“HE’S BACK” Max Muncy is officially rejoining the Dodgers in a powerful new role, but not in the way anyone expected. After months of absence, he’s back not just as a player, but in a bold new role that’s already shifting the tone inside the clubhouse, altering how fans view the franchise’s leadership, and signaling a subtle yet potent evolution of what it means to wear Dodger blue in the post-Kershaw era. Muncy’s return isn’t the kind you write in with a simple plug-and-play penciling into the batting order. This is bigger than a simple activation from the injured list or an offseason contract extension. This is transformation—from slugger to leader, from a hard-nosed grinder on the diamond to a culture-setter behind the scenes. And while the Dodgers may have quietly welcomed him back into the fold, the ripple effects of this move are anything but quiet.
There was a time when Max Muncy looked like a man forgotten in the chaos of a stacked roster and a shifting identity. The Dodgers, amid their relentless pursuit of big names and even bigger expectations, had evolved into a franchise defined by superstar power, headlined by players like Mookie Betts, Freddie Freeman, and Shohei Ohtani. Muncy, once the unsung hero of their 2020 title run, found himself gradually fading from the central conversation, first through injury and then through circumstance. But the truth is, Muncy has always been one of the beating hearts of the Dodgers—someone who understood the grind of the season, the accountability needed in the locker room, and the rare brand of toughness it takes to make Los Angeles your home in the long haul.
Now he’s back, not just healthy, but with a new mandate handed down directly from the top of the organization. According to sources close to the team, Muncy’s new role is being quietly framed as a hybrid player-coach position. While the team hasn’t publicly labeled it as such, internally the Dodgers have tasked Muncy with bridging the gap between the clubhouse and the coaching staff—a player trusted not only to produce, but to speak, lead, and cultivate buy-in from a roster that features a blend of youthful exuberance and seasoned All-Stars. His voice is now one of the most respected in the room, and his absence was reportedly felt in more ways than just at the plate.
It began over the offseason, when Muncy, still rehabbing from a complicated elbow issue, spent time at Camelback Ranch working quietly with Dodgers instructors, but more importantly, sitting in on meetings usually reserved for staffers and coaches. Dave Roberts, along with general manager Brandon Gomes and president Andrew Friedman, reportedly included Muncy in sessions about locker room culture, communication styles with younger players, and how to integrate international prospects into the team’s rhythm. Muncy didn’t just show up for the sake of appearances. He spoke candidly about what the clubhouse was missing, how the team lost some of its grittiness, and why reestablishing an identity rooted in accountability mattered just as much as power metrics or launch angles. This wasn’t lip service. This was the emergence of a second phase of Muncy’s baseball life—a slow pivot into a leadership model reminiscent of what Chase Utley once offered the Dodgers before his retirement.
The players have noticed the shift. Sources say that Shohei Ohtani, in particular, has gravitated toward Muncy’s leadership style, appreciating his directness and dry sense of humor. Mookie Betts, a vocal leader in his own right, has privately acknowledged that Muncy’s return “balances the energy in the room.” And the rookies? They’re listening more than talking. That, according to several Dodgers staffers, is exactly what Muncy was brought back to instill—a sense of order, hierarchy, and humility. He’s the guy who reminds you that winning 100 games doesn’t mean anything if October goes up in flames. He’s the guy who tells you that being a Dodger isn’t just about flash, but about focus.
On the field, Muncy is still finding his rhythm. His swing remains one of the most violent in the league, a compact blast of torque and power that can change a game in a single pitch. But he’s no longer being judged solely by his slugging percentage. The Dodgers are evaluating him through a wider lens now. He’s become a sounding board for Miguel Vargas and Michael Busch, helping them work through swing path issues and defensive positioning at third base. He’s also stepped in as an informal mentor for Andy Pages, talking through the mental toll of slumps and the importance of owning your at-bats—even when the results aren’t there. Muncy’s own career arc, from castoff with the Oakland A’s to cornerstone in Los Angeles, gives him the kind of street cred you can’t fabricate.
But the most telling sign that Muncy’s new role carries real weight came during a closed-door team meeting in mid-July. According to reports from inside the clubhouse, it was Muncy—not Roberts—who called the meeting following a sluggish stretch that saw the Dodgers drop five of seven games against divisional opponents. Muncy stood at the front of the room, flanked by Freeman and Betts, and addressed the team with what one source described as “brutal clarity.” He spoke about effort, focus, and pride in the details. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. By the time he was finished, the room was dead silent—and then erupting in nods of agreement. The Dodgers went on to win their next six games.
This version of Muncy, the one stepping into a quasi-leadership staff role while still contributing on the field, is not entirely unique in baseball history, but it’s rare in today’s era of specialization and hierarchy. Players are usually expected to lead by example, not by voice. Muncy is doing both. He’s rewriting his own career narrative in real time, going from a feared bat to a franchise pillar whose value can’t be fully captured by any stat sheet. There’s talk around the organization that when Muncy does decide to hang up his cleats, a coaching or front-office position will be immediately available. The only question now is how long he wants to keep swinging.
Beyond the Dodgers’ internal view, fans have taken notice. The chants of “MUNCY” have grown louder again at Chavez Ravine. Not just because he’s hitting home runs, but because people recognize that he represents something foundational about this team. When Clayton Kershaw eventually departs, either through retirement or relocation, the Dodgers will lose a generational icon. Muncy, while not on that same Hall-of-Fame tier, offers something similar in character. He’s a blue-collar cornerstone in a franchise sometimes accused of being too buttoned-up or analytically cold. Muncy brings warmth. He brings edge. He brings reminders of what this team used to be—and what it still can be.
As the season barrels toward its final stretch, with the Dodgers once again poised for a deep postseason run, Muncy’s role is expected to grow even further. Not just in terms of at-bats or innings played, but in the number of times he pulls a teammate aside in the dugout, delivers an unfiltered message in the clubhouse, or calms the nerves of a rookie facing playoff lights for the first time. Roberts has already adjusted his approach to include Muncy in more off-field decisions, and one front office executive described him as “our second bench coach in cleats.”
What makes this all the more impressive is how quietly it has unfolded. There was no press conference. No major announcement. Just Muncy walking into the building again and doing what he’s always done—showing up with a chip on his shoulder and a burning desire to win. Only this time, he’s doing it with more intentionality, more reach, and more influence than ever before.
The Dodgers, ever a franchise straddling the line between tradition and innovation, seem to understand the gold they have in Max Muncy. He’s not the flashiest, fastest, or most marketable name on the roster, but he might be the most indispensable glue guy in the entire organization. And now, with his new role unofficially made official by the trust placed in him behind the scenes, Max Muncy is showing what it means to lead from within. Not just with bat speed, but with backbone.
For fans who’ve followed Muncy’s journey—from DFA’d by Oakland to walk-off hero in October—his evolution feels like poetic justice. Baseball has a way of repaying those who grind, those who endure, and those who care. Muncy has checked all three boxes, and now he’s finally receiving a role that matches the depth of his impact. He may not have the national spotlight. But inside the walls of Dodger Stadium, Max Muncy’s presence is shining brighter than ever. And if the Dodgers do end up hoisting another trophy this fall, don’t be surprised if the team’s quiet catalyst gets the first handshake in the clubhouse celebration. Because he’s not just back—he’s building something.
