A passion for baseball in Puerto Rico
They were in no great hurry to leave. The game had lasted more than five hours, into the 16th inning, and when the Minnesota Twins finally managed a 2-1 victory over the Cleveland Indians in Puerto Rico, many fans lingered, edging a bit closer to the dugouts, soaking up every last moment of a triumphant two-day spectacle.
For all of the heat taken by the Trump administration for its tepid reaction following Hurricane Maria, a storm that literally devastated an entire island, baseball did its part. A number of players poured time and money into the relief effort. They made it clear that people cared. Well ahead of the storm, Major League Baseball arranged the two-game series that concluded Wednesday night — and it proved to be a more worthwhile notion than anyone could have anticipated.
Baseball cannot rebuild a broken home, make torrents of flooding go away, or restore electricity to people living without it for months. But there’s a spirit to the game. It’s a soul-satisfying part of life in Puerto Rico, where there is no talk of shortening the games, using pitch clocks or “getting the Millennials involved.” They are all involved, the adults and the grandparents and the little kids, locked in an unconditional love affair for nearly a century.
Baseball in Puerto Rico is Roberto Clemente, remembered today as if he’s still patrolling right field, a portrait of pride and dignity. It’s Perucho “The Bull” Cepeda and his Hall of Fame son, Orlando. It’s the town of Santurce, where winter-league ball drew so many of the greats, from Willie Mays and Frank Robinson to Negro League legends Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige. It’s a singular chapter in the art of catching: Pudge Rodriguez, Sandy Alomar Jr., Benito Santiago, Javy Lopez, Jorge Posada and the Molina brothers. In today’s major leagues, the three most exciting players just might be Carlos Correa, Francisco Lindor and Javier Baez.
Alex Cora, a Puerto Rico native and the first minority manager for the Boston Red Sox, spoke for many when he told reporters, “It will never be the same” on the island. But there can be dancing, and chanting, and tears of joy over the great game of baseball. A few hours to forget, and to savor. That was the scene at historic Hiram Bithorn Stadium, reaching a mighty crescendo Tuesday night when the Indians’ Lindor, from the town of Caguas, launched a majestic home run.
Lindor was the picture of animated ecstasy as he rounded the bases, to the point that he later felt obligated to apologize for a bit of showmanship. There was no need.
In the places where it is most appreciated, baseball needs no editing.