Diplomacia de béisbol

Nicaragua 2008

            José Dennis Martinez Ortiz, better known as Dennis Martinez, was the first Nicaraguan to play Major League Baseball.  Born in Granada, he won 245 games pitching for five teams during a 23-year career, highlighted by his perfect game in 1991.  He won more games in the Major Leagues than any other Latin American pitcher.  Martinez is a national hero in Nicaragua, where the national stadium is named in his honor.  His foundation helps poor children around the world.

            Vincente Padilla, a native of Chinandega, Nicaragua, currently pitches for the Texas Rangers.  He earns eleven million annually as one of the top starting pitchers in the American League.  The hard throwing right-hander is the heir to Martinez’s mantel as the greatest baseball player in Nicaragua.

            To this list of Nicaraguan baseball greats can be added the name of Allen Beasley, gringo surfer, lawyer and misionero.  What the American foreign policy establishment has not been able to do in years in Nicaragua, Beasley has done one baseball at a time: cultivate good will and make a small difference in a few lives.

            We are standing outside the Aeropuerto Internacional Augusto Sandino in Managua.  No one is used to the heat.  Luggage is against an outside wall, including Allen’s canvas bag stuffed with softballs, baseballs and wiffle balls.  Two members of our crew have gone to secure rental cars.  There is a swirl of human activity.  We are quickly besieged by young children trying to sell chewing gum or beg a few cordobas.  Instead of passing out money, Beasley hands out balls and several games of catch break out.  It must be quite a sight to the soldiers and baggage handlers to see los gringos y los niños playing catch on the sidewalk.  We autograph a few balls: best wishes /s/ Mickey Mantle.

            It is brutally hot.  We come to a stop as we drive through the dusty campo, roll down the windows and motion for los niños, standing idly by the side of the rock hard gravel roadway, to approach.  Several boys and girls do so, wary about what the gringos might want.  “Un regalo para ti”.  With that, we toss several softballs out the windows to the children.  Their eyes grow wide with excitement and, I’m sure, amazement.  “Gracias, gracias” they repeat with relish.  To these children a used softball is a gift from heaven, an unexpected source of joy and something to break the ordinary routine of daily life.  By the time we say “de nada” and pull away, the kids are already tossing the balls back and forth with glee and enormous smiles.

            A family is traveling on a back road in the woods.  The father astride his horse, the others on foot.  As we approach, we slow to a stop as does the man.  “Con permiso, para sus niños”.  The weather-beaten looking man breaks into a hearty smile and gives permission.  His children and their mother accept the gift with grins and giggles.  For people with very few material possessions, even the most simple gift is graciously received and appreciated.  They accept the grace offered and return the gift a hundred-fold with the looks in their eyes and the expressions of their mouths.

            We drive into Gigante mid-day.  While most of the crew heads for La Gaviota, the small comedor y bar on the beach for lunch, Allen and I grab a few balls and begin to walk down the only road in the village, a collection of houses, fishing boats, animals and a couple of bars.  The ever present dust rises around us.  No one is moving outside in the heat.  A fat sow is walking along with us, her teats nearly dragging the ground.  Several scrawny dogs check us out.  In one of the homes, several little faces are visible peeking out from the shadows.  “Niños, aqui” I call out as mothers eye us with uncertainty.  Children appear.  We quickly pass out our stock of  softballs, baseballs and wiffle balls.  In the wink of an eye, two ball games break out.  Beasley is tossing a ball with a little boy on one side of the street and I am doing likewise on the other.  A half dozen fishermen mend nets in the shade behind us and smile at the impromptu games underway.  I show one boy my knuckler and Allen breaks off his overhand curve, such as it is.  A ball bounces off the head of Gigante’s newest owner of a bola but his enthusiasm for the game is not dimmed.  Paco, the yarmulke wearing capuchin monkey, contentedly picks fleas out of the ears of a small puppy.  Other children gather around to watch the games.   Soon our stomachs rumble and with“adios”, we head for the comedor.  We leave a gaggle of smiling faces on children and mothers.  Paco is also in a good mood.

            The bar at Magnific Rock occupies my favorite vantage point, high atop the rocky headland overlooking the Pacific coast.  A young boy sits in a hanging chair by himself.  I enter an otherwise empty bar on a cloudy day, broken rib in tow.  “Toña, por favor”.  I order lunch, take my beer to a chair out on the far deck and begin to enjoy the view.  I remember that there are a couple of softballs in the car and walk back out to get one.  When I re-enter, I toss the ball to the boy with“amigo, para ti”, and return to my chair.  I doze off.  “¡Amigo!”.  Startled, I look up and see my young friend, ball in hand, motioning to me to come play.  We adjourn to the main part of the bar and immediately commence a game of catch.  My friend is eleven, an only child and I am the only game in town.  He beams from ear-to-ear while we play.  His mother prepares my lunch.  Yet again, a simple ball has broken down barriers and allowed two people separated by age, color, nationality and language to bridge the gap between their worlds.  Está bien.

            Allen’s idea is a simple one.  It is also a stroke of genius.  We are visitors in Nicaragua not as people insulated and removed from los gentes.  We have not come to take more than we give.  We are here as people with an interest in actually reaching out and connecting with the people whom we encounter.  Does it change lives?  Of course it doesn’t.  Does it change the way some few people might view visitors from el norte?  I believe so.  It costs us so little to reach out and touch a few lives.  The return on the investment is incalculable.  The sparkle in little children’s eyes is a better souvenir than you could ever purchase.  Who doesn’t want to bring home a great souvenir and one that can never break, tarnish or get lost?  All its costs is a ball, a smile and a word en español.  My compadre is a visionary.

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