Clayton Kershaw is stunned by Shohei Ohtani’s incredible genius and joins the growing list of MLB greats who are in awe of
Clayton Kershaw has long been a figure of dominance, discipline, and brilliance on the pitching mound, his every appearance a reminder of what elite baseball mastery looks like. But even a pitcher of his caliber—widely regarded as one of the greatest of his generation—isn’t immune to admiration. In a rare moment of public reverence, Kershaw recently expressed awe toward a fellow MLB superstar, Shohei Ohtani, whose transcendent talent is altering the way the sport is both played and perceived. Kershaw, never one to gush without cause, has joined the growing list of baseball legends who are finding themselves at a loss for words when it comes to Ohtani’s ability to bend the game’s long-standing rules and expectations.
Ohtani’s greatness isn’t simply in his numbers, though those are extraordinary in their own right. It’s the context in which he produces them—serving as both a frontline pitcher and one of the league’s most dangerous hitters. The two-way player has long been a mythical figure in baseball history, largely confined to the lore of Babe Ruth. Even then, Ruth’s days of pitching and hitting rarely overlapped in full bloom. Ohtani, by contrast, is doing both at an elite level in an era of hyper-specialization, advanced scouting, pitch tracking, and intense scrutiny.
When Kershaw was asked about Ohtani, he didn’t hesitate. The veteran ace, known for his measured comments and cerebral approach, spoke with something close to disbelief. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “You shouldn’t be able to throw 100 miles per hour, spin breaking balls like that, and then go hit 40 home runs. It’s not supposed to work that way.” And yet, it does. For Ohtani, it works better than it ever has for anyone before.
What strikes Kershaw—and others—isn’t just Ohtani’s physical gifts, though they are staggering. It’s the mental framework behind it all. To maintain two entirely different skill sets at such a high level requires a mind capable of compartmentalizing, learning, and adapting like few others. Baseball is a game of failure, and the margin for success is thin. Most players spend years refining just one aspect of the game. Ohtani has had to master two, essentially functioning as two All-Stars packed into one body.
Former players and Hall of Famers have chimed in, often in tones of admiration. Pedro Martínez has called Ohtani a “once-in-a-lifetime” player. Ken Griffey Jr. has noted how Ohtani’s unique place in history has redefined what young players believe is possible. Even Mike Trout, Ohtani’s teammate and one of the game’s most respected stars, speaks about him in reverent tones. “Every time you think you’ve seen the best of Shohei,” Trout said, “he tops it the next day.”
Kershaw’s own perspective is shaped by years of dueling with the game’s best, and the reverence he has for preparation. A student of pitching, Kershaw knows how difficult it is to succeed consistently from the mound. And yet, he’s watching Ohtani not only handle those challenges but take on the added stress of facing top-tier pitching as a batter every single day. There’s a nuance to Ohtani’s routine that goes unnoticed to the average fan. The physical toll of pitching is immense—bullpen sessions, shoulder care, mechanics analysis, and in-game strategy all take a toll. To do that while hitting against major league pitchers four or five times a game is almost inconceivable.
This isn’t just athleticism. It’s not just skill. It’s genius. Kershaw used the word himself. “It’s a kind of baseball genius,” he said. “There are guys who can throw hard. There are guys who can hit it a mile. But to do both, and to do it intelligently, consistently—that’s something else. That’s genius.”
The awe Kershaw and others express isn’t just due to raw stats or viral moments. It’s rooted in the realization that they are watching a paradigm shift. Baseball has long had an unwritten rulebook—certain things just weren’t done. Pitchers didn’t hit, and hitters didn’t pitch. The game had evolved in such a way that the two roles required entirely different bodies, mindsets, and training regimens. And yet, Ohtani has torn that playbook apart. He’s forcing scouts, coaches, and front offices to rethink what kind of players they can develop. He’s reshaping what kids in Little League aspire to be.
And perhaps what is most striking about Ohtani is the humility and joy with which he plays. There’s no air of arrogance, no grandstanding. Even as fans chant his name in stadiums across the country—home or away—he keeps a quiet demeanor. That humility only deepens the respect of peers like Kershaw. “He doesn’t have to talk. His game says everything,” Kershaw remarked. “You can tell he loves the game. He works. He respects it. And that makes what he does even more impressive.”
The list of MLB greats who have fallen under Ohtani’s spell grows longer with every passing month. Justin Verlander has spoken about him with admiration. David Ortiz, a slugger who knows the mental grind of hitting, has called Ohtani “the most complete player I’ve ever seen.” Even retired legends like Reggie Jackson and Sandy Koufax have weighed in, expressing awe at what Ohtani has done—not just in a statistical sense, but in a cultural and historical one.
Kershaw, a player whose own legacy is secure, recognizes greatness when he sees it. He doesn’t make these kinds of statements often. That’s why his remarks carry so much weight. He’s someone who’s spent his entire life understanding the delicate intricacies of baseball success. To see him taken aback, even a little, is to understand the magnitude of what Ohtani represents.
It’s not hyperbole to suggest that Shohei Ohtani is fundamentally altering the fabric of Major League Baseball. He is the embodiment of possibility—a living contradiction to every excuse that has ever been made for why someone couldn’t do both. And in doing so, he’s not just creating highlights or selling jerseys; he’s expanding the sport’s very boundaries.
Fans sense it. Broadcasters sense it. Opposing managers sense it. And the players—the ones who know just how hard the game really is—sense it most of all. There’s a shared acknowledgment among them that something historic is happening in real time. Ohtani isn’t just having a great season or even a great career. He’s authoring a new chapter in the sport’s mythology.
What makes this even more powerful is that Ohtani is not done. He’s still evolving. Still learning. Still stretching the limits of what he—and the game—can do. If anything, his trajectory suggests we’ve yet to see his true peak. That notion is both thrilling and daunting, especially to those who have already witnessed so much.
For Kershaw, and others like him, Ohtani serves as a kind of mirror—reflecting both what is possible and what remains unreachable. There’s no shame in that. Greatness often inspires humility. Kershaw’s career is a testament to sustained excellence, and his words of admiration aren’t given lightly. In Ohtani, he sees not just a peer but a pioneer.
As baseball moves forward, the game will continue to evolve around Ohtani’s example. Young players will train differently. Coaches will scout differently. Organizations will ask different questions about what a player can or cannot become. And through it all, Ohtani will continue doing what he does best—making the impossible look routine, one towering home run and one blazing fastball at a time.
That’s the genius Clayton Kershaw sees. That’s the brilliance that leaves legends in awe. And that’s the future of baseball—redefined by one extraordinary player who refused to choose between dreams, and instead chose to chase them all.
