Thursday, February 1, 2018
Tuesday, December 5, 2017
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
Letter to My Younger Self | The Players' Tribune. Yonder Alonso ... MLB Player.
Letter to My Younger Self | The Players' Tribune (Yonder Alonso ... MLB cuban player
Monday, May 1, 2017
Minnie Miñoso Old Pic.
 |
| Foto Old Pics . @BSmile |
Orestes "Minnie" Miñoso (born Saturnino Orestes Armas Miñoso Arrieta, /mᵻˈnoʊsoʊ/; Spanish pronunciation: [miˈɲoso], November 29, 1925 – March 1, 2015), nicknamed "The Cuban Comet" and "Mr. White Sox", was a Cuban Negro league and Major League Baseball (MLB) player. He began his baseball career in 1946 and became an All-Star third baseman with the New York Cubans and was signed by the Cleveland Indians after the 1948 season as baseball's color line slowly fell. Miñoso went on to become an All-Star left fielder with the Indians and Chicago White Sox. The first Black Cuban in the major leagues and the first black player in White Sox history, as a 1951 rookie he was the one of the first Latin Americans to play in an MLB All-Star Game.
Miñoso was one of the most popular and dynamic players in White Sox franchise history. He helped the "Go-Go" White Sox become one of the premier teams of the 1950s and 1960s. A rare power threat on a team known for speed and defense, Miñoso also held the White Sox record for career home runs from 1956 to 1974.
Miñoso left the major leagues following the 1964 season, but went on playing and managing in Mexico through 1973. He rejoined the White Sox as a coach, and made brief but highly publicized player appearances in 1976 and 1980. He became the third player to get a hit after the age of 50 and the second player to appear in the major leagues in five decades. Miñoso's White Sox uniform number 9 was retired in 1983, and a statue of him was unveiled at U.S. Cellular Field in 2004. Miñoso was elected to the Cuban Baseball Hall of Fame in Exile in 1983, and to the Mexican Professional Baseball Hall of Fame in 1996.
In 2014, Miñoso appeared for the second time as a candidate on the National Baseball Hall of Fame's Golden Era Committee election ballot[2] for possible Hall of Fame consideration in 2015. He and the other candidates including former White Sox teammate Billy Pierce, and two other former players from Cuba, Tony Oliva and Luis Tiant, all missed induction in 2015.[
Miñoso was an American League All Star for seven seasons and a Gold Glove winner for three seasons when he was 30's. He batted over 300 for eight seasons. He was an AL leader in triples and stolen bases three times each and in hits, doubles, and total bases once each. Willie Mays (179 steals) and Miñoso (162 steals} have been widely credited with leading the resurgence of speed as an offensive weapon in the 1950's. Miñoso was particularly adept at reaching base, leading the AL in times hit by pitch a record ten times, and holding the league mark for career times hit by pitch from 1959 to 1985. Miñoso, as a defensive standout, led the AL left fielders in assists six times and in putouts and double plays four times.
Miñoso became eligible for election to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1970 – a year before the Hall began considering players from the Negro leagues or taking into account the accomplishments of major leaguers in the Negro leagues – and was dropped from the ballot for insufficient support. He was restored to the ballot five years after his final 1980 appearances as a player, and finally began to receive support as a candidate, remaining on the ballot for fourteen years before his eligibility expired; however, most of the writers voting by that point had little memory of him during his prime. In 2001, historian Bill James selected Miñoso as the tenth greatest left fielder of all time; based on the then-general belief that Miñoso was born in 1922 rather than 1925, James wrote, "Had he gotten the chance to play when he was 21 years old, I think he'd probably be rated among the top thirty players of all time."[56]
Author Stuart Miller makes the case for Miñoso's election based on the wins above replacement (WAR) statistic, which calculates the number of additional wins a team would get from a player's production compared to having played a replacement-level minor league player at the position. Miñoso is among the top five AL players in WAR for seven of his MLB seasons, ranking first in WAR for two of those seasons.[57] Jay Jaffe of Sports Illustrated has written that Miñoso's Hall of Fame candidacy may have been damaged by the publicity stunt game appearances in his later life. He said that the biggest question for Hall of Fame voters would be how much potential major league production was taken away from Miñoso because baseball was not integrated at the outset of his career.[58]
(wikipedia)
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Friday, August 12, 2016
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Cubanos en la NBA: Lazaro Borrell
(Tomado de la Pagina de Facebook de Ile Duarte "Deportistas Cubanos por el Mundo"
Lázaro Borrell: Cubanos en la NBA
Por Carlos González
Ni aquel tiro libre que le costó un campeonato. Ni aquel día de 1999 que, de la forma menos deseada, desistió de la selección nacional, de Cuba, de sus seres más queridos, porque tenía otras ambiciones en su horizonte. Ninguno de esos instantes logra ser, desde mi opinión, tan desgarradores para el basquetbolista villaclareño Lázaro Borrell (20 de septiembre 1972), como tener que despedir a sus padres desde una interminable distancia de 90 millas (que se nos hace corta vista desde otras circunstancias), de enterarse por sendas llamadas telefónicas y quedarse atado ante la imposibilidad de venir a Cuba.
Primero su madre, luego su padre. Por ello no pudo cumplir la promesa de reflejar la imagen de San Lázaro bien dimensionada en su espalda, la cual hizo en ocasión del día que pudiera estar con toda su familia. Mas, lleva el retrato de ese santo en uno de sus brazos. El otrora ala-pívot del combinado nacional y uno de los dos cubanos con minutos en la NBA, ha tenido que enfrentar muchas rémoras a lo largo de su vida deportiva, sobre todo en los Estados Unidos. Una andadura de idas y vueltas que complacientemente comparte con Deportistas Cubanos por el Mundo a través de una extensa entrevista.
¿Qué recuerdos asaltan tu mente cuando te pregunto por la Liga Superior de Baloncesto (LSB) que tú jugaste?
