Aaron Judge’s dominance usually shows up in exit velocity and tape-measure home runs. Last week, it showed up in federal trademark law. A decision flying under the radar outside legal circles, the outcome of Aaron Judge’s trademark dispute offers key athlete branding strategies.
In the case, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit affirmed a ruling that blocked a private individual from registering the trademarks “All Rise” and “Here Comes the Judge” for apparel and related merchandise. The win secured by Judge and the Major League Baseball Players Association (MLBPA), is a powerful reminder of the relationship between intellectual property rights, athlete branding, and league licensing structures within modern sports business.
At its very basis, the case was a dispute about priority: who used the marks first. After that, the question turned to whether those uses were legally meaningful. While the challenger, Michael Chisena, filed trademark applications with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO) back in 2017, Judge and the MLBPA had already been using the phrases commercially in connection with Judge’s identity and licensed merchandise. Ultimately, Judge’s previous usage of the marks proved to be decisive in the case at hand.
Under U.S. trademark law, rights generally flow from first use in commerce, not from who files a trademark registration application first. In addition, while federal registration carries powerful benefits, it does not erase earlier common law rights created through actual first commercial use. These principles were central to both the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board (TTAB)’s decision in 2023 and the Federal Circuit’s decision earlier this month.
By the time Chisena sought registration, Aaron Judge was no longer just a promising rookie; he was the face of the Yankees’ next generation, a Home Run Derby champion, and one of the most marketable athletes in professional sports. “All Rise” was synonymous with Judge, used by media outlets, displayed prominently inside Yankee Stadium, and placed on officially licensed merchandise distributed through the MLBPA’s group licensing program. “Here Comes the Judge” carried a similar dual meaning, blending a judicial reference with Judge’s surname in a way that made the phrase uniquely tied to him.
The Federal Circuit agreed with the TTAB that the marks at issue weren’t a case of a generic surname or descriptive phrase being monopolized. Instead, the court emphasized the wordplay and context in which the phrases were used. The marks functioned as source identifiers, signaling to consumers that the products were associated with Aaron Judge. That association, built through years of consistent use and licensing, created protectable trademark rights long before Chisena’s applications.
From a sports business perspective, the case highlights the importance of early, coordinated brand exploitation by athletes and unions. Judge did not personally sell every product bearing these phrases, instead allowing the MLBPA’s licensing infrastructure to do much of the work. That collective system allowed Judge’s personal indicia (including his name, likeness, and associated slogans) to be used across a wide range of merchandise in a consistent, legally defensible way. When the challenge arose, there was a clear evidentiary record of use, featuring everything from approved licensees to dated sales and even documented distribution.
That record turned out to be one that mattered. The TTAB and the Federal Circuit both pointed to the sheer volume and variety of licensed products bearing the marks as “substantial evidence” of trademark use. In other words, the case of the Yankees slugger wasn’t about a slogan appearing once on a scoreboard or in a headline; it was about sustained commercial exploitation tied directly to Judge’s brand.
The case also underscores a recurring tension in athlete IP disputes: the line between clever wordplay and impermissible free riding. Chisena argued that the phrases were inspired by courtroom language encountered elsewhere and not inherently tied to Judge. But the timing of his filings, nature of the goods, and cultural moment in which Judge’s stardom exploded worked against these claims. Courts are understandably skeptical when third parties attempt to commercialize phrases that the public overwhelmingly associates with a specific athlete, especially without that athlete’s consent.
For leagues and players alike, the decision shows exactly why trademark strategy cannot be an afterthought. Athletes often focus on performance first and branding later, but Judge’s case shows the upside of building and protecting a commercial identity early. It also demonstrates why players’ associations play such a critical role in protecting athletes’ rights. Individual athletes may not have the resources or infrastructure to police every potential infringement, but collective licensing entities can act swiftly and credibly when brand dilution or consumer confusion is at stake.
Finally, the ruling serves as a cautionary tale for would-be entrepreneurs operating in the sports merchandise space. Filing an application with the USPTO does not create rights in a vacuum. Without priority of use (and without accounting for existing athlete and league IP ecosystems), registration efforts can collapse quickly, even years after filing.
Best known for what he does between the foul lines, Aaron Judge’s trademark dispute is a reminder that elite athletes also operate in a sophisticated legal and commercial environment. In that arena–just like on the field–preparation, timing, and execution make all the difference.
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