New Year's Resolution and Roberto Clemente

Last night, New Year's Eve, after the kids were asleep, I found myself sitting with my in-laws watching the Times Square countdown coverage on Television. My two children and nephew, all under seven years old, had run the adults in the family pretty ragged over the few days prior. We settled in on the couch, having had a couple of drinks each during dinner, but rather than the typical reveling afterward, we took the opportunity to enjoy the calm of the house. Each settling in with our respective electronic devices on our bellies, we tuned in and out of the performances by Pitbull and Miley Cyrus and the commentary by Ryan Seacrest. We had already resigned ourselves to the fact that we would not be venturing out, but we initially prepared to be more social by stocking the house with beer, wine and champagne. After a very nice dinner cooked by my mother-in-law, and great conversation with my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law, we found ourselves winding down and it was only ten o'clock. Thinking about how I wanted to begin the New Year, I resolved to not waste time mindlessly trolling the internet on my iPad or standing in front of the glow of a television program that did not interest me in the least. Entering the year that I will turn forty, I thought that the best thing I could do was get a good night's sleep. Not so much because I felt older, but because I am slowly settling into the increasingly present responsibilities that I have as a full-fledged adult to think ahead and about my responsibilities to others; my wife and I planned already to return to Chicago from the suburbs of Virginia on January first, so I knew that I would feel much better traveling in our car if I were well-rested. So, I bid everyone goodnight, and by 11:00 on the East Coast, I was in bed.

I am not one to remember my dreams, but on the first day of the year I remembered a pretty vivid scene from the night before. I was walking through the corridor of a baseball stadium, under the stands, where vendors had their souvenirs spread out on the floor, much like you might find at an open-air artisan market in Mexico or South America. Their goods were still mass-produced, rather than the handmade items you would find in a market, but it was a unique setup given the hyper-commercialized nature of ballparks in today's era. One vendor's goods immediately caught my eye. The bright yellow and black hats were unmistakeably memorabilia from the Pittsburgh Pirates. I began trying on some of the hats. I wasn't sure that I was even in Pittsburgh or my home, Chicago, for that matter, but the Pirates' attire seemed naturally in place. The seller approached me and asked which hat I would like, as they had a whole variety, and the one I quickly chose, was the pillbox Pirates' cap that the players wore during their 1979 championship season. It was famous for it's unique design, the pinstripes around the hat, and the stars that adorned it, given as marks of recognition for great plays by Pirate player Willie Stargell. It was probably because of their World Series win that this became my first baseball cap as a five-year old. I was only ever vaguely aware of this connection until I began writing this post. The hat simply became something that I remember wearing frequently for a summer or two and then that sat in our Chicagoland home for years after without a clear reason. Back in the dream, I purchased the hat, feeling very satisfied, and remember nothing else.

So, when I awoke, I naturally thought the only connection was nostalgia for the hat. I lay in bed for a few minutes pondering the dream, which sat with me despite seeming pretty mundane; being that I rarely remember dreams, why this one?

I then found myself on my iPad, on Facebook, despite my previous night's hope to curtail my use in the New Year. A friend posted a photograph of Roberto Clemente, reminding us of the anniversary of his death 40 years ago on December 31st. At the tail end of an incredible career, the Puerto Rican superstar, in his late thirties, boarded a plane to Nicaragua, carrying supplies that he was donating to victims of an earthquake. The residents of Managua, Nicaragua were still recovering from its effects despite its taking place a full year before. Clemente decided to accompany the supplies because he had heard that previous donations he sent were intercepted by the corrupt Somoza government and never reached those that they were intended to help. As it approached its destination, the plane crashed and killed all those aboard.

Clemente is remembered as an excellent baseball player, with fifteen All Star seasons. But in my view he was more memorable as a man who broke barriers for Latinos and Latin American and gave to others to the end. In Chicago, his name has become synonymous with a high school in a neighborhood with a large Puerto Rican population and I sometimes wonder if the students there are fully aware of the pride that should be associated with their school's namesake.

As we enter the new year, a time when we make resolutions for ourselves to lose weight, drink less, or exercise more, I am going to resolve to follow the lead of Roberto Clemente, to focus on giving all I can to others; 40 years ago, ending his thirties, in a year that I turn 40, I resolve to willingly and happily give to others because I have been given so much; much more than my share. Perhaps it is an elusive dream, but it is one to remember.