Creo que fue una de las mejores ideas que tuvo la Federación de baloncesto para levantar el nivel de este deporte en Cuba a nivel local, pues en los cuatro equipos estaba repartido todo el núcleo de la selección nacional y así el público podía ver más baloncesto y de mejor nivel.
Fuiste la estrella de tu quinteto de los Lobos de Villa Clara por muchos años. Apartando la modestia, profundízame sobre eso.
“Tuve la suerte de empezar desde muy joven en los Lobos y contar con la ayuda y guía de entrenadores de mucha experiencia y jugadores también avezados como Jorge Luis Moret, Carlos Valle, Leonardo Maravilla” Pérez y muchos otros que me ayudaron en mi desarrollo. Como siempre digo, lo que fui como jugador, se lo debo a mis entrenadores y compañeros de equipos, que cada día me ayudaron a ser mejor jugador y mejor persona.
¿Cuándo llegas al equipo nacional cubano y en qué torneo? Haz un balance de tu periplo con el uniforme de las cuatro letras y lo que significó para ti.
Llegué en enero de 1988 como invitado. Luego del Campeonato Nacional, paso a ser miembro del equipo Cuba. Mi primer torneo oficial fue el Centrobasquet de la Habana 1989, y en pocas palabras fueron 11 años defendiendo la camiseta del equipo nacional con mucho orgullo y junto a mis compañeros, siempre tratamos de dar lo mejor de nosotros. Los mejores resultados que obtuvimos fueron los tres torneos Centrobasquet seguidos que ganamos: República Dominicana 1995, Honduras 1997 y como broche de oro, La Habana 1999”.
Tengo entendido que jugaste profesional con el conjunto argentino Obras Sanitarias, junto a Ángel Oscar Caballero, antes de dar tomar tu decisión definitiva en 1999. Háblame sobre eso.
Hubo una primera experiencia en la que Ángel Oscar y yo jugamos en Argentina. Fue una experiencia que me favoreció mucho en mi carrera deportiva y de esa época tengo muy buenos recuerdos.
Abandonas la escuadra cubana que intervino en el Preolímpico de Puerto Rico 1999, en un momento en el que sin dudas estabas en el top three del baloncesto cubano, ¿por qué tomas esta decisión?
Fue una decisión super difícil. Primero dejaba atrás a mi familia, mis amigos, toda una vida y me enfrentaba a lo desconocido. En ese momento sentía la necesidad de probarme a un nivel competitivo más fuerte, tenía mis propias añoranzas, estaba entrando en una edad que no tenía mucho tiempo para esperar y no se vislumbraba que hubiera algún cambio como los hay hoy.
Pero renunciaste a tu familia y a un mar de pueblo que seguía los encestes de ese mulato alto de más de 2 metros llamado Lázaro Borrell. ¿Qué implicó eso para ti?
Implicó muchas cosas. Mucha gente que me quería y me seguía, como bien dices, se dividió en opiniones hacia mi persona. Me catalogaron con muchos adjetivos desfavorables, sin saber que yo sentía o pensaba. En los primeros años tuve muchas noches encerrado en una habitación, llorando, porque no siempre lo que brilla es oro.
Tu llegada a la NBA provocó muchas ilusiones para quienes te seguían, esperaban un rendimiento duradero tuyo a ese nivel. Sin embargo, tu paso por el mejor baloncesto del mundo fue efímero, ¿a qué se debió eso?
“También provocó mucha ilusión en mí, pero y no es por justificarme, la barrera del idioma y las lesiones de rodilla con que llegué, incidieron en esa actuación breve en la NBA, además de una falta de preparación individual de mi parte.
Aunque breve, llegar a ese nivel es meritorio, digno de aplausos muchos. Descríbeme tu trayectoria por los Seattle Supersonics.
Fue una linda experiencia, desde que llegué me ayudaron mucho, aprendí a conocer y estudiar un poco más el juego del baloncesto, que no era como yo me lo imaginaba.
También me ayudó a prepararme de una forma diferente.
También me ayudó a prepararme de una forma diferente.
Después de eso, irrumpes frenéticamente en España y en distintos clubes de Latinoamérica sobre todo, y aportas muchísimo al plantel Obras Sanitarias, una especie de tu anterior equipo Villa Clara para ti. Háblame de eso.
“En 2001, cuando nace mi hijo, decido no jugar más, pero gracias a los consejos de un gran amigo mío argentino, que jugó conmigo en Obras Sanitarias, regreso a las canchas y tomo un segundo aire en Argentina, ya como jugador profesional y con más experiencia. Allí también fui recibido de la mejor manera”.
Tu generación fue una de las mejores del basquetbol cubano, ¿acaso crees que supera a la de los míticos hombres del bronce olímpico de 1972?
Me gustaría poder decir que sí, pero esa medalla de bronce olímpica es insuperable. Tal vez podamos decir que fuimos los mejores después de la generación de Múnich 1972.
Andrés Gilbert fue el primero que abrió las puertas de la NBA para Cuba, ¿qué opinión te merece este jugador?
Andrés Gilbert es un ejemplo de superación. Llegó al equipo nacional creo, sin haber jugado en las categorías formativas, y trabajando día a día se convirtió en una pieza fundamental del conjunto cubano y luego tuvo experiencia en la NBA y en Europa
¿Cuándo te retiras y por qué?
El 24 de noviembre de 2009 me lastimo la rodilla derecha. Una semana después me la tuve que operar y ahí se terminó mi carrera como jugador activo y llegó mi despedida para siempre. No fue de la forma que quería, ni en el lugar que hubiera deseado, pero son cosas de la vida.
Si te cometo una falta antideportiva y te obligo a que sueltes tres tiros libres, traducidos a los tres mejores momentos de tu carrera deportiva, ¿cuáles me dirías?
