The background is a medium sized mountain standing tall over the town of Cigual. The same song is blared on repeat over a loudspeaker somewhere in the distance. A few kids are running around barefoot on what constitutes the town’s baseball field. The ball field itself? It probably makes the ball field from The Sandlot look like Wrigley Field in comparison.
Balls gloves are literally held together by neon pink baling twine and strips of some unknown fabric. Behind where home plate should be located, there’s a tree with a flock of chickens up in it hollering and crowing. First base was a crushed pop bottle while second base consists of a deflated basketball. Far as I could tell, third base was stolen a long time ago. Goats and sheep have left the outfield a minefield of animal feces.
For the outfield fencing, a mixture of ridiculously large cactus plants and barbed wiring ensures that there will be very little crashing into the wall in order to make that Sports Center highlight reel catch. At one point a ball lands at the base of the cacti easily within arms reach. Yet one of the youth gets a 6 foot long stick to dig out the ball. I nearly found out firsthand why. I ran over just to grab it with the “glove” I had on, and was met with an angry swarm of wasps that populates all of the cactus plants. At that point, I couldn’t decide if I was on an actual ball field or prison yard meant to keep its occupants from escaping.
And foul territory? It isn’t quite as bad, but if you hit a ball in there, you’ll likely pay in scratches, skin, and blood for that one too. Briars and brush with thorns that are at a minimum of an inch long await those who have to wade in after the balls. Leaving them there isn’t exactly an option baseballs are not exactly of an unlimited supply.
It’s funny the things that hit you. That sort of rocks you a little bit with a solid dose of reality. For two weeks I’ve been in and out of houses. Houses with maybe 3 rooms and you cook out in back on a fire. Or I’ve seen little naked kids running around with machetes. There are the trash piles throughout the streets or sidewalks. Despite those things never being the norm of any of the places I’ve ever lived or traveled to, nothing was exactly shocking to me either. Of all the reality checks I could have had, it was a baseball field that gave it to me. Maybe it is because in the US I’d be hard pressed to find a field with even one of these issues, much less all of them.
Despite the conditions, the youth will play on. This is their pastime. They live, breath, and sweat baseball here in the Dominican Republic. Poor conditions or not, this baseball field is one of constant joy for all who play there.