(Latin) America's Pastime: Beisbol

In 2005 Major League Baseball created a ballot for fans to elect the greatest Latino players of all time, known as the Latino Legends Team. Included on that list were notable names such as Roberto Clemente, Rod Carew, Luis Aparicio, and Fernando Valenzuela. The final votes created a team that was heavily composed of more contemporary players, such as Alex Rodriguez, Albert Pujols, Pedro Martinez, and Ivan Rodriguez. While this created some controversy, an even larger one was not realizing how deep Latino roots are in Major League Baseball by not even placing names of some Latinos on the ballot. Two of the most notable omissions were Ted Williams, who spoke fluent Spanish and whose mother was Mexican, or Reginald Martinez Jackson, whose father was half-Puerto Rican.

Latin Americans have played baseball in their own countries since the mid-1800s. Cuba, Venezuela, Nicaragua and Mexico all played baseball prior to the 20th Century. Cuban students who studied in the United States brought the game home to their country as early as 1860. An American importer, Albert Addlesberg, introduced baseball to Nicaragua in the 1880’s; it was an easy transition from cricket, which the British had already brought there. Mexico and Venezuela each established professional baseball leagues in the 1920’s that continue to exist today.

Two Cuban players, Rafael Almeida and Armando Marsans, played for the Cincinnati Reds in 1911. The first major league player from Latin America was Cuban Charles P. Pedroes, who played in 1902.

Today 27-percent of Major League Baseball players are Latino, with over 24-percent of them born in Latin America. The rest of the Latino players, such as Matthew Garza or Sergio Romo, are U.S.-born American citizens, despite their Spanish names and Mexican heritage.

So, Latinos and Latin Americans have been involved with baseball for well over a century, since the creation of the game, really. In a previous post I commented on how Latin Americans like to remind those from the United States that they are not the only “Americans” in this hemisphere given that countries from North and South America arguably contain “Americans,” too. I don’t buy that argument so much, but when talking about baseball as an “American” pastime, I really have to say that we are talking about more countries than just the United States.

Apparently, not many agree that Latinos have a place in baseball given the uproar that emerged on social media over the All-Star break. First, Cuban Yoenis Cespedes won the homerun derby. In a reprisal of last year’s journalistic performance, Pedro Gomez of ESPN conducted an interview in Spanish and then translated the interviewee’s answers into English. Last year, it was only a few questions to Robinson Cano’s father, who does not speak English, while this year he conducted his entire interview with Cespedes in Spanish, while providing immediate translation. Cespedes has only been in the United States for two years, so it is highly unlikely that his English is very good, as anyone who has taken years of a foreign language in high school can attest to. But his homerun hitting is awesome, and that is what true baseball fans should care about. A vocal few, however, just couldn’t handle it and spouted off with xenophobic and discriminatory comments on Twitter. It is very likely that ESPN approved of this not-so subtle pandering to Latinos and Spanish speaking audiences given that they chose him to do the interview again.

The following day, New York born, Puerto Rican-descent singer, Marc Anthony sang "God Bless America" (in English-I shouldn’t have to qualify that, but, oh well). Again, the Twitter-verse lit up with discriminatory comments questioning his right to sing one of our national songs. Even if he were born in Puerto Rico, those who objected should be reminded that he would still be an American citizen, but I would not expect the critics to know even that given that many misidentified Marc Anthony as Mexican or illegal.

National CBS columnist Gregg Doyel wrote a great response of this All-American issue that I will end with here:

“… people got mad, maybe because people get mad when they’re scared. And people are scared of Spanish. Scared that they don’t understand what others are saying. Envious that they can’t speak two languages. Frightened that maybe this world is changing, and people like us — people who speak only English — will be left behind… America is changing, people. Better or worse, the days of everyone here speaking one language -- a language named for a country in Europe; ironic, really -- are gone. English will always be our native language, but it's not going to be the only language. Those days? Long gone. You can bitch and moan about it, like people decades ago bitched and moaned about integration, but this is the country we have. Understand that.”

Bien dicho.