Siempre van a ser momentos en los que gané algo. El primero, mi último torneo como jugador escolar categoría 15-16 años, jugando con mi equipo de Villa Clara, le ganamos por la discusión de la medalla de oro al conjunto de Ciudad de la Habana en la Ciudad Deportiva. El segundo, jugar un Campeonato Mundial con la selección de Cuba, en Toronto 1994. Y el tercero, haber ganado tres Centrobasquet consecutivos, pero en especial el de la Habana, cuando vencimos en la final al equipo de Puerto Rico, a pesar de que muy pocos nos daban como favoritos, incluso, algunos periodistas locales.
Hablando de tiros libres, es inevitable hablar del que quizás fue tu peor momento deportivo, aquel disparo que fallaste en tu propia provincia y costó un campeonato.
Esa cruz tengo que cargarla por el resto de mi vida. Toda la gente de Villa Clara puede estar convencida de que si tomé la pelota para el último tiro, fue porque me tocaba y nadie más que yo quería ese título.
Siempre di el 100% por ganar partidos, pero ese día la vida me jugó una mala pasada, pero en toda novela hay héroes y villanos, y por desgracia en ese momento me tocó ser villano.
Desde 1999 hasta enero del 2015, estuviste sin venir a Cuba, viendo a tus seres más queridos a 90 millas, ¿por qué no habías venido antes y qué te encuentras cuando llegas aquí después de 15 años?
“Primero había una serie de leyes y medidas que me impedían regresar, hasta que después se autoriza el regreso de aquellos deportistas que tenían más de 8 años fuera de Cuba. Después de 15 años y medio sin venir, solo te puedo decir que me encontré con el afecto y cariño más fuerte que nunca de mi familia, amigos y algún que otro fanático que me pudo ver.
Te enteras de la muerte de tus padres vía telefónica. Háblame sobre eso, ¿hiciste intentos por venir al saber de los fallecimientos o antes?
“Fue el momento más triste, doloroso, amargo, terrible que puede pasar un hijo. Cuando el fallecimiento de mi mamá, quise venir, pero todavía no tenía mi residencia en Estados Unidos en aquel momento. Al morir mi padre, ya tenía mi residencia, pero todo ocurrió de un día para otro casi.
Llevas tatuado en tu brazo la bendita imagen de San Lázaro, todo un santo milagroso que arrastra multitudes en Cuba cada año, ¿por qué llevas ese tatuaje, acaso crees perseverantemente en él?
Desde que tengo uso de razón mi mamá siempre lo veneró. Recuerdo que en mi casa siempre los 17 de diciembre se velaba a San Lázaro y yo también seguí la tradición. De hecho, cumplí mi sueño de tatuármelo para que este conmigo en todo momento, a donde quiera que vaya.
¿Cómo ves la figura de tu hermana Leonor Borrell, toda una gloriosa en el mundo del baloncesto?
Mi jugadora de básquet favorita, siempre la vi como un ejemplo a seguir, siempre quise ser como ella, pero a la vista, me quedé muy por debajo-sonríe.
¿Cómo describes tu vida en Estados Unidos desde que llegaste hasta hoy? ¿A qué te dedicas en la actualidad?
Cuando tenemos responsabilidades no tenemos tiempo para nada, pero estoy contento aquí, he aprendido muchas cosas como otras culturas, idiomas, he conocido mucha gente y me he reencontrado con otras amistades que hacía mucho tiempo no veía. Pero sí te puedo asegurar que extraño todo lo que dejé atrás en Cuba, ahora dedico mi tiempo a preparar a mi hijo que juega al básquet también y al negocio del transporte, algo completamente diferente a mi profesión.
El chama juega básquet, ¿superará al padre?
Espero que me supere a mí y que pueda ser tan bueno como la tía.
Un mensaje a Gustavo, fanático tuyo que te recuerda insistentemente a pesar de que su equipo fuera Capitalinos.
Un saludo bien grande para Gustavo y siempre es bueno saber que a pesar de los años todavía los fanáticos te recuerdan. Dile que si quiere podemos jugar un 1 vs 1, concluye en medio de risas.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Alexei Bell toca las puertas de MLB. Invitado a los Spring Trainings?
For the past month, 32-year-old Cuban right fielder Alexei Bell has been training on a parched diamond in Mexicali, just over the border from California, hoping to defy the odds and land an MLB contract.
If Bell is successful, he will become the first player in nearly 60 years to leave Cuba legally and play in the majors, without having to defect.
Bell spent last season toiling for the Quebec Capitales of the independent Can-Am League, under a unique agreement the Canadian team struck with the Cuban government. It was a test case for a similar deal Cuba eventually wants to strike with MLB amid renewed diplomatic relations with the United States. But last month, after several years of lobbying the Castro government, Bell was granted his unconditional release from Cuban baseball. It was a reward for his years of loyal- ty, and because Cuba no longer needs the aging slugger on its national team.
“We respected his right to leave legally,” Heriberto Suarez, president of the Cuban Baseball Federation, said in a recent interview.
Now, with the clock ticking on his career and his big-league dreams still burning, Bell is out to prove to the scouts he has something left.
“I feel liberated,” he said after a recent workout, with his agent translating. “The door has opened. Now I can see the path to get to my goal.”
Had Bell left Cuba following the 2008 Summer Olympics, when he won the tournament’s batting crown with a .500 average, he’d be a wealthy man today. But he turned down offers from the New York Yankees and Philadelphia Phillies because he was unwilling to defect and leave his family behind. Since then, age and injuries have affected his production – he knows this may be his last crack at the majors.
Last month, Bell’s agent, Charisse-Espinosa Dash, a New Jersey lawyer who has represented several Dominican players making the jump to the majors, held an open showcase for scouts to watch Bell train.
In Mexico, where Bell’s hitting exploits on the international stage are well known, the one-day event was billed as the “Big Show” in one local paper. Thirteen teams sent scouts, including representatives of the Blue Jays, Yankees, San Francisco Giants, Boston Red Sox and Kansas City Royals. They came to see if Bell bears a resemblance to the dangerous hitter he once was – a superstar at home who remains the only player to hit 30 home runs and 100 RBIs in Cuba’s 90-game National League season.
