A’s Luzardo connected with family of school shooting victim
OAKLAND » Jesús Luzardo knew Joaquin “Guac” Oliver was near. Not just in spirit, but as one of the thousands of cardboard cutouts in the Oakland Coliseum seats.
The A’s pitcher found out that Guac was seated in the lower bowl of the ballpark, wearing A’s colors. Section 104, row 26, seat 4. Once he found Guac, Luzardo snapped a picture of himself with the cutout and sent it to Joaquin’s father in Miami.
Manuel Oliver replied via Twitter: “Thanks to @ Athletics Pitcher Jesus Luzardo @Baby_Jesus9 for showing respect to Joaquin ”Guac” Oliver at the Oakland Coliseum. Two Venezuelans ready to strike out a few. Viva Guac! And the other 40k/year victims from Gun Violence.”
“Blessed to have met your son!” Luzardo tweeted back. Joaquin Oliver was 17 when he
and 16 other people were gunned down at a school in Parkland, Florida, on Feb. 14, 2018. It was Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, Luzardo’s alma mater.
In the tragedy’s wake, Oliver’s father, Manuel and mother, Patricia, started a movement called Change the Ref to raise awareness for gun violence. Manuel is an artist, and the Oliver family is part of Florida’s rich artistic culture. Coming up with creative ways to keep their message alive in a way that could represent their son came naturally. They could think of no better way to keep Joaquin’s memory alive than through the one thing he loved most: sports.
The Change the Ref movement has at least 14 “Guac” cardboard cutouts placed throughout various Major League Baseball stadiums across the country, including Oracle Park in San Francisco, Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati, SunTrust Park in Atlanta,
T-Mobile Park in Seattle, Dodger Stadium and the Oakland Coliseum.
Forcing a captive audience starving for live sports to see Joaquin sitting there — present in cardboard form, but not in breathing life — seemed a good way to remind Americans of the endemic that took Joaquin and so many others away.
“Those two are very American traditions,” Manuel said. “Baseball and gun violence.”
Sports wasn’t much a part of the Oliver family culture until Joaquin started to fall in love with it. He grew fond of Muhammed Ali — for his elusive shuffle and his legacy as a social justice leader. He loved to watch fellow Venezuelan Johan Santana hurl that circle changeup. As an athlete himself, baseball was his first love, but he had an undeniable passion for basketball. The Miami Heat was his religion, Dwyane Wade his idol.
Joaquin was buried in Wade’s No. 3 jersey. Wade brought Joaquin back to the hardwood, wearing shoes etched with his name near the soles.
Luzardo met Joaquin
not in the hallways of their alma mater, nor on a baseball diamond. They met on a basketball court.
Luzardo remembers it well. One November evening in 2018, the two were on opposite sides of a pickup 5-on-5 basketball game at Pine Trails Park, a local gathering spot in Parland. Pickup games were a custom at that park among MSD High students and alumni.
Luzardo didn’t know Oliver well, but he knew everyone knew Oliver. The kid they called “Guac” was beloved at MSD.
Luzardo also remembers the horror three months later. He had been golfing, not far from the school. Scheduled to throw a bullpen session with some of the MSD HIgh baseball players, he was running late.
He was a mile away when he got a text telling him to stay away.
“I think about how, if I was there five minutes earlier, I could have been running through the baseball field, running away from the shots,” Luzardo said. “I think about that sometimes.”