Pirates’ Andrew McCutchen misstep may echo louder than they think

This offseason, the Pittsburgh Pirates finally did what fans have begged them to do for years: spend with intent.

They chased impact bats. They reshaped an offense that posted an 82 wRC+ and just 117 home runs. They stepped into conversations around the league for something other than Paul Skenes’ generational brilliance.

And yet, for all the momentum this winter created, one misstep may linger longer than any free-agent miss: the way the Pirates handled Andrew McCutchen.

On paper, moving on from McCutchen makes sense. At 38 years old, he posted a .239/.333/.367 slash line with a 95 wRC+ in 2025 and played 120 games at designated hitter. Among qualified DHs, he ranked near the bottom in both homers and wRC+. For a team desperate to overhaul its offense, that production simply wasn’t enough.

The baseball logic behind replacing McCutchen with Marcell Ozuna and his middle-of-the-order thump is perfectly clear. But baseball logic isn’t the full story when you’re talking about Andrew McCutchen in Pittsburgh.

This is the player who carried the franchise out of a 20-year losing abyss. He's the face of the revival, the reason PNC Park felt alive again, the bridge between irrelevance and belief. He didn't have to return in 2023 (or 2024 or 2025, for that matter). But he did, because he wanted to finish what he started nearly a decade earlier.

But when a franchise icon publicly posts GIFs about waiting for a phone call? When he meets with ownership and still seems blindsided? When he changes his social media photos to remove all traces of the Pirates after the Ozuna signing? That’s no longer a baseball transaction. It's a relationship fracture.

Pirates' treatment of Andrew McCutchen could damage their negotiating power in future free agent talks

Elite free agents don’t just evaluate payroll projections. They evaluate trust. They talk to former players. They talk to agents. They ask questions like: how does this organization treat its veterans? How do they communicate? Do they honor their own?

If the Pirates struggle to communicate clearly with the player who restored their relevance, what message does that send to someone like Kyle Schwarber? Or Eugenio Suárez? Or any established star on the free agent market weighing comfort and respect alongside dollars?

The Pirates already fight uphill battles in free agency. They’re not a glamour market. They don’t routinely outbid contenders. Their competitive window has only recently begun to open. When recruiting, their advantage has to be culture. And if culture now includes murky communication with franchise legends, that advantage erodes.

To their credit, the Pirates tried this winter. They swung big. They pursued impact bats. They explored high-end pitching. They signaled seriousness. But elite players look beyond one offseason. They look at patterns.

For years, critics have accused the Pirates' ownership of lacking urgency. Now, even as the team attempts to turn a corner, the optics suggest something else: that even icons aren’t guaranteed clarity or dignity in transition.

Free agency is emotional. Players want to feel wanted. They want transparency. They want to know where they stand — especially veterans considering legacy decisions. If McCutchen — who delivered postseason baseball, an MVP season, and restored pride — doesn’t get proactive communication, why would an outsider expect better?

Maybe the Pirates still bring McCutchen back in some capacity. Maybe this ends with reconciliation. Baseball has a funny way of circling back.

But if it doesn’t? The franchise risks more than just losing a veteran DH. It risks alienating a generational ambassador, damaging trust with future free agents, and reinforcing old narratives about ownership and communication.

The Pirates are finally in position to compete. The offense looks improved. The pitching foundation is legitimate. The excitement is real. But culture travels just as fast as velocity. If this winter becomes known less for aggressive upgrades and more for how the team handled its franchise icon, that echo could follow them into every negotiation room moving forward.

In baseball, reputation compounds — and the Pirates may have just underestimated how loudly this one could resonate.