» Such showcases are a rite of passage for international free agents. When MLB teams gather in Florida and Arizona for spring training each year, many of their scouts are on the road, crisscrossing Mexico, Dominican Republic and Venezuela to attend these tryouts. They are searching for undiscovered talent, the next big thing. After watching a player train for as little as 45 minutes, they file a report back to the parent club that can make or break a career, determining whether the player deserves a closer look, an invite to training camp or an expedited offer.
There are few rules to the format: When Yoenis Cespedes defected from Cuba in 2011, his agent produced a video of him training in the Dominican Republic. Simply titled The Showcase, it was designed to whet the appetites of scouts who’d never seen him play. The clips of Cespedes – now with the New York Mets – doing Herculean standing jumps, bench presses and a battery of floor exercises turned the video into an online sensation, mostly because it was so unusual.
Live showcases are far more focused affairs, crafted carefully by agents who know what the scouts want to see: batting practice, hitting against live pitching, fielding drills and a 60-metre sprint.
On the morning of his showcase, Bell awoke at 7 a.m. to read the Bible and pray. Some scouts had already made trips to Mexicali in previous weeks to see him train in private, but Bell knew the one-day tryout carried extra significance. Fail here, and the door to the majors could easily slam shut.
The scouts arrived bearing the tools of their trade: stopwatches, camcorders and notebooks. Some were grizzled veterans with grey hair and poker faces; others looked to be in their mid-20s, fresh from their college playing days. Several spat chewing tobacco as they watched Bell stretch.
There is considerable gamesmanship employed when evaluating talent. Scouts are open and jocular with each other, inquiring about families, old friends, quality of hotel rooms and where to get a beer. Yet rarely do they discuss the player at hand.
“If I say anything,” said one scout from an American League club who insisted on anonymity, “then his price might go up. So I can’t really talk.”
When the showcase begins, Bell stands in deep right field, on a patch of grass that has been mowed just for the occasion. It stands out from centre field, where the weeds grow ankle deep.
A man in a Florida Marlins windbreaker hits a series of ground balls that Bell scoops up and hurls to third base and home plate. The scouts watch his arm and the arc on the ball. Bell’s first throw hops into third, but subsequent attempts are better. The scouts remain silent. Most came to see him hit, and they soon get their wish.
The hitting portion of any showcase begins with light batting practice. It mostly serves as a warmup, but a few scouts watch intently, trying to gauge the ease and fluidity of the player’s swing. This proves unexpectedly difficult, though, because the local Mexican pitcher hired to serve up easy pitches appears too nervous to throw a strike.
After a half-dozen pitches miss the zone entirely, the scouts began to groan and the young man is relieved of his duties. Bell seems unfazed. A man wearing jeans takes the mound in relief. “Going to the bullpen already?” one scout asks sardonically.
If Bell wasn’t nervous coming in, he should be now. He’s never seen this new pitcher before and he must acclimatize quickly. He’ll only get a limited number of pitches to make an impression. After a few line drives to centre field, Bell settles in and smacks a home run over the fence in left field. His agent looks relieved.
Bell is now warm and the scouts are waiting for more. A minor-league pitcher from Mexicali named Marvel Manriquez takes the mound and begins throwing fastballs. After a mix of line drives and ground balls, Bell begins to find his rhythm. A long ball lands on the warning track in centre field, followed by a home run that soars over a clump of agave plants beyond the right-field fence.
A National League scout says he’s come to see how Bell’s hits carry. Does he launch balls into the sky or do they crest early and barely leave the park? It’s the question scouts ask about any hitter, but for Bell it is particularly important. Power is his calling card – he once hit two grand slams in a single inning in Cuba. But that skill diminishes with age.
As Bell swings away, scouts line the baselines with camcorders focussed, zeroing in on his mechanics. Some are less concerned about where the ball lands than the rotation of his torso at the plate.
Pitch by pitch, he finds a groove, smacking a home run to centre field that bounces off the roof of a house across the street. Somewhere around the 30th pitch he faces, Bell clobbers the first of three consecutive home runs, and almost notches a fourth. By the time Manriquez walks back to the dugout, Bell has hit 15 out of the park. The scouts remain silent, other than a few who debate the actual distance to the outfield fence. An American league scout suggests to Bell’s agent he may want to see the player hit at the club’s spring training facility, to get a better idea of the distance on the ball.
The last event is a 60-metre sprint. Using a tape measure, the catcher gamely measures out the appropriate distance from home plate. But before Bell lines up to run, the Yankees scout questions the distance. He explains that he once attended a showcase where a player ran what turned out to be a few metres short of 60-metres. Not surprisingly, his time was great. But the stunt didn’t go over well.
The scout checks the distance and places an orange cone at exactly the 60-metre mark. Bell, who is a stocky 5-foot-7 with choppy speed, takes off from home plate as a half-dozen Mexican players gathered on the sidelines shout “Vamos! Vamos!”
When Bell crosses the line, the scouts check their times among each other, comparing stopwatches: 6.70, 6.65, 6.72. Three scouts cluster together and speak in hushed tones. Bell returns to the dugout to chug water.
Few showcases end with a contract offer on the spot. The scouts will return to their clubs to discuss what they saw and figure out whether an offer is warranted. Which means Bell must wait to see if his historic bid will come through.
Later at dinner, Espinosa-Dash reminds Bell he only needs one offer to make the big leagues. There are only so many contracts to go around, but he is hopeful.
“When it comes to my age, they were able to see for themselves the shape that I’m in,” Bell says.
Before he can sign, Bell must be cleared by MLB for free agency, an administrative step that is expected in the coming weeks. At that point, he can start talking to teams about a deal.
It’s been a long road – in less than a year, he’s gone from Cuba to Quebec City to a border town in Mexico, where America is so close he can see it on the horizon. Had he walked away from Cuba six or seven years ago, Bell could have asked for the world. Now, all he can ask for is a shot.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Arturo Miranda: De Cuba a una hoja de arce en el corazón. Por Carlos González.
