After accident, Angels prospect fights for his old life, family hopes for help from team

ATLANTA — “Show me a cutter, Rio. How do you throw a cutter?”

Four months ago, Rio Foster was climbing his way to the major leagues. Now, on an afternoon in early January, he sat in a wheelchair, unable to walk, eat on his own, or hold a conversation. He is struggling to recover from devastating injuries he received in a September accident, when he was a passenger in a car driven by a drunk driver. Even after months of rehab, it’s not always clear what Foster is absorbing from his surroundings.

Then his mother, Iris Cleveland, rummaged through a pouch attached to his chair and found a baseball. She put it in his hand. On command, and without hesitation, he continually reformulated his grips.

Fastball, sinker, slider, cutter — even a knuckleball.

Foster, a 22-year-old outfield prospect, was drafted in the 16th round by the Los Angeles Angels in 2023. He should be preparing for a new season, continuing to build on a professional career defined by its underdog status. He comes from football-crazed Athens, Georgia, needed a scholarship to get a Little League spot and was only drafted after getting spotted at a junior college.

Instead, he spent that January Sunday as he had every Sunday for the last three months: At the Shepherd Center in Atlanta, a rehabilitation facility that five days later would require him to be discharged, due to his lack of improvement.

Rather than battling for a roster spot, he’s fighting for a semblance of his old life. His family is struggling to navigate his healthcare challenges, hopeful for outside assistance that hasn’t yet been forthcoming.

Foster’s employer, the Angels, have not said whether he will keep his insurance after this month, leaving his family facing a precarious financial future. They don’t know what type of care they’ll be able to afford.

“It’s not just the injury that we’re dealing with,” Cleveland said. “It’s all these other hoops that you have to jump through, just to get the care he needs.”

At 2:04 a.m. on Sept. 5, first responders arrived at the scene of a single-car accident to find Foster face down in the road. His head, according to reports from the Richland, Washington Police, was in a pool of blood. A witness who checked on Foster before EMTs arrived heard him gurgling, struggling for every breath.

He was in the passenger seat of the car when the driver, who acknowledged she was impaired by alcohol, failed to negotiate a roundabout. Foster, who was not wearing a seatbelt, flew through the car window when it flipped and crashed into a pole.

Foster landed on his head. The driver, 22-year-old Ashante Sanders-Jackson, remains in jail on a $200,000 bond, charged with vehicular assault. Two other passengers are still recovering from the physical and emotional scars of that night.

That morning began with Foster being named the Northwest League Player of the Month, positioning himself as one of the organization’s top outfield prospects. He’d recently told his girlfriend of two years, Meena Oliver, that he wanted to start a family.

The day ended with his baseball career likely over — and the trajectory of his life, and the lives of those around him, forever altered.

His mother’s ability to work has been impacted, due to daily hour-plus drives to and from her elementary school teaching job in Athens. His father, who works long hours at a poultry plant and can’t drive on highways, is unable to make regular in-person visits. Oliver lives in the hospital for weeks at a time, often sleeping upright on a foldout chair next to his bed.

Now, the $67,000 raised through GoFundMe donations for Foster’s care – much of it coming from Angels players – is quickly dwindling. Next comes the possible expiration of his insurance through the Angels.

When asked by The Athletic, the Angels declined to say whether they will cover any of Foster’s medical care, or keep him on their insurance.

“We continue to stay in regular contact with Rio’s family but would prefer to keep those conversations private,” the team said through a spokesman.

Cleveland said the Angels only re-engaged on Jan. 9, after The Athletic asked the team questions for this article. Prior to that, the last substantive communication had been in November.

“I need help. He needs help,” Cleveland said. “When insurance runs out, then what? Does he get Medicare? Will it be enough?”

Foster gazes right into your eyes, but with the blank look of someone not actually seeing you. He’s there, but he isn’t.

Sometimes he won’t say anything when you talk to him. Sometimes he’ll respond, or proactively talk on his own. The other day, he woke Oliver up to demand the remote. He’s asked for a haircut. He’s talked about his favorite baseball team, the Dodgers. That Sunday, he said he wanted to listen to rapper Rod Wave.

The moments when he shows any flash of his former self are intoxicating for his mother, sparking both hopes and memories.

Scrolling through her phone, Cleveland stopped processing the interview questions being asked of her. She was chuckling at old photos of her son.

“He looks so serious,” she said, smiling at one photo. “He used to be a catcher,” she said, showing another. Asked about the accident, and how it impacted her relationship with her son, Cleveland remained inside her happy memories.

“Here’s him at 6 years old,” she said, showing a picture of Foster with a bunny.

Cleveland’s opportunities for even the briefest of reprieves from reality are few and far between.

For everyone involved in this tragedy, reminders are continual. For Foster’s family. For the driver, who sits in a jail cell, repeating the same thoughts in a loop.

