The Agent
Few figures in modern baseball have traveled a road as dramatic, or as redemptive, as Bartolo “Bart” Hernandez. He was a respected sport agent celebrated for helping Cuban stars find freedom and fame in Major League Baseball, Hernandez’s name later became synonymous with scandal after a federal conviction that exposed the darker side of the sport’s international recruiting. Today, though, his story is one grounded in humility, philanthropy, and the transformative power of service.
The Rise: A Visionary in Cuban Baseball
For years, Bart Hernandez was a powerful presence in Miami’s baseball world. He built his career around an almost impossible mission: bringing Cuban talent into the U.S. major leagues. In the early 2000s and 2010s, he helped negotiate multimillion-dollar contracts for Cuban defectors such as José Abreu, Leonys Martín, and others whose journeys from Cuba to the United States captured headlines. Hernandez understood the challenges that exiled athletes faced and made himself indispensable in navigating those treacherous waters.
At the time, his reputation in the industry was that of a connector and fixer: the agent who could make dreams happen. But the same intricate network that allowed Cuban players to defect also operated in the shadows, where the line between opportunity and exploitation was perilously thin.
The Fall: A Federal Indictment and a Public Reckoning
In 2016, that line was crossed. A federal grand jury in Miami indicted Hernandez on charges of conspiracy and alien-smuggling, alleging that he and others participated in an operation to unlawfully bring Cuban players into the U.S. for profit. Prosecutors said the network involved boat captains, document forgers, and fraudulent residency schemes across third countries such as Mexico and Haiti.
The six-week trial that followed, United States v. Bartolo Hernandez, revealed the human cost behind the multimillion-dollar contracts. Witnesses described high-risk escapes, counterfeit passports, and threats from criminal groups. The testimony of José Abreu became emblematic of the entire saga: the Chicago White Sox star told jurors that, during his 2013 flight to Miami, he literally ate a portion of his forged passport to destroy the evidence before landing. Mariners outfielder Leonys Martín recounted being detained by armed men in Mexico demanding payment before allowing him to continue his journey.
Hernandez still believes in his innocence but says authorities wanted him to turn on Major League Baseball. Hernandez told me in an interview, “There were certainly many people who did things wrong but players trusted me then and they trust me today. This was a witch hunt into MLB and something that I was not interested in participating in. So I fought the charges, served my time and have now have put it all behind me.”
The Return: Reflection and Reinvention
When Hernandez emerged from prison, there was no press conference, no triumphant return to baseball’s inner circle. Instead, Hernandez reflected on a quieter, more deliberate rebuilding. Over time, he positioned himself not as a traditional agent chasing contracts but as a mentor and manager, focusing on athlete development, ethics, and life beyond the field. “While I always felt I was charitable, the prison experience taught me that I could do more,” Hernandez said.
He became president of Global Sports Management, a Florida-based firm emphasizing holistic athlete support rather than pure contract negotiation. Hernandez mentors, trains, and maintains day to day relationships with all of his clients.
A New Mission: The Wheelchair Foundation
Nowhere is that transformation more evident than in Hernandez’s partnership with the Wheelchair Foundation, a global nonprofit founded in 2000 by the late philanthropist Kenneth E. Behring. The organization’s mission is as simple as it is profound, which is to deliver wheelchairs to people who need them but cannot afford them. Since its founding, the Foundation has distributed more than one million wheelchairs in over 150 countries, changing lives by restoring independence, dignity, and hope.
Hernandez’s involvement began modestly but quickly deepened. In 2024, he joined David Behring, Steve Beinke, and Scott Ford in organizing a wheelchair distribution event in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, where hundreds of recipients received chairs. In January 2025, he was recognized at the Wheelchair Foundation’s 25th Anniversary Gala in Miami Beach for his contributions and advocacy work.
On his personal website, Hernandez reflected on what the experience meant to him:
“Mobility means more than motion—it means dignity, participation, and purpose. I’ve seen firsthand how the gift of a wheelchair transforms not only the recipient, but also the giver.”
When I spoke to Hernandez he told me, “You don’t think of a wheelchair as being life transforming, but when you see the faces of those who receive them and their family members you know immediately what this means. It is a small gift with returns that we could not imagine.”
The Foundation’s Global Vision
I spoke with Steve Beinke, who was business partner with Behring and now serves as the head of The Wheelchair Foundation told me that the organization operates on a direct-impact model. Beinke said, “We had to make it simple for people to understand and for those who contributed to know that their donation went directly to someone in need. We’ve done that.” A donation of roughly $200 funds one wheelchair, while sponsors can underwrite entire shipments of 240–280 chairs for global distributions. Beinke said that they find NGO sponsors for the wheelchairs who pay for a container shipment of wheelchairs and they pay half, approximately $28,000, and his organization matches. “Our partners make this possible and our donors know the impact.” Beinke said.
For Hernandez, this work has become more than philanthropy—it’s a way to show players he manages to give back. Standing among recipients in Puerto Vallarta or speaking at the Miami gala, he has found a new sense of purpose. “After what I’ve lived through,” he told one interviewer, “helping others regain their independence reminds me every day of what truly matters.” Hernandez encourages all the players he manages to find a way to give back and many of them came from poor backgrounds. “These guys saw poverty and they know what it means to have someone help,” Hernandez said, “this charity has given me more than I could ever give it.”
Full Circle
Bart Hernandez’s story is no simple redemption tale. It’s a study in contrasts between ambition and ethics, failure and forgiveness, motion and stillness. From the high-stakes world of Cuban baseball defectors to the humanitarian front lines of global mobility, his path reflects both the price of mistakes and the possibility of transformation.
Hernandez’s story will be told in a highly anticipated motion picture being produced by Impossible Dream Entertainment led by Producer and Director Shaun Redick. Hernandez explains that interest in producing the movie evolved from Redick following the high profile case where he saw many players supporting him through the trial, with many continuing to work with him after his prison term. Hernandez told me, “I was not involved in how the players made their way to the US, but unfortunately the Government took the position I was part of a broader conspiracy. Now is the time to tell that story.”
The same man once accused of smuggling people across borders now dedicates himself to breaking physical barriers that confine people without mobility. In that contrast lies the power of his reinvention. For Bart Hernandez, redemption didn’t come from returning to the game that once made him famous. It came from discovering a deeper one: the game of giving back.