(Tomado de la pagina de Facebook de Ile Duarte "Deportistas Cubanos por el Mundo)
Arturo Miranda: De Cuba a una hoja de arce en el corazón
Por Carlos González
De Arturo Miranda conocía poco o nada. Solo que era un clavadista
cubano al que le vetaron la posibilidad de competir por Canadá en los
Juegos Olímpicos de Sidney 2000. Pero supuse que detrás de eso había una
historia interesante que merecía ser contada. Impulsado por mi instinto
periodístico anduve y desanduve la Internet y con las fraternas
palabras de un amigo y excompañero de Miranda de la selección nacional
cubana, confeccioné este material.
Fue un cable de El Nuevo Herald, fechado el 19 de agosto de 2000, lo que me abrió las puertas de este clavadista habanero. Decía que las autoridades cubanas han rehusado permitir que el saltador de trampolín naturalizado canadiense Arturo Miranda () acuda a la justa olímpica en representación de Canadá. Tras búsquedas infructuosas en archivos físicos sobre su posible participación en defensa de Cuba, es que contacté con el otrora clavadista Abel Ramírez, entre los dos mejores en la génesis de este deporte en la Isla.
Ramírez me dijo que efectivamente se acordaba de Miranda, colega suyo alrededor de cinco años en el equipo grande y que el evento de mayor envergadura que recuerda de él son los Juegos Panamericanos de La Habana 1991, además de intervenir en el Centroamericano por edades en Venezuela 1989 y monarca nacional en plataforma a 10 metros. Amplía que se fue del clavado aproximadamente en 1992 y continuó su labor en el ballet acuático que se realizaba en los hoteles, espectáculo vendible de mucho agrado para el turismo internacional.
Contrario a lo que dicen algunas publicaciones de que Arturo no asistió a los Juegos Olímpicos de Barcelona 1992 por falta de presupuesto, otra versión fidedigna apunta que él no estaba en los planes para ese certamen. Solamente se barajaba con fuerza los nombres de Maité Garbey, Rioger Ramírez y Abel Ramírez, los cuales a la postre no fueron incluidos.
Después Miranda contraería nupcias con una canadiense que trabajaba como consultora de la industria turística cubana y se traslada a Toronto cuando el contrato de ella caducó en 1995. Una vez asentado en esa nación norteña retomó los entrenamientos y se propuso despertar las pretensiones olímpicas, habida cuenta de la cercanía de la justa cuatrienal de Sidney 2000. "He sacrificado muchas cosas para esto porque pensé que era posibles.
Todavía no he recuperado mi plena confianza en el deporte, pero estoy trabajando en ello.", dijo Miranda a pocos días de la cita estival de marras, luego de que se perdiera cerca de 10 días de entrenamientos, al lesionarse un hombro durante un encuentro internacional en México.
Este atleta nacido el 19 de enero de 1971 recibió la ciudadanía canadiense en diciembre de 1999 y ya tenía cumplido el período establecido en un reglamento que dispone que si un deportista cambia de nacionalidad, su país de origen tiene la potestad de vetar durante tres años su participación con su nueva nación. Sin embargo, el COI expresó que el ornamentalista no recibió el aval de Cuba para competir bajo otra bandera.
Los cubanos le negaron el permiso y protestaron por la presencia de Miranda en la delegación canadiense. El COI lo declaró inhabilitado para competir en Sydney la semana pasada, según reportó un artículo del 14 de septiembre de 2000. Pero el cubano superó el obstáculo de no ver realizado su sueño olímpico y se mantuvo entrenando consistentemente con ansias de obtener desempeños satisfactorios y quizás algún día llegar a una final bajo los cinco aros. Su casta deportiva lo mantenía embullado, pues tanto su madre (clavadista) y su padre (luchador) fueron deportistas.
En el Campeonato Mundial de Natación de Montreal 2005 se coló en la final del trampolín de tres metros, ubicándose en el onceno lugar. Al año siguiente, junto a su compañero Alexandre Despatie, se colgó al cuello la medalla de oro del trampolín sincronizado a tres metros de los Juegos de la Mancomunidad de Melbourne, Australia.
En el 2007 alcanzó sendos resultados que le dieron confianza con vistas a concursar en las venideras Olimpiadas de Beijing 2008. De nuevo junto a Despatie y de nuevo en Melbourne (ciudad que se convirtió en talismán del antillano), conquistó un resultado con matices esplendorosos: plata en el trampolín sincronizado a tres metros del Campeonato Mundial de Deportes Acuáticos. "No esperábamos una medalla la verdad.
Queríamos buenos resultados y estar entre los primeros () Ojalá mantengamos el equipo con Alexander", expresó a la AP, refiriéndose a la posibilidad de que la dupla se mantuviera junta para Beijing, pues este resultado le aseguró un cupo.
Una presea de bronce fue el resultado acaparado en los Juegos Panamericanos de Rio de Janeiro 2007, en su modalidad fuerte, la misma que le permitió hacerse de un tercer puesto en la Copa Mundial de 2008. Llegaron los Juegos Olímpicos y a los 37 años Arturo Miranda cumplía su anhelo, debutaba a este nivel con un respetable quinto lugar en el sincronizado de tres metros, en compañía de Despatie.
Después de esta magna cita, Arturo se retira como atleta del deporte activo y pasa a ocupar funciones como entrenador de su compañero y amigo Alexandre Despatie, quien tiene una vitrina abarrotada de grandes logros como dos subtítulos olímpicos, tres coronas mundiales, nueve diademas en Juegos de la Mancomunidad y cuatro reinados continentales. En total suma en estos cuatro eventos 28 preseas de distintos colores, lo que lo ubican como uno de los clavadistas más grandes de la historia.
En el año 2009, cuando Despatie alcanzó dos bronces en el Mundial de Italia, Miranda fue agasajado con el Petro Canada Coaching Excellence Award por conducir a su discípulo a esas actuaciones. Más tarde acudió a sus segundas citas estivales, esta vez como preparador en Londres 2012.
