A DIAMOND IN CUBA
Matthew Fisher on baseball
Fidel Castro is a passionate baseball fan who said years ago he was open to establishing a link between Cuban baseball and Major League Baseball.
Rob Manfred, the MLB’s new commissioner, is thinking the same way now. He told USA Today recently dramatic plans announced in December by Washington and Havana to restore full diplomatic relations after more than 50 years present “wonderful possibilities.”
Despite such sentiments, it is unlikely the growing rapprochement between the two countries will proceed quickly enough for the Boston Red Sox and the Baltimore Orioles to realize their recently declared ambition to play exhibition games in Havana this spring. Nor has there been any indication the thaw might soon lead to Cuba giving its official blessing to the departure of its best players to the U.S.
Nevertheless, there has already been crazy talk in the U.S. a major league team might wish to relocate to Havana. Such speculation is absurd, considering MLB is a multibillion-dollar business and the Cuban average wage is only $20 or $25 a month.
Still, Cuba is as mad about baseball as Canadians are about hockey. Because the country is the last untapped nursery for high-quality players, Cubans are alive to the fact this seismic political shift could drastically alter their national pastime.
Cuba has already been hemorrhaging players for some time. There are 19 Cuban defectors in the big leagues today. More would obviously bolt for “The Show” if Cuba’s government would let them.
After defecting, outfielder Rusney Castillo signed a seven-year contract with the Red Sox for $72.5 million US last year. That’s about as much money as about 6,000 Cubans will earn in their entire lifetimes.
Only two weeks ago, a pair of Cuba’s top young players defected at the beginning of the Caribbean Series in Puerto Rico. Even without them, Cuba won the five-nation tournament.
The top Cuban prospect at the moment is thought to be Yoan Moncada, 19, a blindingly fast switch-hitting infielder who can hit with power. He is reportedly weighing offers from a dozen teams, including the New York Yankees. Many believe he could sign for as much as $50 million.
“The kid wants to play professional baseball,” agent David Hastings said. “If he could leave this afternoon, he would.”
According to the Havana Times, the U.S. Office for Foreign Assets Control changed the rules on the immigration of Cuban players last month. Those with permanent residency in a third country, such as Moncada (who lives in Guatemala), will no longer require a special, job-specific licence before being allowed to sign with U.S. teams.
Cubans are of two minds on this. Like European hockey fans who have seen some of their best players leave to play in the National Hockey League, they badly want to be able to see their best ball players perform at home. But they also understand the staggering economic imbalances that cause them to flee and are proud followers when they play in the U.S.
Chatter about the uncertainties that envelop Cuban baseball seemed far away on a recent Sunday afternoon when the country’s most popular and winningest team, Industriales de La Habana, played a provincial team before a crowd of about 15,000 in the capital’s Estadio Latinoamericano.
The rhythms of the game were exactly the same as those in Canada and the U.S., but the atmosphere was much more raucous. Spectators constantly blew vuvuzela horns. Others burst into loud chants or gyrated to Latino music blaring over loudspeakers.
About 100 foreigners, including a handful of Canadians, were in attendance, confined for their “own security” to a specially reserved area behind home plate rather than sharing the stands with locals. Such nonsense did not exist when Babe Ruth and other American baseball stars barnstormed across Cuba back in 1920 or in the 1950s when the Havana Sugar Kings were the Cincinnati Reds’ top farm team, playing in the Class AAA International League against the Montreal Royals, Toronto Maple Leafs and clubs from the U.S.
That tie to baseball in the north ended abruptly halfway through the 1960 season when Castro nationalized every U.S.-owned business in Cuba.
Now baseball may be one of the bonds that helps draw the longstanding enemies back together. The pending exodus seemed to be OK with the fans cheering madly for Industriales.
“To play in the United States, that’s the dream of every boy who plays stickball,” said a middleaged man watching from the concrete bleachers. Stickball is a modified form of the sport using homemade bats.
Moncada may well be living that dream by the end of the month. After one more workout for scouts in Guatemala this week, he hopes to be in Florida or Arizona when spring training begins.