“I’ve been through the worst, I know how they feel,” Toronto Blue Jays legend Buck Martinez said on Monday, announcing a $1 million donation to cancer support organizations, including the Susan G.
Komen Foundation and several nonprofits that provide medical, mental health, and community awareness services he experienced while battling chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) and lung cancer. “I know how they feel—the fear, the loneliness, the moments of despair.
This donation is my way of saying to patients: you are not alone.” The money will help hundreds of cancer patients receive comprehensive care, from medical treatment to spiritual therapy, and emotional support that can make all the difference in the fight against this relentless disease.
TORONTO – In a heartfelt announcement that resonated deeply within the baseball community and beyond, Buck Martinez, the iconic voice of the Toronto Blue Jays, stepped into the spotlight not as a broadcaster or former manager, but as a survivor transformed by adversity.
On a crisp Monday morning in December 2025, just weeks after the Jays clinched a thrilling playoff berth, Martinez revealed his latest act of generosity: a $1 million donation aimed at bolstering cancer support networks.
This isn’t just philanthropy; it’s a lifeline extended from a man who has stared down the abyss of chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) and lung cancer, emerging with a resolve to ensure others never face it in isolation.
Martinez’s journey with cancer has been as grueling as any extra-inning marathon. Diagnosed with CLL in 2020, the slow-burning blood cancer tested his endurance from the outset.
But it was the aggressive return of lung cancer in May 2025 that forced him to step away from the broadcast booth he had called home for decades.
At 76, Martinez underwent rigorous chemotherapy at Houston’s renowned MD Anderson Cancer Center, missing nearly three months of the season—the very stretch that saw the Blue Jays surge to the top of the American League East.
“I didn’t know if I was getting back,” he admitted in an August interview with the Toronto Sun, his voice steady but laced with the weight of uncertainty.
Treatments drained him, side effects battered his body, but his spirit remained unbroken, fueled by the roar of Jays fans and the camaraderie of teammates like Dan Shulman, his longtime broadcasting partner.
Returning triumphantly in August for a series against the Dodgers, Martinez was met with a standing ovation that echoed through Dodger Stadium. “It’s my life,” he quipped, his signature laugh cutting through the applause.
Yet, even as he resumed calling games—predicting a deep playoff run for his beloved team—the scars of treatment lingered. The loneliness of hospital rooms, the gnawing fear during sleepless nights, the quiet despair when hope feels distant: these were the invisible opponents Martinez conquered.
And now, with his health stabilizing after a final chemo session in early September, he channeled that hard-won wisdom into action.
The donation, announced at a modest press conference at Rogers Centre, targets organizations that mirror the pillars of support Martinez leaned on during his battles. The Susan G.
Komen Foundation, a titan in breast cancer advocacy, receives a significant portion to expand its reach into broader hematologic and thoracic malignancies like CLL and lung cancer. Komen’s programs, from patient navigation services to research grants, align perfectly with Martinez’s vision of holistic care.
“Buck’s gift isn’t just money; it’s a beacon for those navigating the same storm,” said Angela Hwang, a Komen spokesperson. “We’ve seen firsthand how integrated support—medical, emotional, communal—can turn survival into thriving.”
Complementing this are grants to several grassroots nonprofits, each handpicked by Martinez for their intimate understanding of the cancer odyssey. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) will use funds to enhance mental health resources, including counseling hotlines and peer support groups tailored for blood cancer patients.
Martinez, who grappled with CLL’s insidious fatigue and infection risks, knows the psychological toll all too well. “There were days I felt utterly alone, even surrounded by family,” he shared.
LLS’s initiatives, now bolstered by $250,000 from the donation, aim to connect hundreds of Canadians annually, offering therapy sessions that address the isolation he once endured.
Another beneficiary is the Canadian Cancer Society’s Wheels of Hope program, which provides transportation to treatments for rural patients—a service Martinez wished had been more accessible during his Houston commutes.
With $200,000 allocated, the program will cover rides for over 500 individuals next year, easing the logistical burdens that exacerbate despair. Community awareness efforts, funded through partnerships with the Lung Cancer Foundation of America, will launch targeted campaigns in Ontario and Florida, Martinez’s dual homes.
These include educational workshops on early detection for CLL, a cancer often overlooked until advanced stages, and stigma-busting seminars for lung cancer survivors, challenging the outdated links to smoking that still haunt patients.
But perhaps the most personal touch comes in the donation’s emphasis on spiritual and holistic therapy. Drawing from his own experiences with meditation and faith-based counseling at MD Anderson, Martinez earmarked $150,000 for nonprofits like Healing Touch Canada, which integrates energy therapies and mindfulness into oncology care.
“Cancer attacks the body, but it wars on the soul too,” he said, eyes misty as he recounted moments of doubt during infusions.
This funding will train 100 healthcare providers in complementary techniques, ensuring patients receive not just drugs, but tools for inner peace—yoga sessions, art therapy, even chaplain visits that affirm, “You are not alone.”
The announcement drew an outpouring of support from the baseball world. Blue Jays president Mark Shapiro called Martinez “a pillar of resilience,” while former players like Joe Carter and Paul Molitor shared stories of his mentorship. Fans flooded social media with #BuckStrong messages, many pledging matching donations.
Yet, for Martinez, this is no victory lap. “I’ve been through the worst,” he reiterated, his words a quiet thunder.
“I know how they feel—the fear that grips your chest tighter than any curveball, the loneliness that echoes in sterile hallways, the despair that whispers defeat in the dead of night. This isn’t about me; it’s about turning those shadows into light for someone else.”
As the Jays gear up for what could be a historic postseason— their first division title since 2015—Martinez’s gift underscores a larger truth: survival is collective. The $1 million will touch hundreds directly, funding treatments, therapies, and awareness that ripple outward.
In Toronto’s chill December air, amid holiday lights twinkling over the CN Tower, this act feels like a home run in the ninth—timely, improbable, and profoundly human. For patients facing their own ninth innings, Martinez’s message lands like a perfect relay throw: hope arrives, and it arrives together.
