For the rest of you, they were, respectively, the second man to run a four-minute mile, the second President of the United States, the second Man to invent the telephone, and the second man in space. Their achievements, and the talent and application required in their pursuit, were hardly less than those of Messrs Bannister, Washington, Bell, and Gagarin, yet they have been reduced to mere historical footnotes in comparison with those who got there first.

It's a natural part of human nature to be interested in the milestones, the first, the biggest, the fastest, those who excelled above or before anyone else. Steve Fossett and Richard Branson both spent millions of dollars on trying to be the first man to circumnavigate the world in a hot air balloon, whilst Robert Falcon Scott gave his life in the race for the South Pole and still came in second (Scott is the exception who proves the rule, as the sheer heroism and tragedy of his expedition made it a far more interesting story than that of Roald Amundsen, who got there and back without too much incident). Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay refused to reveal which of them had set foot on the top of Everest first until the latter was on his deathbed in order to avoid this kind of reaction, well aware that neither could have done it without the other.

On Sunday, players, fans and officials across Major League Baseball will celebrate Jackie Robinson being the first player to cross Major League Baseball's colour line. In recognition of what Robinson did, his number has been retired across the whole of Major League Baseball, and he was inducted into the Hall Of Fame in his first year of eligibility.

Yet Robinson wasn't the only Black Player to debut in MLB during 1947. Larry Doby, of the Cleveland Indians, and the St Louis Browns' Hank Thompson both made their debuts that season, eleven and thirteen weeks respectively after Robinson first played for Brooklyn. On August 19th, Doby and Thompson became the first African-American players to line up against one another when their teams met for a doubleheader.

Due to the complete separation of the leagues that was in place at the time, Doby and Thompson were the first black ballplayers the fans in AL cities were exposed to, so suffered all the same indignities Robinson had been forced to put with- the same verbal and physical abuse, the same lack of support from team-mates (many Indians players refused to shake Doby's hand when he was introduced to them) - yet without any of the plaudits that accrued to the man to do it first. As one Doby biographer wrote of Doby's first appearance for the Tribe, "No Big Story arose from Doby's appearances on July 5 and 6. The Big Story was that there was no Big Story."

Yet there is no doubting what these guys went through. Doby later said, "It was eleven weeks between the time Jackie Robinson and I came into the majors. Eleven weeks. Come on. Whatever happened to him happened to me." In many ways, Doby's acclimatisation was harder, as he was 'thrown in at the deep end,' going straight from the roster of the Negro Leagues' Newark Eagles to that of the Indians, without the benefit of the year in the minors Robinson had had as preparation for his Dodgers debut.

Whilst Robinson won the Rookie the Year Award (first awarded that season) Thompson was released by the Browns barely a month after his debut, and spent another season with the Kansas City Monarchs in the Negro Leagues before securing a regular MLB gig with the New York Giants, the great rivals of Robinson's Dodgers.

Doby, meanwhile, quietly compiled a great career. He was the first black World Champion with the Indians in 1948, Cleveland's last championship to date, and led the AL twice in homers, and once in RBI. Upon his retirement in 1959, he had 253 Major League Homers, and a career OBP of .386 with the Tribe, White Sox and Tigers.

When Doby was appointed manager of the White Sox in 1978, he completed the unique double of being both the second black player and the second black manager in the League, Frank Robinson having broken the colour barrier for skippers three years previously.

In 1997, when Robinson's number was retired, league-wide, Sports Illustrated ran an editorial asking why the still-living Doby was being so utterly overlooked. The article obviously struck a chord, as the next year, he was inducted into Cooperstown, 39 years after his retirement, and five before his death.

Doby's recognition was a long time coming, but it at least arrived during his lifetime. Thompson was not so lucky, although he compiled a reasonable 9-year career, with 129 HR and a .378 OBP, and was on the Giants team that beat Robinson's Dodgers in the legendary 1951 NLCS, as well as winning it all with New York in 1954. His life after leaving baseball, however, was not a happy one. He became a cab driver in New York, his marriage broke up, and then he was convicted for armed robbery, serving four years of a ten-year sentence. He died in Fresno, California at the age of 43 following a seizure.

Now, Robinson's contribution to both baseball and the civil rights movement will, and should, never be forgotten. It was Robinson's courage in taking the plunge that allowed Doby and Thomas to do what they did. But we should never forget that these guys did much the same thing, and faced similar hardships and indignities in doing so, yet were never placed on anything like the pedestal Robinson occupied. So, this Jackie Robinson day, spare a thought for the historical footnotes- Larry Doby and Hank Thompson, the guys who were nearly first.

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