“It’s horrible,” Sanders-Jackson said in a jailhouse phone call with The Athletic. “I never meant to put anybody’s life in jeopardy, including myself. Any of us could have died that night.

“I think about Rio every day. I pray for him every day since I’ve been in here. Same with his mom. I know she’s very angry with me, but I pray for her too.”

Cleveland’s perspective, however, is nuanced, with two competing thoughts. One is a desire for justice. Someone should pay for the damage done to her son, and the future that’s been robbed from him.

But she also knows her son was drunk and chose not to wear a seatbelt. It was his decision to get in that car, with that driver, under those circumstances.

She’s asked prosecutors to pursue at least a two-year jail sentence for Sanders-Jackson. Plea deal negotiations, however, are in the range of 12-14 months, with probation to follow. Sanders-Jackson has requested delays to finalizing a plea agreement, hoping that an improvement to Foster’s condition will lead Cleveland, or Foster himself, to request a more lenient sentence. Foster’s family sued Sanders-Jackson’s insurance, though a short-term resolution is not expected.

“It’s something tragic that happened,” Cleveland said. “And to blame somebody for it, legally, that’s what’s in your mind. But to be honest with you, I can’t blame anybody. Because if you’re going to blame someone, you got to blame him.”

Still, she said of Sanders-Jackson’s potential sentence, “Even if you say 24 months, that’s two years. He could potentially have this for the rest of his life.”

Two witnesses who saw the crash and dialed 9-1-1 noted how little attention Sanders-Jackson paid to Foster, who lay alone in the middle of the road. The driver’s sister, Chloe Sanders, was also ejected from the back seat. Ashante, along with Arianna Lozano — another friend who was a passenger in the car — spent their time tending to Chloe, whose injuries were ultimately far less severe than Foster’s.

“I don’t want to seem like a bad person,” said Sanders-Jackson, who did not dispute the witness’ version of events. “I don’t want this mistake to define me.”

To Sanders-Jackson, Foster was just a guy she’d met at a bar earlier in the summer, and had kept up with via text message periodically.

Their meet-up at the Daisy Ranch Saloon in Richland, Washington that night, Sanders-Jackson said, wasn’t planned. His decision to jump in their car and head to an afterparty came when he saw them about to drive off.

“This all happened in under 10 minutes,” Lozano said. “Everything happened so fast. We were just having a good time. The music was blasting. I just rolled up my window, and that’s when I saw Ashante going over the roundabout.”

Foster was intubated in the field. The right side of his skull was broken. He suffered from sinus fractures and had a traumatic brain injury that continues to restrict his ability to move.

Eight hours after the accident, Cleveland was notified of what happened — receiving the call while sitting in a classroom full of her students. She only grasped the severity of the crash when a doctor asked her wishes for resuscitation efforts, should they be needed.

“I prayed the whole time. Every time I fell asleep, I would think about him and just wake up,” Cleveland said of the cross-country flight, which included a layover in Denver. “You’re not thinking clearly. All you’re trying to do is get there.”

In the Shepherd Center, four months later, Oliver, Foster’s girlfriend, pours liquid food into a tube connected to a part of his body covered up by a blanket. Foster’s right hand makes an involuntary movement, as it often does.

Oliver is angry, and she texts Foster every day, to this day, to express it. “I am very mad at him, and upset. I feel like we had plans. I’m selfishly angry. Why did you get into a car with a girl,” she said, looking at him as her voice elevated.

She had expected a call from Foster that night, and doesn’t understand why he went out drinking without telling her. She has no idea why he was in that car.

She chooses to trust him, she said, but the void created by a lack of answers is filled with anxiety and anger.

“I have no sympathy for (the driver) whatsoever,” she said. “I hate that she walked away unscathed. I hate that she talked to him, or that he talked to her.”

Those closest to Rio are all thirsty for answers. Cleveland spent time in Washington revisiting the crash site, fruitlessly looking for an explanation as to what happened. She found skid marks from a crash, but little else.

Before his discharge, Cleveland made the trip every single day to Atlanta, through rush hour traffic, just for the chance to sit next to her son.

She’ll be there for him, no matter what, and will talk to him every time she’s with him, whether or not he responds.

“Every time before I leave, we have this little pep talk,” she said, hoping that the message somehow reaches him.

“I’m like, ‘I understand that it looks bad. I understand that it doesn’t feel good. But we need you to fight. We need you to do this. You’ve got to be strong.”

Does he hear that?

“Yes,” Cleveland said confidently. “His eyes perk up every time I say it.”

When Foster was first injured, the Angels paid for Cleveland’s travel to Washington, and for hotel expenses. The team had someone in the hospital, checking up on Foster’s family, and offering support.

But at no point have the Angels offered to cover any of Foster’s medical costs. And with the new season beginning in February, Foster is at risk of losing his insurance through the team. It’s up to the Angels, Cleveland said, to keep him covered or not.

