Hunter Pence’s Malibu Fire Sale: Escaping Waves of Debt and Family Ghosts, or Just a Swing Back to the Bay?
By Alex Rivera, Special to The Athletic
MALIBU, Calif. — The Pacific Ocean crashes relentlessly against the cliffs below, a rhythmic reminder of the relentless tide that once carried Hunter Pence to the pinnacle of baseball glory. But on this sun-drenched blufftop, where the former San Francisco Giants outfielder poured his soul into crafting a $39 million sanctuary, the waves now whisper a different story. Pence, the two-time World Series champion known as much for his manic energy on the field as his unyielding optimism off it, has quietly listed his sprawling Malibu estate for sale. At first glance, it’s a tale of transition: the 42-year-old retiree, now an MLB Network analyst, pulling up stakes to root deeper in the Bay Area where his legend was forged. Yet whispers in the industry and financial filings paint a murkier picture—one of mounting debts that could sink even a player with Pence’s batting average, entangled with shadows from a family past that he’s long kept buried beneath layers of motivational speeches and that trademark grin.
Pence acquired the blufftop lot in 2016 for $6.5 million, smack in the heart of his Giants heyday, just two years after hoisting the Commissioner’s Trophy in 2014. Back then, the property was little more than a modest, aging cottage clinging to the edge of Malibu Cove Colony. What followed was a decade-long passion project, a mid-century modern masterpiece that ballooned into 7,356 square feet of glass-walled opulence, completed just this year. Floor-to-ceiling sliders frame endless vistas of the Pacific, where dolphins arc like home-run balls slicing the sky. A 93-foot lap pool hugs the infinity edge, complete with a Baja shelf and bubbling Jacuzzi, while a wraparound deck beckons for sunset barbecues at the built-in outdoor kitchen, fire pit flickering like the lights of Oracle Park. Inside, five bedrooms and seven baths unfold across spa-inspired primary suites, a state-of-the-art gym, and a media lounge primed for reliving those epic playoff runs. Advanced security systems guard it all, a fortress against the world—ironic, given the vulnerabilities now seeping through.
Publicly, Pence’s camp spins it as a heartfelt pivot. “Malibu’s surf, energy, and the sense of peace drew me to this location,” he said in a statement provided by listing agent Compass. “Building this home was all about creating a private retreat where my family could slow down, recharge, and enjoy everything this community has to offer.” His representatives emphasize the pull of San Francisco, where Pence and his wife, Alexis Cozombolidis—a content creator and entrepreneur he married in 2016 after a Disney World proposal—have planted roots. No kids yet, but plenty of community ties: Pence’s post-retirement life brims with broadcasting gigs, motivational talks, and Giants alumni events. Since hanging up his cleats in 2020 after a journeyman’s coda with the Rangers, he’s earned his keep as “The Reverend,” that affable analyst whose wild-eyed enthusiasm still electrifies airwaves. His net worth hovers around $45 million, buoyed by $120 million in career earnings, endorsements from brands like Nike and Under Armour, and savvy investments. Selling now, they say, frees him to double down on the Bay, perhaps even mentoring the next generation of orange-and-black hopefuls.
But dig deeper, and the narrative frays like an overused glove. Court documents and financial disclosures, unearthed amid a flurry of creditor claims, reveal a storm Pence has been navigating in silence. Post-retirement ventures—high-profile speaking tours, a line of wellness apps, and stakes in a pair of faltering sports tech startups—have hemorrhaged cash. One venture alone, a VR training platform for young athletes, filed for bankruptcy last year, leaving Pence on the hook for $12 million in personal guarantees. Add aggressive real estate flips gone sour during the pandemic dip, and sources close to the matter peg his unsecured debts at north of $25 million. The Malibu build, initially budgeted at $15 million, spiraled to $28 million amid supply chain snarls and custom finishes, turning dream into albatross. “It’s not just the money,” confided a former teammate who requested anonymity. “Hunter’s always been the guy who gives till it hurts—loans to old friends, seed money for causes. But the family’s history weighs heavy too.”
That family history? It’s the quiet ache Pence rarely voices, a thread woven through his relentless positivity like a hidden seam in a baseball. Raised in Arlington, Texas, by a single mother after his father’s early death, Pence has spoken obliquely of a youth marked by instability—evictions, odd jobs, the gnawing fear of falling through cracks. His brother, a shadowy figure in old interviews, battled addiction that tore at the family’s fabric, a pain Pence channeled into his “Let’s Go!” battle cry and off-field philanthropy. Whispers now suggest those old wounds reopened amid the financial squeeze: Alexis, ever the steady hand, has reportedly leaned on her own entrepreneurial network to shore up the books, but the strain shows in canceled family trips and a sudden pivot to austerity. Is the sale a desperate off-ramp from creditors circling like vultures over foul territory? Or a calculated reset, liquidating assets to fuel a comeback—perhaps a coaching stint with the Giants, or that long-rumored book deal unpacking the Reverend’s gospel?
For now, the estate sits poised like Pence at the plate, bat cocked against an uncertain pitch. Early showings have drawn A-listers and tech titans, lured by the views and the lore of a World Series hero’s touch. If it moves at asking, the windfall could erase the red ink and buy breathing room. But as the sun dips into the ocean, casting long shadows over the pool’s glassy surface, one can’t shake the feeling this isn’t just a transaction. It’s Hunter Pence, ever the fighter, staring down his deepest slump. Will he rally with a game-winning homer, or fade into the dugout’s dim corners? In baseball, as in life, the ninth inning always surprises. For the man who once sprinted through champagne showers, the real play might be the one no one’s scripting.
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