already halfway to first, heart pounding, when you see it—an outfielder diving, glove outstretched, snatching your hit from the air. The crowd roars, but for you, it’s another gut punch, another “what could have been.” For some baseball players, moments like this aren’t just occasional bad breaks—they’re a way of life. Being one of the unluckiest players in baseball is a grind that tests your spirit as much as your skill.

Take Dylan Crews, the Washington Nationals’ rookie outfielder, who’s been living this nightmare in 2025. The numbers tell a brutal story: he’s hitting .196 with a .620 OPS, despite Statcast data ranking him as the 13th-unluckiest hitter in the majors. His line drives, which league-wide hit .632, are landing in gloves at a .348 clip—the lowest in baseball. “It’s like a marriage,” Crews said, shaking his head. “Things aren’t going great sometimes, but you’ve got to keep showing up.” Just when he thought his luck was turning, a left oblique strain landed him on the injured list. He remembers a game in Colorado where he smoked two balls, one a bullet that Rockies center fielder Mickey Moniak dove to rob, another snagged by third baseman Ryan McMahon’s lunging grab. “You laugh because what else can you do?” Crews said. “But inside, it stings.”

Then there’s Reid Detmers, an Angels lefty whose 2024 season felt like a cosmic prank. In 2023, he gave up 19 homers in 148.2 innings—a solid 1.2 per nine. But last year, in just 87.1 innings, he surrendered 18 homers, a jaw-dropping 1.9 per nine. His home run per fly ball rate spiked from 11.7% to 17.1%, far above the league’s 11.6% average. “You’re throwing the same pitches, hitting your spots, and suddenly every fly ball’s leaving the yard,” Detmers said, his voice tinged with frustration. “You start wondering if the baseball gods have it out for you.” Despite his control and stuff, the results didn’t match, leaving him second-guessing every pitch.

It’s not just current players. History is littered with stories of bad luck that haunt players’ careers. Tony Conigliaro, a Red Sox phenom, had 100 homers by age 22, but a 1967 beaning under his left eye derailed his path to greatness. He retired at 26, his vision never the same. Dickie Thon, an Astros shortstop, was a star in the making until a 1984 pitch to the head fractured his orbital bone, sapping his confidence and power. And then there’s Adam Greenberg, whose first MLB at-bat in 2005 ended with a pitch to the head, effectively ending his career before it began—though he got a redemptive at-bat with the Marlins in 2012. “You work your whole life for a shot,” Greenberg said, “and one pitch changes everything.”

Being unlucky in baseball isn’t just about stats—it’s a mental battle. Every hard-hit out, every diving catch, chips away at your confidence. “You start pressing, trying to hit it harder, aim it better,” said Luis García Jr., Crews’ teammate and the 10th-unluckiest hitter in 2025, with a .231 average despite solid contact. He recalls a game in Atlanta where Braves outfielder Michael Harris II made a jaw-dropping catch, leaving García grinning in disbelief. “You tip your cap, but deep down, you’re screaming, ‘Why me?’”

The data backs up their pain. Statcast’s expected weighted on-base average (xwOBA) measures how a player’s contact should translate to results, and for guys like Crews and García, the gap between their xwOBA and actual wOBA screams bad luck. For pitchers like Detmers, expected ERA (xERA) shows they’re performing better than their stats suggest. But numbers don’t soothe the sting of a robbed hit or a cheap homer. “You can know it’s bad luck,” Detmers said, “but when the scoreboard doesn’t lie, it’s hard to keep believing.”

Fans see the highlights—diving catches, wall-scraping grabs—but for players, those moments pile up like weights. Yet, they keep swinging, keep throwing, because that’s baseball. “You’ve got to believe the breaks will come,” Crews said, ever the optimist. For the unluckiest players, it’s not just about talent—it’s about holding on to hope when the game seems determined to break your heart.