Welcome home World Series champs
Dreams come true when we round third base and just go for it.
When the Astros’ 5’6” second baseman José Altuve walked to the batter’s box in the ninth inning of game 2 of the American League Championship Series against one of the most feared closers in baseball, I remembered what it felt like to be a child. In these moments, time freezes while all of your hopes and desires lie on your hero’s ability to do something that even the best players in history are able to do only about 35 percent of the time.
I was standing in the bleachers in right-center field when Altuve laced a single off a 100-mile-perhour fastball. My 6-year-old self was sitting on the couch with my parents as they explained to me the importance of getting the winning run on base. My 9-year-old self was sitting next to my grandma in New York as she explained to me that she used to be a fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers but her husband was a Yankees fan. My college self was in Fenway Park squinting my eyes and pretending to be in the 1930s. My present self was pumping my fist in a standing-room-only section at Minute Maid Park as Carlos Correa came up to bat with one out and Altuve on first. Nothing mattered in this moment other than a potential walk-off hit from the young Puerto Rican all-star.
Earlier that day, I was with my students in a Saturday School calculus session in Weslaco, Texas, a town about nine miles from the United States-Mexico border. Several of my students will be the first in their families to go to college. Many are intimidated by the calculus I expect them to do, and many others believe it to be unlikely that they succeed in their
AP Calculus Exam. Many are immigrants who came to this country to find an unwelcoming environment at the time in their development when finding a sense of belonging is most important. There is a certain audacity in showing up to school on a Saturday morning to pursue an unlikely goal — an audacity that I find inspiring. Though history shows that their chances of success are, technically, statistically unlikely, it is possible and, therefore, worth going for.
It is the audacity that a tiny second baseman from Venezuela showed when, after being cut from a major-league tryout, he defiantly returned the next day hoping a scout would overlook his height and notice the hard-earned talent. That man was now standing on first base representing the winning run that would give the Astros a 2-0 lead in the series.
Carlos Correa stood tall and confident in the batter’s box as he drew a full count. Yankees closer Aroldis Chapman, threw several pick-off attempts, a show of respect for Altuve’s speed. I knew if Altuve didn’t steal second, the Astros likely would need two more hits to bring him home — unlikely given Chapman’s stellar performance throughout the year.
But my 6-year old, 9-year-old, college and present-day heart held on to the possibility that this could be a moment that rewards the faith of the hopeful. Some of the most emotional moments of everyday life are battles between the head and the heart. We dream of what is unlikely. We desperately hope for things that are sometimes out of our control. Will our loved one overcome cancer? Will we be able to provide enough physical and emotional support for our children after a hurricane destroys our homes? Though a relationship with a significant other has ended several times in break-ups, will we make it to the alter if we give it one more try?
Correa finds his pitch and drills it to rightcenter field. Yankees right fielder Aaron Judge cuts the ball off and fires it to the infield as I glance to see who would be on deck after Altuve stops at third. But when I look back, I see the Astros’ coach frantically waving the Venezuelan immigrant home. I see Altuve’s surprisingly long and powerful strides round third and know this isn’t a mere fake to elicit a throw home; Altuve is going for it.
Yankees shortstop Gregorius receives Judge’s throw and fires it home. The throw is clearly going to beat Altuve, but the immigrant sprints full speed ahead, like a first-generation college student headed to her dream school, not entirely sure if she is going to thrive but committing to working as hard as she can anyway in pursuit of her dreams. Altuve rounded third like Elon Musk betting all of his savings on building rockets he knew would probably fail, but going for it anyway because the human spirit thirsts for inspiration. He rounded third like Davy Crockett heading west after declaring to the Tennessee legislature, “You may all go to hell, and I will go to Texas.” He rounded third like an immigrant crossing the Rio Grande with nothing but an insane work ethic, a few phrases in English and a dream.
The throw bounced into home plate. I saw a cloud of dust. I saw Altuve slide into home. I saw the ball trickle away from the Yankees’ catcher. The umpire waved his arms safe! Safe! Safe! Altuve is safe! Astros win!
I was there with my wife, but I also felt the presence of my family. My parents sent me texts congratulating me as if I were a part of the team. My late paternal grandparents, who were divided between the Yankees and Brooklyn Dodgers, were smiling from above. My late maternal grandpa, who let my brother and me pretend that we were big-leaguers on his front lawn hitting home runs over the driveway, was smiling.
“This game,” James Earl Jones’ character, Terence Mann, tells us in the movie Field of Dreams, “is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good and that could be again.” Baseball season is back again. It brings new story lines, new hopes and a fresh start. These hopes and fresh starts are here for those of us who take the time to recognize them. Our dreams are there in front of us if we have the courage to round third and go for it.