Actualmente es entrenador del club Unattached y también ha guiado a otras figuras relevantes del clavado canadiense como Reuben Ross y Philippe Comtois.
Arturo Miranda: De Cuba a una hoja de arce en el corazón
Por Carlos González
De Arturo Miranda conocía poco o nada. Solo que era un clavadista
cubano al que le vetaron la posibilidad de competir por Canadá en los
Juegos Olímpicos de Sidney 2000. Pero supuse que detrás de eso había una
historia interesante que merecía ser contada. Impulsado por mi instinto
periodístico anduve y desanduve la Internet y con las fraternas
palabras de un amigo y excompañero de Miranda de la selección nacional
cubana, confeccioné este material.Fue un cable de El Nuevo Herald, fechado el 19 de agosto de 2000, lo que me abrió las puertas de este clavadista habanero. Decía que las autoridades cubanas han rehusado permitir que el saltador de trampolín naturalizado canadiense Arturo Miranda () acuda a la justa olímpica en representación de Canadá. Tras búsquedas infructuosas en archivos físicos sobre su posible participación en defensa de Cuba, es que contacté con el otrora clavadista Abel Ramírez, entre los dos mejores en la génesis de este deporte en la Isla.
Ramírez me dijo que efectivamente se acordaba de Miranda, colega suyo alrededor de cinco años en el equipo grande y que el evento de mayor envergadura que recuerda de él son los Juegos Panamericanos de La Habana 1991, además de intervenir en el Centroamericano por edades en Venezuela 1989 y monarca nacional en plataforma a 10 metros. Amplía que se fue del clavado aproximadamente en 1992 y continuó su labor en el ballet acuático que se realizaba en los hoteles, espectáculo vendible de mucho agrado para el turismo internacional.
Contrario a lo que dicen algunas publicaciones de que Arturo no asistió a los Juegos Olímpicos de Barcelona 1992 por falta de presupuesto, otra versión fidedigna apunta que él no estaba en los planes para ese certamen. Solamente se barajaba con fuerza los nombres de Maité Garbey, Rioger Ramírez y Abel Ramírez, los cuales a la postre no fueron incluidos.
Después Miranda contraería nupcias con una canadiense que trabajaba como consultora de la industria turística cubana y se traslada a Toronto cuando el contrato de ella caducó en 1995. Una vez asentado en esa nación norteña retomó los entrenamientos y se propuso despertar las pretensiones olímpicas, habida cuenta de la cercanía de la justa cuatrienal de Sidney 2000. "He sacrificado muchas cosas para esto porque pensé que era posibles.
Todavía no he recuperado mi plena confianza en el deporte, pero estoy trabajando en ello.", dijo Miranda a pocos días de la cita estival de marras, luego de que se perdiera cerca de 10 días de entrenamientos, al lesionarse un hombro durante un encuentro internacional en México.
Este atleta nacido el 19 de enero de 1971 recibió la ciudadanía canadiense en diciembre de 1999 y ya tenía cumplido el período establecido en un reglamento que dispone que si un deportista cambia de nacionalidad, su país de origen tiene la potestad de vetar durante tres años su participación con su nueva nación. Sin embargo, el COI expresó que el ornamentalista no recibió el aval de Cuba para competir bajo otra bandera.
Los cubanos le negaron el permiso y protestaron por la presencia de Miranda en la delegación canadiense. El COI lo declaró inhabilitado para competir en Sydney la semana pasada, según reportó un artículo del 14 de septiembre de 2000. Pero el cubano superó el obstáculo de no ver realizado su sueño olímpico y se mantuvo entrenando consistentemente con ansias de obtener desempeños satisfactorios y quizás algún día llegar a una final bajo los cinco aros. Su casta deportiva lo mantenía embullado, pues tanto su madre (clavadista) y su padre (luchador) fueron deportistas.
En el Campeonato Mundial de Natación de Montreal 2005 se coló en la final del trampolín de tres metros, ubicándose en el onceno lugar. Al año siguiente, junto a su compañero Alexandre Despatie, se colgó al cuello la medalla de oro del trampolín sincronizado a tres metros de los Juegos de la Mancomunidad de Melbourne, Australia.
En el 2007 alcanzó sendos resultados que le dieron confianza con vistas a concursar en las venideras Olimpiadas de Beijing 2008. De nuevo junto a Despatie y de nuevo en Melbourne (ciudad que se convirtió en talismán del antillano), conquistó un resultado con matices esplendorosos: plata en el trampolín sincronizado a tres metros del Campeonato Mundial de Deportes Acuáticos. "No esperábamos una medalla la verdad.
Queríamos buenos resultados y estar entre los primeros () Ojalá mantengamos el equipo con Alexander", expresó a la AP, refiriéndose a la posibilidad de que la dupla se mantuviera junta para Beijing, pues este resultado le aseguró un cupo.
Una presea de bronce fue el resultado acaparado en los Juegos Panamericanos de Rio de Janeiro 2007, en su modalidad fuerte, la misma que le permitió hacerse de un tercer puesto en la Copa Mundial de 2008. Llegaron los Juegos Olímpicos y a los 37 años Arturo Miranda cumplía su anhelo, debutaba a este nivel con un respetable quinto lugar en el sincronizado de tres metros, en compañía de Despatie.
Después de esta magna cita, Arturo se retira como atleta del deporte activo y pasa a ocupar funciones como entrenador de su compañero y amigo Alexandre Despatie, quien tiene una vitrina abarrotada de grandes logros como dos subtítulos olímpicos, tres coronas mundiales, nueve diademas en Juegos de la Mancomunidad y cuatro reinados continentales. En total suma en estos cuatro eventos 28 preseas de distintos colores, lo que lo ubican como uno de los clavadistas más grandes de la historia.
En el año 2009, cuando Despatie alcanzó dos bronces en el Mundial de Italia, Miranda fue agasajado con el Petro Canada Coaching Excellence Award por conducir a su discípulo a esas actuaciones. Más tarde acudió a sus segundas citas estivales, esta vez como preparador en Londres 2012.
