WWJD? What would Jackie do?

Can we spend a few moments on this special day — the 60th anniversary of the most important event in the history of American sport — thinking about that?

Can we look back on all the commotion of the past couple of weeks and ask ourselves: What would Jackie Robinson do?

Can we try to imagine what this wonderful athlete, this courageous pioneer, this great man would've done if confronted with the issues that generated so many headlines on the way to today's celebration?

Certainly, it's something worth pondering. And, maybe, we'll be better for it — because Robinson, who broke the color barrier in major league baseball on this date six decades ago at Brooklyn's Ebbets Field, was so much more than a historic sports figure.

He was, arguably, the most compelling role model the sports world has given us. He was a man of strong character and tough discipline and tremendous class, filled with grace, dignity and poise. He was the type of principled person all of us should strive to be.

That he also was the greatest all-around athlete this country has produced merely provided him with a stage.

It was his mental and emotional makeup, as much as his physical talents, that made him the perfect choice for a mission that forever changed the fabric of America.

Because failure wasn't an option.

If he didn't make it — if he couldn't take it — the entry of black players into big-league baseball might've stalled. And there was no way Robinson, a tenacious competitor and a fiercely proud man, would allow that to happen.

Instead, he became the 1947 National League Rookie of the Year, then the 1949 NL MVP, then, in 1962, a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame. And along the way, he blazed a trail that went beyond the ballpark, beyond the sports arena, beyond anything that seemed possible at the time.

Certainly, no athlete has made a greater societal impact.

Not Babe Ruth. Not Jesse Owens. Not even Muhammad Ali.

With all due respect for Martin Luther King Jr., who gave his life to the cause, Robinson laid the foundation for what became the civil rights movement in America by staking his claim to racial equality in our national pastime.

In fact, Robinson's culture-changing debut arrived one year before President Truman desegregated the U.S. military; seven years before the Supreme Court ruled that segregation in public schools was unconstitutional; and eight years before Rosa Parks refused to go to the back of the bus.

Through his perseverance and determination — pitchers threw at him, base runners spiked him and hostile crowds verbally abused him — Robinson eventually won acceptance, respect, even admiration from fans and fellow players.

An Army lieutenant during World War II, he showed everyone how to combat racism. And, ultimately, he paved the way for King's momentous march through our nation's conscience.

So as we commemorate Robinson's place in history today — which, disgracefully, isn't a national holiday — we ought to use this occasion to examine the news-making stories of the past couple of weeks and ask: What would Jackie do?

My guess is, he would drill a double off the wall in left-center field and slide hard into second base. He would not call a press conference. He would not allow himself to be scarred for life.

Why?

Because he was called far worse, and that's how he handled it.

My guess is, he would keep an open mind, let the legal system work, wait for all the facts to surface. He wouldn't defend the stripper just because she was black. He wouldn't condemn the lacrosse players just because they were white.

Why?

Because he was an honest man who believed in fairness.

My guess is, he would be angry. And hurt. And sickened. He wouldn't understand why these artists would undermine their own people and trash everything he fought against.

Why?

Because he heard that despicable word, and much worse, too many times in his life. And he hated it. He hated it so much that he'd surely do something about it.

My guess is, he would be disgusted and alarmed. He would wonder why so many of these well-paid athletes have so little respect for their profession, so little appreciation for the lives they have, so little regard for their place in the black community and their predecessors who made these riches possible?

Why?

Because he knows the price he paid — a price today's black athletes cannot possibly fathom — to create such opportunities for young black men.

My guess is, he would shake his head and wonder what happened. He'd be thrilled with the success black players enjoy in the NFL and NBA. He'd take great pride in seeing Tiger Woods atop the golf world. But he'd be disappointed and dissatisfied that blacks composed less than 10 percent of major league baseball players, the lowest number in two decades.

Why do I think this?

Because his widow said so.

Truth is, we can learn a lot from the Jackie Robinson story. He was not merely a great black American. He was a great American who did more in one day to advance the black cause in this country than Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton have done across the past 20 years — more than anyone since King.

That's why, if you have a few moments today, 60 years after he changed the face of baseball, you should honor Robinson's legacy by remembering what he did, what he stood for and why he was the most important athlete in our history.

What would Jackie do?

He'd do the right thing.