If you closed your eyes in 1998, you could probably still hear the sound of it. That sharp, percussive crack of a 34-inch raw maple bat meeting a cowhide sphere, followed by the roar of 40,000 people at Wrigley Field. Sammy Sosa was more than a baseball player back then; he was a cultural phenomenon. He was the guy who hopped out of the dugout, tapped his heart, and blew kisses to a camera while the world watched him and Mark McGwire save baseball.
But things changed. Fast.
If you look at Sammy Sosa then and now, the contrast is enough to give you whiplash. We aren’t just talking about a retired athlete getting a little older or trading his cleats for a business suit. We’re talking about a transformation so total—physically, socially, and professionally—that it feels like looking at two different people from two different timelines. Honestly, it’s one of the weirdest arcs in American sports history.
The 1998 Fever Dream: When Sammy Owned the World
Man, 1998 was something else. Baseball was still reeling from the '94 strike, and fans were jaded. Then came Sammy.
He didn't just hit home runs; he hit them with a specific kind of joy that felt infectious. He finished that season with 66 homers. Think about that. Even though McGwire "won" the race with 70, Sammy won the NL MVP because he dragged the Cubs into the postseason. He was the "Slammin' Sammy" everyone wanted to be. He was lean, charismatic, and had that dark, sun-baked skin of a man who spent every afternoon under the Chicago sun.
Then the 2000s hit.
The corked bat incident in 2003 was the first real crack in the armor. You remember it? The bat shattered against the Devil Rays, and there it was—a cork center. Sammy said it was a "practice bat" he used by mistake. Maybe it was. But then came the congressional hearings in 2005. Sitting there next to McGwire and Jose Canseco, Sammy suddenly "forgot" how to speak English as well as he used to, relying on a translator and denying everything. The fans didn't buy it. The Cubs didn't buy it.
By the time he took his final swing for the Texas Rangers in 2007, he had 609 career home runs. On paper, he’s a first-ballot Hall of Famer. In reality? He hasn't even come close.
The Skin Transformation: "Creme de Sosa" and the Public Outcry
You can't talk about Sammy Sosa then and now without addressing the elephant in the room. Or rather, the change in the mirror.
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Around 2009, Sammy showed up at the Latin Grammys looking... different. His skin, once a deep bronze, appeared several shades lighter. The internet, which was much smaller back then but just as mean, went into a total frenzy. People were confused. They were angry. They were worried.
Sammy eventually sat down with Univision to explain. He basically said it was a "bleaching cream" he used before bed to soften his skin. He told the reporter, "It's a cream that I have, that I use to soften [my skin], but has bleached me some. I’m not a racist, I live my life happily."
It’s been over fifteen years since that reveal, and the look has only become more pronounced. In 2026, he often appears in photos with skin that is almost entirely white, sometimes paired with light-colored contact lenses.
Dermatologists have weighed in on this for years. Dr. Jonith Breadon, a Chicago-based expert, once noted that achieving such a uniform lightening effect with just a "rejuvenation cream" is incredibly rare. Usually, these products (often containing hydroquinone) are used to treat dark spots or acne scars. Sammy’s transformation, however, is total.
It’s a personal choice. Definitely. But for a man who was once a hero to the Afro-Latino community, it remains a deeply polarizing topic. His son, Sammy Sosa Jr., once told Sports Illustrated that his dad doesn't really care what people say online. He’s living his life. But you can't help but feel there's a layer of complexity there regarding identity and the pressures of fame that we’ll never fully understand.
The 2025 Peace Treaty: Returning to the North Side
For twenty years, there was a cold war between Sammy Sosa and the Chicago Cubs.
The Ricketts family, who bought the team in 2009, were pretty blunt about it: Sammy needed to "be honest" about the PED era before he’d be welcomed back. Sammy, being Sammy, wasn't about to do a public penance tour. He felt he’d given his blood, sweat, and tears to that city. Why should he beg for an invite to his own house?
But time heals—or at least it makes people tired of fighting.
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In late 2024, the ice finally broke. Sammy issued a statement that was as close to an apology as we’re ever going to get. He acknowledged "mistakes" and mentioned doing "whatever I could to recover from injuries" to stay on the field. It wasn't a full confession, but it was enough.
In January 2025, Sammy Sosa finally returned to Chicago for the Cubs Convention.
The reception? Pure electricity.
When he walked out at the Sheraton Grand, holding an American flag just like he did after 9/11, the "Sam-my! Sam-my!" chants were so loud they probably shook the Sears Tower. It was a reminder that while the front office cares about "integrity" and "legacy," the fans mostly just remember how he made them feel during those hot July doubleheaders.
By June 20, 2025, he was back at Wrigley Field. He stood in the booth, he hugged the new generation of stars like Pete Crow-Armstrong, and he finally took his place in the Cubs Hall of Fame. It took two decades, but the exile was officially over.
Where is Sammy Sosa in 2026?
So, what does a 57-year-old Sammy Sosa actually do all day?
He’s not exactly hurting for cash. Despite the controversies, Sammy was smart with his money. He earned over $120 million in salary during his career, and his net worth is still estimated to be around $70 million. He’s a businessman now, with interests ranging from real estate to a "needle-less" injection system for medications.
He spends most of his time between Miami, Panama, and the Dominican Republic. If you follow him on social media (or the various fan accounts that track him), you see a man who loves the high life. Private jets. Designer suits. High-end watches. He looks more like a global mogul than a retired right fielder.
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But the Hall of Fame? That’s still the missing piece.
Because of his ties to the "Mitchell Report" era and that 2003 positive test (which was supposedly anonymous but leaked), the writers have kept him out. His eligibility on the main ballot expired years ago. Now, his only hope is the Today’s Game Era Committee. With guys like Fred McGriff getting in, there’s a sliver of hope, but the PED "taint" is much harder for Sammy to shake than it was for others.
He’s a complicated guy.
He was the hero who saved the game, then the villain with the corked bat, then the recluse with the changing face, and now, finally, the returning legend.
Why the Sammy Sosa Story Still Matters
We're obsessed with Sammy because he represents the most chaotic era of American sports. We loved him for the same things we eventually judged him for: being larger than life.
If you want to understand the "then and now" of Sammy Sosa, you have to look past the skin color and the home run totals. You have to see a man who was once the most famous person on the planet and then had to figure out who he was when the cheering stopped.
What you can do next:
If you're a baseball fan looking to reconcile this era, start by watching the 30 for 30 documentary "Long Gone Summer." It puts the 1998 race in perspective. If you're more interested in the Cubs' history, keep an eye on the 2026 Hall of Fame committee announcements—Sammy’s name is bound to pop up in the "Classic Era" discussions soon, and his recent reconciliation with the Cubs might just give him the PR boost he needs to finally get a plaque in Cooperstown.