This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, March 17, 2009 - Elaine's birthday is the beginning of March; mine is the end of the month. We've been friends since 1968 when we taught about half a dorm to play pinochle.
We are also baseball fans. She – somehow – became a Braves fan. I remained a Cardinals fan. The Cardinals and Braves met at Jupiter in the middle of the month.
Kismet.
But the baseball game that will stay with us, the game that is, in fact, still ringing in my ear 24 hours later, was Venezuela vs. Puerto Rico. Even before we walked into Dolphin Stadium, the biggest difference between a sunny, clear day in Jupiter and a breezy night in Miami was clear: the sound, the atmosphere, the excitement.
In Miami, bands with bongos, guiros, tambourines and more rang out with an infectious beat. Puerto Rico's red-white-and-blue and Venezuela's yellow-blue-and-red were everywhere and in every size: they were on hats; they were the hats, and capes, and shirts.
At least in the outfield terrace where we were, the fans were interspersed – at first. But each side chose an area, and the rivalry in the stands was as much fun to watch as that on the field. Every pitch was greeted with cheers or jeers and the music and the drums NEVER stopped.
When Miguel Cabrera was announced, the volume spiked. Ditto Carlos Delgado. But what was with the boos for Magglio Ordonez? (Answer courtesy of the Miami Herald: Ordonez supports Hugo Chavez – the crowd, evidently not.) The stadium anthem calling on the crowd to get loud was definitely not needed.
Elaine and I wanted to see a home run – having seen no long balls in Jupiter – and we got more than we bargained for when Ramon Hernandez hit one over the scoreboard.
The Venezuelans were heading into full party mode when everyone stopped, realizing that a play was being made at THIRD. The manager came out of the dugout; the umpires huddled; they called for a guy in a suit; they ALL left the field.
If Major League Baseball is really considering instant replay, it better make it instant and figure out that one umpire should be enough. TEN minutes later – after we quickly learned that Spanish speakers chant “Home Run” – the whole crew marched out of the dugout and the correct call was given.
The Herald didn’t answer why the Dolphin Stadium’s enormous HD screen did not show a replay. But then, the fancy screen didn’t show many replays.
But that is to quibble. The night was an experience. Our group came to watch a good baseball game, and we saw that. But we also experienced baseball in a different language and culture.
In Jupiter, we were surrounded by Illinoisans. Elaine found that the three people sitting next to her were from the home town she had moved away from more than 30 years ago. Yes, of course, they knew her brother.
We enjoyed the day, the game, the feeling of home, but with palm trees.
In Miami, we didn’t easily fit in. But the Venezuelans sitting next to me smiled as I joined in their “Home Run” chant, even though I was wearing a Molina jersey. Baseball – in whatever language – really was spoken there.