David Ortiz has always known how to lift a city.
Now he wants to heal it.
According to people familiar with the plan, David Ortiz is exploring an expansion of the work done by the Big Papi Foundation, aiming to launch a project focused on supporting pediatric patients in Boston. To the fans who once measured Ortiz by October heroics, the news feels like a new season of the same story. Big Papi still shows up when it matters.
The foundation, long associated with healthcare initiatives for children and families, has been quietly reviewing possibilities that go beyond equipment grants and one-time visits. The ambition, according to sources, is to fund care experiences as much as care itself. That could mean covering travel costs for families navigating difficult treatments, investing in child-life programs that turn sterile rooms into small worlds, or underwriting therapies that hospital budgets struggle to reach.
Ortiz’s motivation is not abstract. He has spoken often about gratitude and the obligation that arrives with it. In baseball, gratitude is sometimes celebrated with jersey retirements and highlight reels. In philanthropy, it shows up as a bus pass to an appointment, a translator for a frightened parent, a chance at a distraction that feels like joy.
Boston knows Ortiz’s voice. It learned it during championships. It leaned on it after grief. What may surprise some is not that he wants to give, but how personally he wants to give. Those close to him describe a leader who insists on proximity. He wants the project to be in Boston, to live where his legacy does, and to remain practical rather than ceremonial.
“Make it real” has been a recurring phrase among those briefed on his thinking. The foundation has consulted healthcare advisors to identify gaps families feel first and hospitals address last. The idea is not to replace what already exists but to stitch where the seams still show.
If the plan goes forward, it would deepen a relationship between Ortiz and a city that already calls him family. The Boston Red Sox icon has outlived his own uniform. His name shows up in bar conversations and hearts alike. This project would plant it in corridors where applause is rare and courage is constant.
There is also a larger point Ortiz seems to understand intuitively. Influence does not expire when the career does. It ripens. Athletes spend years learning to win in public. They spend the rest learning to give in private. Ortiz is doing his learning where it is hardest.
No launch date has been announced. No ribbon has been cut. But inside the foundation, the direction feels set. The questions are logistical now, not philosophical. How big. How soon. How permanent.
For a city that has seen Ortiz’s name on scoreboards and banners, this would put it on something more intimate. A bedside card. A thank-you note. A story told years later by a child who grew up and remembers the winter someone famous cared.
Big Papi once swung for championships. He still is.
Only now, the pennant is hope.
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