Learn the Inspiring Story Behind Why Adrian Rodriguez Wears His Jersey Number with Pride for Texas Longhorns Baseball

When Adrian Rodriguez takes the field for the Texas Longhorns, there’s a quiet fire behind every step he takes and every pitch he throws. It’s easy to get caught up in the motion of college baseball—the dugout chants, the roaring crowds at UFCU Disch-Falk Field, the media chatter around Big 12 standings—but for Rodriguez, the game has always been deeply personal. The number stitched onto the back of his jersey represents more than a roster spot or a numerical identity. For Adrian, it’s a symbol of legacy, pain, promise, and purpose.

Rodriguez wears No. 13 for Texas Baseball, and while that number might carry superstition or mystery to some, for him, it’s a badge of honor. Many assume athletes choose numbers at random, or based on availability. But ask Adrian, and he’ll tell you: this number chose him, not the other way around. His story, which winds through family tragedy, childhood baseball diamonds in San Antonio, and a high school career marked by grit, is the kind of tale that makes fans appreciate not just the game, but the heart behind it.

Adrian’s father, Miguel Rodriguez, was a lifelong baseball fan. A gifted player himself in his younger days, Miguel never had the chance to play beyond high school. Life, responsibility, and the demands of family came first. Still, he passed along his love for the game to his son from the moment Adrian could hold a glove. Early mornings in the backyard, dusty Little League games under Texas sun, and marathon innings in the local cages—those weren’t just father-son bonding moments. They were Miguel’s way of giving Adrian what he never had the chance to chase. And always, Miguel wore No. 13 during rec league games with friends and neighborhood tournaments on the weekends.

While most saw 13 as a symbol of bad luck, Miguel flipped the narrative. He believed that 13 meant standing against the odds. That even when others expected misfortune, you could rise and rewrite your story. It became his personal mantra—”13 means faith under pressure,” he’d often say. Adrian heard those words countless times, and they slowly sunk into the fiber of his identity.

When Adrian turned 10, he began asking for the No. 13 on every team he joined. Sometimes it was already taken, sometimes the coaches didn’t allow it, but he always kept it in mind. His father, always supportive, would tell him, “Even if it’s not on your back, carry it in your chest.” But in middle school, Adrian finally got it—13, printed clean and bold. It was a small dream realized, but it meant the world.

Then came the moment that would change Adrian’s life forever.

Just weeks after his 14th birthday, Miguel was diagnosed with an aggressive form of pancreatic cancer. The diagnosis was sudden and cruel. Doctors gave him six months. Adrian, still just a kid, didn’t fully understand what it meant at first. His father, the man who taught him to swing a bat and throw a slider, suddenly looked smaller, slower, more fragile with each passing day.

Those six months turned into four. Miguel Rodriguez passed away on a quiet April evening, just as Adrian was preparing for his spring season opener. The grief was overwhelming. For weeks, Adrian didn’t touch a glove. His heart wasn’t in it. Baseball was too painful. It reminded him of every moment shared with his dad. It reminded him of what was lost.

But something changed during that season’s final game. Adrian sat in the dugout as his teammates warmed up, his jersey number—13—untouched, folded neatly on the bench beside him. A gust of wind blew through the dugout and rustled the jersey, flipping it open as if inviting him. Something in that moment clicked. He thought of his father’s words: “13 means faith under pressure.”

He stood up, slipped the jersey over his shoulders, and walked onto the field. That day, he went 3-for-4 at the plate and struck out five in relief. But more than anything, he played free. He wasn’t weighed down by grief—he was carried by love.

From that point on, No. 13 became more than a tribute. It became Adrian’s mission. Every time he took the mound or stood in the batter’s box, he imagined his father in the stands, cap pulled low, giving that approving nod he knew so well. He didn’t just want to play for him—he wanted to honor him with excellence.

By the time Adrian reached high school, his name was becoming familiar among scouts. His velocity caught eyes, but it was his composure that turned heads. Coaches and opponents alike noticed how calm he stayed in high-pressure situations. “He pitches like he’s got a guardian angel behind him,” one rival coach once said. Adrian smiled when he heard that.

Throughout high school, Adrian continued to wear 13, even when teammates and coaches hesitated. “Superstition’s not my style,” he’d say with a grin. In senior year, during the state semifinals, a reporter asked about the number during a postgame interview. For the first time, Adrian publicly shared his story—the story of Miguel, the mantra, and why he refused to see 13 as a curse. That interview went viral in Texas prep baseball circles and even drew attention from the University of Texas coaching staff.

When Texas came calling, Adrian knew it was the right fit. Not just for baseball, but for his soul. The legacy of Longhorn greats, the pride of wearing burnt orange, and the chance to play under the bright lights of Austin—all of it aligned with the dream he and his dad once shared in the backyard.

Upon arriving on campus, Adrian faced a challenge. The No. 13 was already in use by a senior. He had the option to wait or pick a new number. For the fall season, he went without it, choosing a temporary number instead. But the moment the senior graduated, Adrian made his move. He politely asked the equipment manager for 13, and the next season, it was back where it belonged—on his back, close to his heart.

Fans may not always know the weight a player carries with them onto the field. They cheer for the strikeouts, the double plays, the walk-off hits. But they don’t always see the layers of meaning stitched into a jersey. For Adrian Rodriguez, it’s more than apparel—it’s a link to the man who taught him how to love this game. It’s a promise to keep playing the right way, no matter the pressure. And it’s a daily reminder that even when life throws its worst at you, you can stand tall, face forward, and throw back with strength.

Teammates often joke about Adrian being the team’s rock. He’s the guy who’s never too high, never too low. Whether he’s in the middle of a bases-loaded jam or jogging out to warm up in the bullpen, his face shows the same quiet intensity. It’s not forced. It’s just who he is. And though he rarely brings up his father in interviews now, those who know him best say they can see Miguel’s influence in everything Adrian does—from his work ethic to his leadership.

This season, Adrian is putting together the kind of campaign that draws national eyes. Scouts love his command and mental toughness, but it’s the intangibles that truly separate him. He’s not just playing for a contract or stats. He’s playing for something—and someone—bigger.

And through it all, there’s that jersey. That bold 13.

So the next time you see Adrian Rodriguez take the mound for Texas Baseball, remember this: He’s not just wearing a number. He’s wearing a memory, a promise, a legacy. And every time he touches the ball, every time he hears his name announced over the stadium speakers, he’s honoring the man who taught him what it means to have faith under pressure.

For Adrian, No. 13 doesn’t represent bad luck. It represents love, strength, and the unbreakable bond between a father and son.