Some pieces of sports memorabilia are valuable because they are scarce. Others matter because they were tied to a championship, a record, or an all-time great player. The American flag now displayed at the National Baseball Hall of Fame occupies a different category altogether: it is an artifact from a sudden, deeply human moment that occurred in the middle of a Major League Baseball game.
On April 25, 1976, Chicago Cubs center fielder Rick Monday ran in from the outfield at Dodger Stadium and seized the flag before two people who had entered the field could set it alight. Five decades later, the flag itself—worn, torn, and affected by lighter fluid—is on loan to the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown as the United States marks its 250th birthday. The exhibit also includes video connected to the event and reflects how one split-second decision became inseparable from Monday’s baseball legacy.
Monday’s career was substantial on its own terms. He played in the majors from 1966 through 1984, made two All-Star teams, and won a World Series with the Dodgers in 1981. He was also the first overall selection in the inaugural MLB Draft, chosen by the Kansas City Athletics in 1965. Yet the play most commonly associated with him was not a catch, hit, or home run. It was a rescue.
An ordinary game turns extraordinary
The Cubs and Dodgers were playing on a Sunday afternoon during the nation’s Bicentennial year. Monday was stationed in center field in the bottom of the fourth inning when he heard commotion to his right, toward left-center. Two men had climbed over the fence and entered the playing surface.
At first, Monday’s immediate reaction was frustration. An intrusion had stopped the game and violated the space players regard as their workplace. Then he saw what one of the men had brought onto the field: an American flag. The flag was unfolded and placed on the grass. Monday recognized that a shiny container was being used to soak it with fluid.
As he rushed toward the scene, he could smell lighter fluid and saw an effort to light a match. The wind prevented the match from catching. Monday later explained that his instinct was initially to knock the men down, but he quickly centered on the practical problem: without the flag in their possession, they could not burn it.
He reached the men before the flag was ignited, grabbed it, and sprinted toward the third-base side. One intruder threw the lighter-fluid can in his direction, but it missed. Monday could feel the dampness from the fluid when he took the flag and checked to make sure it was not already burning.
Dodgers third-base coach Tommy Lasorda berated the intruders while stadium security moved onto the field. Monday handed the flag to Dodgers pitcher Doug Rau near third base. As Monday headed back toward his position, the crowd began singing God Bless America. When he batted in the following inning, the Dodgers scoreboard saluted him for making a great play.
Related coverage includes Rick Monday’s 1976 Flag Rescue Lives On at the Hall of Fame.
The flag, not a replica, is the centerpiece
For memorabilia collectors, the distinction is crucial. The object at Cooperstown is not a commemorative reproduction or a later prop built around the story. It is the actual flag Monday removed from the field at Dodger Stadium. Its condition is part of its meaning: the visible wear and the history of the lighter fluid make it evidence of the incident rather than simply a patriotic display item.
Monday requested the flag after legal proceedings involving the two intruders had concluded, and the Dodgers eventually gave it to him. Peter O’Malley, then the club’s owner, considered Monday’s dash one of the defining moments in Dodgers history. Monday did not simply store the artifact away. In offseasons, he traveled with it to support fundraising efforts for veterans and their families, continuing a purpose beyond baseball.
That continuing life is central to why the item has endured. Major sports artifacts can become static behind glass; this one has been carried, shown publicly, and used in veteran-focused charitable efforts before arriving at the Hall of Fame for the current display. In the broader collectibles world, there are countless new objects built for fans—from promotional figures to boxed toys, such as the LEGO Star Wars Advent Calendar 2026—but historic game-used material has a different kind of weight when it documents a real event with lasting cultural resonance.
Why Monday acted
Monday’s reaction was shaped in part by his own military background. He served in the U.S. Marine Corps Reserves from 1966 to 1971, fulfilling that commitment while pursuing his professional baseball career, largely with the Athletics. He has spoken about visits to veterans’ hospitals and the sacrifices made by service members, explaining why he could not stand by while the flag was being desecrated.
His comments over the years have emphasized what the flag represents at military funerals: an emblem that covers the coffins of people who died serving the country and is later presented to their surviving loved ones. For Monday, that symbolism made the on-field decision immediate rather than abstract.
Monday has maintained that he does not view himself as uniquely heroic, saying he believes others would have acted the same way in that moment.
That modesty has not reduced the incident’s place in baseball memory. The story became bigger because it unfolded before a live crowd, involved a simple but unmistakable action, and occurred at a time when the country was celebrating its Bicentennial. It also came with a rare mix of physical artifact, iconic still photography, audio, and eventually video.
A famous photo, a celebrated call, and rediscovered footage
A photograph by James Roark captured Monday reaching down to take the flag from the intruders. The image was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize and became the best-known visual account of the event for years. Its timing is everything: it freezes the exact instant when an uncertain and threatening scene was reversed.
For a long time, many people believed the photograph was the only visual record. Television crews in 1976 generally avoided giving on-field intruders additional attention, so the broadcast cameras turned away. After Monday retired in 1984, however, a chance encounter led to news that film of the episode existed. It had been shot with a newer camera by someone connected to a local film studio. That footage is now included at the Hall of Fame.
The audio history is equally important. Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully described the developing scene as Monday ran in and removed the flag. Scully later placed the call among his personal top ten. Monday has said that hearing it still gives him chills. Between the photo, the radio description, and rediscovered film, the physical flag has unusually strong documentation for an item that emerged from an unscripted moment.
More than the box score
The game itself went 10 innings, with the Dodgers beating the Cubs 5-4. Monday had three hits and drove in a run. Nevertheless, the box score is a footnote to what happened in the fourth inning.
After the game, Monday entered a Cubs clubhouse full of reporters and received a call from President Gerald R. Ford, who thanked him. Monday was later invited to the White House and received a Presidential Commendation for Service to Others. The recognition placed the event far beyond the normal orbit of a regular-season baseball game.
Monday would later join the Dodgers after the 1976 season and play eight seasons for the club, from 1977 through 1984. His on-field résumé also includes the decisive home run in Game 5 of the 1981 National League Championship Series, a major moment on the way to Los Angeles winning the World Series. He has spent more than 34 years as a Dodgers announcer, and he remains a familiar speaker who often brings the saved flag to appearances.
The rescue has also been commemorated as a collectible. When the Cubs visited the Dodgers on August 27, 2013, Dodger Stadium distributed a bobblehead depicting Monday in his Cubs uniform running with the flag. That giveaway translated a serious historical moment into a fan collectible, while the original artifact has stayed with Monday and its charitable mission.
An artifact that still has a purpose
The Hall of Fame display gives visitors a chance to see not only a famous baseball keepsake, but an object with a complicated and tangible past. It has survived an attempted burning, decades of travel, public appearances, and the passage of 50 years. It represents the speed of Monday’s response, the crowd’s reaction, and the way a sports moment can move into wider national memory.
Monday has said the most meaningful part is that the flag still has a life. Its presence in Cooperstown makes that clear. The cloth is no longer on the outfield grass of Dodger Stadium, but its story continues to be shared in one of baseball’s most prominent historical spaces.