Actualmente es entrenador del club Unattached y también ha guiado a otras figuras relevantes del clavado canadiense como Reuben Ross y Philippe Comtois.
Friday, January 15, 2016
The Window. For Brayan Pena; The Player's Tribune
“Which color do you want?”
This is the question that changed my life. My friend held two pairs of batting gloves in his hands. One red, one green.
My heart was beating out of my chest. Security guards were everywhere. I tried to act casual, but I was sweating like crazy.
It was 1999. I was 16 years old, playing for the Cuban National Team. We had a qualifying game for the Pan-American Games in Venezuela, where my friend was living. I don’t even want to say his name, because he still has family in Cuba. When we arrived at the hotel, he came to see me and we had a regular chat, laughing and catching up.
Then when nobody else was around, he whispered to me, “Peña, if you want to leave Cuba, this is your chance. I’m willing to help you. I can get you to Costa Rica. But you have to be sure. There’s no turning back.”
It was my dream to play in the big leagues, but it wasn’t like I was some big star and had an MLB team waiting to sign me to a million dollar contract. I was just a chubby 16-year-old catcher from Havana who was a pretty decent ballplayer. If I got caught trying to defect, the consequences would be devastating. Not just for me, but for my whole family. I told him I had to think about it.
“Okay, but we don’t have much time,” he said. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to come to the hotel and bring you some batting gloves. I’ll have a red pair and a green pair. You choose which ones you want. Green means you really want to do it. Red means we forget all about it.”
This was all that was said. We couldn’t speak any more about it, because we were always being watched by officials from the team when we traveled to international tournaments. We couldn’t even go to the bathroom alone. I didn’t know what to do. I thought about calling my mother and father. I thought about talking to my teammates. But I didn’t want to get anybody in trouble, so I said nothing to anyone. That night, I didn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling and thought about what life could be like in America as a big leaguer. But then I thought about life with my family in Cuba — my grandma, my grandpa, my home.
At seven the next morning, our team went down to the lobby for breakfast and there was my friend, handing out batting gloves. He walked up to me, completely calm.
“Hey Peña, which color do you want?”
At that moment, my heart was beating out of my chest.
“Green.”
He tossed them to me. I went to my room and thought … Green. What now?
When I went back downstairs, there was a sealed letter for me at the reception desk:
The window is open in the bathroom. Climb out and I’ll be waiting for you with a car.
I sat down for breakfast and saw all my teammates. Yunel Escobar. Kendrys Morales. My friends. Was I ever going to see them again? Was this really the right decision? The emotions going through my body were indescribable.
After a few minutes, I got up and approached the security guy.
“Hey, is there any way I could go to the bathroom?”
“Yeah, but I have to go with you.”
“Okay, but I need some privacy, you know what I’m saying?”
“Sorry, but I’m coming with you.”
We walked over to the bathroom and I turned to him and kind of laughed.
“I don’t think you’re going to want to be in there for this one. Come on, where am I gonna go?”
“Okay Peña, you got five minutes. Hurry up.”
The door closed behind me. The window was open.
This was real. This was really happening. I started breathing so hard I thought I might pass out. On the other side of that window might be anything. It might be my friend. It might be security. Or it might be nobody at all. It might be freedom, or it might be jail.
I flushed the toilet to make some noise and jumped up and grabbed the ledge. I was numb, man. I was thinking, Be there. Please, please, please God, be there.
I crawled through the small opening …
And I saw my friend behind the wheel of his car.
He gave me a sign that it was all clear. I hit the ground and started running. The door opened, I dove in, and we started driving away. I looked out the back window. Nobody was following us. The hotel got smaller and smaller and then it disappeared.
I get goosebumps just thinking about that moment.
I had nothing but the clothes on my back. No bag. No money. No passport. My family didn’t know where I was going. My friends didn’t know. And the worst part was that I didn’t know if I would see any of them ever again.
But I had a dream, and nothing was going to stop me. When the car got about an hour outside of Caracas, I started weeping. I was so happy, and so sad. So excited, and so scared.
But you know what? I was free.
Some people might be reading this thinking, Peña, are you crazy? How could you crawl out a window and leave everybody you love with not even a dollar in your pocket?
But you know what I call that window? It was my window of opportunity. You might laugh, but I’m serious. Let me tell you a story. When I was a little boy, I used to play baseball all day in the sun. But we didn’t have any Gatorade or anything like that. So I used to drink way too much guarapo — water with sugar cane in it. This is Cuban Gatorade. Every Cuban kid knows it. But all the sugar made me a little chubby, so my coach told me to either go on a diet or park my butt behind home plate and be a catcher.
I love my grandma’s food too much, so I chose to be a catcher.
Back then, equipment was extremely hard to come by in Cuba. I used to share a mask with five or six other catchers. The chest protector we shared was probably from 1959. But the biggest problem was that I only had one pair of shoes that were so old and beat up that my toe would poke out the front.
Then one day, a friend showed up with a pair of baseball cleats that he got a hold of somehow. They looked a little bit funny, though.
“Hey Peña, they’re your size,” he said. “But there’s only one problem, bro. They’re both left shoes.”
It was like Christmas for me. I didn’t care. Give me the two left shoes. At least I have real baseball cleats. I thought I was so cool, man. I wore these things everywhere so I could get used to it. I played a whole year in two left shoes. Whatever, I was never that fast anyway.
My family thought this was the funniest thing ever. But you know what? I didn’t care how I looked. It protected my foot behind home plate. I was going to do whatever it took to get my opportunity to play baseball at the highest level I could.
When I was 10, my grandma Rosa told me, “Brayan, I know in my heart that you are going to do something special with baseball. You’re going to make us proud.”
To Americans, this might seem like no big deal. This kind of talk is in your blood here. But in Cuba, our window of opportunity is so small. To have my grandma believe that I was going to do great things meant the world to me.
