Imagine a jersey number in Major League Baseball that's been gathering dust for over two decades, a heartfelt nod to a talented pitcher whose life was cut tragically short—today, we're diving into the intriguing tale behind the Houston Astros' number 57.
But here's where it gets fascinating: this number isn't officially retired, yet no player has dared to wear it since 1997, out of deep respect for the man who once donned it. Let's unpack this story step by step, starting with some recent Astros history that puts things in context.
Not long after the fiery closer Billy Wagner earned his spot in the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 2025, the Astros honored him by retiring his number 13 during a special event at Daikin Park. Wagner's digit joined a prestigious lineup of nine other retired numbers for the franchise (you can check out the full list at MLB.com). Among them are his old teammates Craig Biggio (number 7) and Jeff Bagwell (number 5), both Hall of Famers who've left an unforgettable legacy in Houston. The rest include Jim Umbricht (32), Don Wilson (40), Jose Cruz (25), Mike Scott (33), Nolan Ryan (34), Larry Dierker (49), and Jimmy Wynn (24)—each a cornerstone in Astros lore. And then there's number 57, quietly set aside since 1997, a silent tribute to pitcher Darryl Kile.
Now, for beginners, let's clarify: retiring a number means a team officially pulls it from circulation to honor a player's contributions, usually after they've left the game. But in Kile's case, while the Astros haven't made it official, they've chosen to keep it unworn out of reverence. Kile sported number 57 during his Astros tenure from 1991 to 1997. Tragically, he passed away unexpectedly on June 22, 2002, at just 33 years old, while playing for the St. Louis Cardinals. The cause? Coronary artery disease, a heart condition that stunned the baseball world, as he was seemingly in his prime.
Kile's death hit hard in Chicago, where he was found in his hotel room before a scheduled game against the Cubs. The match was called off, and his former Astros buddies—Bagwell, Biggio, and catcher Brad Ausmus—were devastated. These friends were so overcome with grief that they skipped batting practice before their own game that night. For those new to baseball, batting practice is the warmup session where players practice hitting to get ready for the real action.
In a touching display, Kile's Astros jersey hung in the dugout as Houston edged out the Mariners 3-2 in a grueling 12-inning thriller at Minute Maid Park. Bagwell delivered the decisive hit but could barely muster any joy. 'This was a very difficult day,' Ausmus shared with reporters post-game. 'I went back and forth between disbelief and sorrow. When you play this game for a long time, you learn to focus on the game and not on outside things, but the gravity of this was a little heavier.'
Kile's journey to the big leagues began when the Astros selected him in the 30th round of the 1987 draft—a late pick that speaks to his raw talent. He was blessed with a killer curveball, a pitch that dives sharply to fool hitters, but he sometimes struggled with control, walking batters more than he'd like. Debuting in 1991, he posted a 7-11 record with a 3.69 ERA in 37 games, including 22 starts. For context, ERA measures a pitcher's effectiveness by averaging the earned runs they allow per nine innings—lower is better, and his early mark showed promise despite the win-loss.
And this is the part most people miss: Kile nearly made history right out of the gate. In his very first MLB start on April 24, 1991, he carried a no-hitter (where no hits are allowed) through six innings against the New York Mets before manager Art Howe yanked him to save his arm—a smart but tough call. But Kile got redemption. On September 8, 1993, he hurled the ninth no-hitter in Astros history, blanking the Mets at the Astrodome. That breakout year saw him win 15 games, earn an All-Star nod, and solidify his place as a Houston star. He followed with more ups and downs: only 13 wins in the next two seasons, then 12 in 1996, and a stellar 19-7 with a 2.57 ERA in a career-high 255.2 innings in 1997.
Kile then jumped to the Colorado Rockies for the 1998 season, where the high-altitude 'Mile High' air—thinner than at sea level—can make it harder for pitchers to throw fastballs effectively since the ball doesn't 'sink' as much. He went 21-30 over two years there before a trade to St. Louis, where things clicked. In 2000, he dazzled with a 20-9 record and 3.91 ERA in 34 starts. By 2002, he was off to a solid 3.72 ERA in 14 starts when tragedy struck.
Bagwell learned of his friend's passing via a call from ex-teammate Moises Alou, who was with the Cubs. 'I said, “Homeboy, what are you doing?”' Bagwell recounted in an MLB Network documentary. '“You have a game in 20 minutes.” Alou said, “Darryl’s dead. They found him in his hotel room.”' Bagwell held off on public comments until the next day, finally sharing, 'I am a better person because I knew Darryl Kile.'
In a fitting tribute, the Astros installed a memorial plaque for Kile along the left-field wall at Daikin Park, once positioned beneath the banner commemorating their 1997 National League Central championship—the final season he wore Houston colors before heading to Colorado. Since his death, no Astros player has touched number 57.
'You’re talking about one of your best friends in the game,' Biggio reflected. 'A great man, a great family man and great husband. He’s gone way too soon. That was a tough day. That was a tough year. It’s still hard to talk about because he’s such a great person.'
Now, here's where it gets controversial: Is it right for teams to unofficially retire numbers like this for players who weren't inducted into the Hall of Fame? Some fans argue it dilutes the honor of official retirements, while others see it as a beautiful, personal gesture of respect. And what about the broader issue—should MLB players, especially pitchers who push their bodies hard, undergo mandatory health screenings for conditions like coronary artery disease? After all, Kile's passing at 33 raises questions about athlete wellness in a sport where careers can be grueling. What do you think? Should the Astros make Kile's number 57 officially retired, or is the current approach enough? Do you agree that baseball needs stricter health protocols? Share your opinions in the comments—we'd love to hear your take!
