The St. Louis Cardinals, in a season already not going their way, got even worse news on August 18 before their series opener against the Marlins. Brendan Donovan—their most consistent bat, their lone All-Star, and arguably the emotional center of the clubhouse—was placed on the 10-day injured list with a left groin strain, retroactive to August 15. Donovan had been playing through discomfort since August 8. His absence now leaves a lineup already thinned by injuries and inconsistency without its quiet heartbeat.
Which got me to thinking… how exactly did Donovan become the heart and soul of this team? I mean, he is, isn’t he? And it happened so slowly, so subtly, I almost didn’t notice. It just was a fact I felt.
Maybe it started with the way he never complained about being shuffled across the diamond—second base one day, left field the next, shortstop in a pinch. Or maybe it was the way he kept showing up in big moments without demanding the spotlight. A quiet RBI double. A heads-up baserunning play.
By the time the Cardinals started unraveling this season—Goldschmidt gone, Arenado hurt, the rotation in flux—Donovan was already the guy holding the threads together. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… reliably. And when he finally got his All-Star nod, it didn’t feel like a breakout. It felt like overdue recognition for someone who’d been carrying more than we realized.
So, let’s talk about what he has done this season. It only seems right. First up, since I had already alluded to it and it is the easiest to see, there is his defensive versatility. Before the groin strain, Brendan Donovan had already played five different positions in 2025: second base, left field, shortstop, third base, and right field. When the infield crumbled, he shifted to short. When the outfield thinned, he moved to left.
This isn’t new, of course. Donovan won the inaugural utility Gold Glove back in 2022, and he’s only expanded his range since then. Every time the Cardinals lost a starter, Donovan became the patch. Every time the lineup needed balance, he became the ballast.
And it’s not just that he can play everywhere. It’s that he plays each position well. His footwork at second is crisp. His reads in left are clean. His arm at shortstop is steady, if not flashy. Heck, in a pinch he probably could play catcher if they asked him to. He’s not a defensive wizard, but he is a defensive constant. And in a season defined by instability, that can become invaluable.
And then of course there is the bat. It is trickier to evaluate the bat this season because you almost need to look before the toe injury and after. Before the groin strain—and before the lingering toe injury —Donovan was quietly authoring a career year at the plate. Through June 10, he was slashing .310/.379/.440, good for a 132 wRC+, with 20 doubles and 4 home runs in just 64 games. He was driving the ball with more authority than ever, often hitting line drives and making quality contact.
He was the kind of hitter who made innings feel longer for opposing pitchers. Fouling off tough pitches. Working deep counts. Flicking singles into the outfield when the team just needed a baserunner. Donovan has a walk rate around 8% with a low strikeout rate — currently tied for 12th lowest among qualified hitters —, and when he swings he makes contact with a Wiff% in the 96th percentile in the league.
The injuries this season have been a shame for a couple reasons. They’ve sidelined one of the Cardinals’ top players, yes—but they’ve also interrupted what was shaping up to be a career-defining campaign for Brendan Donovan, right as he entered his arbitration years and the team entered a period of transition.
This was supposed to be the season where Donovan’s quiet excellence finally got loud. Where the utility man became a cornerstone. Where the guy who filled gaps became the guy you built around. Paul Goldschmidt is gone. Yadier Molina and Adam Wainwright have retired. Nolan Arenado, for all his fire, is showing signs of wear. The clubhouse is no longer defined by legacy—it’s searching for identity. And for a while, it looked like Donovan might be the one to carry it forward. Not with flash. Not with declarations. But with steadiness. With presence. The All-Star nod. The career-best numbers. The defensive versatility that turned chaos into cohesion. It was all happening. Slowly. Subtly.
But baseball doesn’t always honor the arc. Sometimes it interrupts it. And now, with Donovan sidelined, we’re left with the ache of what could’ve been. It’s fitting, in a way—this season has been one long search for identity, and the Cardinals still can’t seem to find theirs. Maybe Donovan returns before the final out. Maybe he doesn’t. But either way, 2025 will carry the imprint of what he gave—and the quiet weight of what he couldn’t finish.
Brutal.
Happy Sunday!