The first thing Brandon Woodruff noticed about Brent Suter was his water bottle. It wasn’t the reusable bottle itself, exactly, that stood out to him. It was Suter’s commitment to it. The two pitchers met as minor leaguers at Brewers spring training in 2015, and Woodruff noticed that Suter seemed to bring the bottle with him everywhere, from clubhouse to ballfield to dugout and back—almost more like a security blanket than a drinking receptacle. “He was carrying it around at all times,” Woodruff recalls. “Like, .” It took a while. But finally, Woodruff asked: What’s the deal? A lucky charm? A fear of drinking any of the bottled water that was readily available around the complex? Nope, Suter explained: He was just really passionate about the environment and wanted to stay away from single-use plastic. Now, the two are good friends who have forged big-league careers alongside one another. (Literally: Their lockers were side by side in the Brewers’ clubhouse.) But one thing hasn’t changed: “The most impressive thing is, ever since I’ve known him, he’s done it every day,” Woodruff says. “I’ve never seen him without a bottle.” It’s just one of a slew of his environmentally conscious behaviors that teammates can rattle off. Such as: The 33-year-old reliever brings his own reusable containers to limit waste from meals on road trips. He doesn’t eat red meat. He drives an electric car. And he keeps an eye on water usage. “He’s in and out of the shower so quick,” Woodruff marvels. “I’m not saying he doesn’t wash himself. But he’s so fast… I’m like, dude, I can’t do that.” The care goes beyond his lifestyle choices. Suter has advocated for environmental legislation and is involved with several related nonprofit groups. In his seven big-league seasons with the Brewers, he worked with the team on sustainability initiatives at the ballpark and elsewhere in Milwaukee. (He was acquired by the Rockies earlier this offseason.) Suter’s interest also predates his time in organized baseball: He studied environmental science and public policy at Harvard. But when it comes to the question of how to get his fellow athletes to care—how to start clubhouse conversations around a subject that can be politicized, touchy and highly personal—he found during his time in Milwaukee that the best place to start is simple. Suter just goes about his daily business. And if questions follow, he’ll be more than happy to answer, in as little or as much detail as requested. “I know I’m the treehugger, and it’s one of those things where it’s like, yes, I’ll wear that label proudly, ” he says with a laugh. “But I also want to bring people on board, so I don’t want to make it seem too weird…. I’m just trying to tell them what I’m doing and why I’m doing it, and I’ll invite them to hop on, too.” It didn’t happen overnight, and it doesn’t always stick, but Suter saw his efforts begin to pay off with the Brewers. When he began pledging funds to plant trees for every team win, his fellow relievers eventually matched him, with members of the bullpen donating for every hold and save. In April, he helped the club launch its new sustainability council, and in May, teammates joined him to work in a local urban garden before a game. He didn’t convince anyone else to give up red meat entirely, but a few guys joined him for Meatless Mondays, while others embraced the effort to cut down on plastic in the clubhouse. Suter isn’t naive about the impact: He understands the team’s (and league’s) carbon footprint is bigger and more complex than any of these individualized actions—and that many long-term, macro-level questions here are far bigger still. But as a way to get players thinking about their role here, and talking about what it means to get involved, he’s been encouraged by the progress. And one more thing: Admittedly, he sometimes forgets it at home, but Woodruff has a reusable water bottle now, too.
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