Though a team official did visit in November, communication with the club has become minimal over the last three months. Oliver’s brother regularly refreshes Foster’s roster page online to make sure he hasn’t been released by the organization.

The MLB Players Association, which represents minor league players, will look into the situation to make sure the Angels are operating within the Collective Bargaining Agreement, according to a source briefed on the union’s thinking who spoke anonymously to discuss a sensitive topic.

If the Angels do not keep Foster insured, Cleveland said she will be unable to afford COBRA coverage costs, which she estimates will exceed $1,000 a month. On top of that, Foster will have numerous expenditures that are not covered by insurance.

That includes accessibility features throughout their home. He’ll need a special van for his movements, one with a specific entrance to account for his tall stature. It’s priced at north of $40,000, to be paid out of pocket.

“It would be the right thing to do. Legally they don’t have to,” Cleveland said of the team potentially assisting. “I don’t have any legal backing.

“It would be a great thing to do. It would be wonderful. But billionaires are billionaires because they don’t give people money.”

The Angels did send Cleveland a link to the Baseball Assistance Team website. B.A.T. is a service through MLB, designed to assist those in and around baseball during times of crisis or need.

It is unclear what level of assistance B.A.T. could provide if Foster’s grant is eventually approved. Cleveland said she initially had difficulty communicating with B.A.T. and receiving instructions on how to properly apply for a grant.

B.A.T did not respond to requests for comment. A spokesperson for MLB, speaking on behalf of B.A.T., declined to answer questions about Foster, citing a policy against discussing individual situations publicly.

Cleveland said B.A.T. called her for the first time the day after The Athletic approached the organization for this story, and has since assisted her in the process of filling out an application.

While teams and leagues are not required to cover medical expenses related to injuries that occur outside the scope of a player’s professional responsibilities, there is precedent for that type of assistance.

In 2022, the Phillies covered insurance and numerous other costs after prospect Daniel Brito’s brain hemorrhage. The Red Sox covered medical costs for top prospect Ryan Westmoreland in 2010, after a malformation in his brain required multiple surgeries.

Former minor league pitcher Matt LaChappa suffered a heart attack in 1996 while warming up for a game; he has difficulty walking and speaking. The Padres sign him to a minor league contract every year to keep him insured. Similarly, the Dodgers sign former outfielder Andrew Toles to an annual contract to keep him insured as he deals with mental health disorders.

The most help that Cleveland has received from the Angels so far came from their players. All-Star pitcher Yusei Kikuchi donated $10,000 to Foster’s GoFundMe, and outfielder Jo Adell gave $5,000. Foster received a $1,000 donation from the Tyler Skaggs Foundation, an organization started by former pitcher’s family, who recently settled a wrongful death lawsuit against the Angels.

A host of other Angels players and coaches, as well as minor leaguers from across the sport, also donated.

“We’re just feeling for him and his family. Baseball is one thing, but life is something else,” Adell said in September, when asked about his donation. “It was a no-brainer. I know a lot of the guys have stepped up and done their part. Prayers for the family. I hope he can fight back.”

Foster has shown signs of progress, but ultimately not enough to extend his stay at the Shepherd Center. He’s moved from a vegetative state to communicating and processing information inconsistently.

His progress isn’t stagnant. There’s hope that he’ll continue to regain mental functions, and with them, physical abilities.

But for now, Foster is still completely dependent on help, and constant physical therapy. There’s a divot in his head from his brain surgeries, and he makes movements that appear involuntary. When he does talk, it can sometimes not make sense. For example, he recently called his mother Bianca — a name that has no connection to their family.

Cleveland wants to believe her son can play baseball again. But, she adds, “I’m not delusional. I know the severity of the accident.”

Every day she wonders, pragmatically, about their path forward.

Will her son stay on insurance? Will insurance even cover his care? How can she pay for out-of-pocket costs?

Can she gain legal guardianship, she wonders. Will he get on disability? What will his life look like if and when she’s not there to help him?

But then, there are those little moments that let her escape those questions, that allow her to feel like her hope isn’t delusional at all.

Cleveland isn’t a crier. In fact, she didn’t cry when she first saw her son in his hospital bed, even as family and friends, one by one, walked into that room and broke down in tears.

There was one small word, however, that made her break down for the first time since this nightmare began. It was just before the new year, and she told her son, as she always does, that she loved him.

To that point, Foster had only mimicked speech. He would repeat things, or say something when told to say it. This time he responded, “I love you too.”

He wasn’t just mimicking. He was independently and intentionally expressing his love. It was the first real indication that her son, deep down, was still there.

“I was just like, ‘Oh my god,’’’ Cleveland said. The weight of everything lifted, just for a second. “I got on the phone and told everybody who would listen. That meant so much.”

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