Let’s say you’re in a small town in a very
remote part of a Latin American country and all week you’ve been
working and ministering. You’ve taken part in church services, been
to schools to give talks on character development, met new people and
learned some new words in two languages, tutored children after
school, and been a blessing to the church and pastor in a number of
other ways. It’s Friday afternoon and you… play baseball. Of
course you play baseball, you always play baseball if
it’s not raining. The kids from the orphanage are very good and
you’re quite impressed with them.
But this is only the beginning of the
end of the week. On Saturday morning you sleep in just a bit, to say
9, then get up and meet the sunshine. Lounge around a bit, read,
listen to music, let the Lord take you into the day, and prepare for
your big lunch of rice and beans. After gathering your hat, camera
and some other Racers, you flag down a taxi and say “baseball”.
He nods, because there is only one place in all of Puerto that they
place baseball on Saturday; plus, it’s the semis and everybody
knows exactly what “baseball” means. Soon, after spending a
total of $1.00 for the taxi and admission, you are sitting on
concrete benches under some shade and behind a chain link fence with
the infield before you. But alas, there seems to be no players and
only a half-dozen people in the stands. Well, that’s because
everybody told you the game started at 1 and, silly you, you believed
them. Never believe them. Go a half hour late. At 1:45 the last of
the players arrive, there are now a dozen people in the stands, and
you are relieved that you might get to see a game after all.
And so it begins. A merry and relaxing
witness to a great tradition and a great sport. Feeling the warmth
of the day but not the blazes of the sunshine, you watch the world go
by. The stands are packed, heckling and telling jokes. The bat boys
are running around doing whatever they please; the old man has his
hand-held radio out and the children are selling popcorn. The
scorekeepers are puttering about along the far wall and some folks
have found free admission along the top of the wall. The Toros are
beating the Novatos 3-0. You’re rooting for the Novatos, by default
because you are behind their dugout, but the loss is really not that
important to you. What’s important to you is that you got to be
immersed in an atmosphere that is nothing short of idyllic for a
splendid afternoon. It was very much an American experience
(although baseball in Feb. is quite rare), but distinctly Nicaraguan
as well. A better afternoon of baseball and culture there might
never have been.