And my grandma was right. It took me a year in Costa Rica trying out for scouts before I was drafted by the Atlanta Braves, and then five years in the minor leagues, but in 2005, my manager called me into his office and said, “Brayan Peña, tomorrow you go to Boston. You’re going to be a big league player.”
I ran out of that office and called my family in Cuba to tell them the news. We just cried and cried and cried. My grandma and my mom kept screaming, “Lo hiciste! Lo hiciste! Lo hiciste!”
(“You did it! You did it! You did it!”)
Listen, I know I’m never going to be a Hall of Famer. I may never win a World Series. But I could thank God every single day until the day I die for that phone call with my family, and it will still not even be close to enough thanks.
I was a big leaguer.
In the 11 years since that day, I have experienced so much. I met my wife, had children, brought my mom and dad to America, and I’ve even become an American citizen. I’ve played for the Braves, Royals, Tigers, Reds, and now the Cardinals.
But when you talk to Cuban players who have made it to America, there’s always a bit of pain behind the smiles. Because we cannot see our families in Cuba. We cannot go home. For 16 years I couldn’t hug my grandmother, and expected that I never would hug her again.
Then last season, the craziest thing happened. My friend Leonor Barua from the MLBPA came up to me and said, “Hey, I just want you to know, we’re talking with the Cuban government about a goodwill trip.” I thought it was just wishful thinking. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
But then at the winter meetings, Leonor came up to me with a big smile. “It’s happening. We just need a yes or a no. Do you want to go home?”
I said, “Yes, yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes.”
This is one of those moments in your life that feels like it has to be a movie. Even as the months passed by and I packed my suitcase, it didn’t feel real. Even as I got on the plane with José Abreu, Yasiel Puig, and Alexei Ramírez, it didn’t feel real. When the plane took off, it didn’t feel real.
I
was sitting next to Abreu. He risked his life fleeing Cuba on a small
boat and had not seen his young son in almost four years. He was quiet
the whole flight.
All of a sudden, I could feel the wheels of the plane being lowered for landing. We looked out the window and saw …
Man, it’s hard to even talk about this.
We looked out the window and saw the green tops of the trees. We saw our home.
I looked at Abreu and said, “This is real, man. This is really real.”
Ramírez, he just started laughing and laughing.
Puig, he jumps out of his seat and starts dancing in the aisle.
The flight attendant literally had to come get us all under control.
“Hey! Guys! You have to put your seatbelts on!”
We’re like, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. We’re just so excited. We’re finally home.”
But that was nothing compared to the moment when I was able to see my family.
For the first time in 16 years, I got to hug my grandma Rosa.
Thank you, God.
This trip meant so much to so many people, not just the players. She couldn’t believe that I was able to come back to Cuba in such a friendly and healthy atmosphere. I wish everybody reading this could experience the energy and the passion and the love running through everyone’s veins.
When we got to the Estadio Latinoamericano, where we held a youth baseball clinic, I got to see how much it meant to the children.
Latinoamericano is like the Yankee Stadium of Cuban baseball. This was the stadium I saw so many times on TV. I had dreamed about crouching behind that plate since I was 10 years old. Now I get to walk out there and teach these kids as an MLB player? Amazing. Just amazing.
The kids don’t have the fancy cleats and bats that kids in America have, but they love the game so much. They don’t let anything stop them. This one kid, I remember his name was Mario Gonzalez. He came up to me and said, “Brayan Peña! I just want to tell you that you, Raisel Iglesias, and Aroldis Chapman make the Cincinnati Reds a lot of fun to watch.”
I was like, What?! How do you know all this?! Here’s a 10-year-old kid in Cuba, who doesn’t have Internet, who has probably never left Havana, who knows all about the Cincinnati Reds.
Nothing can get in the way of a kid’s passion and love for something. They’ll find a way.
Listen, I am not a politician. I’m just a baseball player. But I do believe in my heart that this trip was the start of something special. I know there’s a lot of issues to work out between the American and Cuban governments and MLB, but we should all come together to find a way.
I do not know what the future holds. But the people making those decisions should think about Mario Gonzalez.
This is our window of opportunity. Maybe it is small. But why should that stop us?
This is the question that changed my life. My friend held two pairs of batting gloves in his hands. One red, one green.
My heart was beating out of my chest. Security guards were everywhere. I tried to act casual, but I was sweating like crazy.
It was 1999. I was 16 years old, playing for the Cuban National Team. We had a qualifying game for the Pan-American Games in Venezuela, where my friend was living. I don’t even want to say his name, because he still has family in Cuba. When we arrived at the hotel, he came to see me and we had a regular chat, laughing and catching up.
Then when nobody else was around, he whispered to me, “Peña, if you want to leave Cuba, this is your chance. I’m willing to help you. I can get you to Costa Rica. But you have to be sure. There’s no turning back.”
It was my dream to play in the big leagues, but it wasn’t like I was some big star and had an MLB team waiting to sign me to a million dollar contract. I was just a chubby 16-year-old catcher from Havana who was a pretty decent ballplayer. If I got caught trying to defect, the consequences would be devastating. Not just for me, but for my whole family. I told him I had to think about it.
“Okay, but we don’t have much time,” he said. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to come to the hotel and bring you some batting gloves. I’ll have a red pair and a green pair. You choose which ones you want. Green means you really want to do it. Red means we forget all about it.”
This was all that was said. We couldn’t speak any more about it, because we were always being watched by officials from the team when we traveled to international tournaments. We couldn’t even go to the bathroom alone. I didn’t know what to do. I thought about calling my mother and father. I thought about talking to my teammates. But I didn’t want to get anybody in trouble, so I said nothing to anyone. That night, I didn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling and thought about what life could be like in America as a big leaguer. But then I thought about life with my family in Cuba — my grandma, my grandpa, my home.
At seven the next morning, our team went down to the lobby for breakfast and there was my friend, handing out batting gloves. He walked up to me, completely calm.
“Hey Peña, which color do you want?”
At that moment, my heart was beating out of my chest.
“Green.”
He tossed them to me. I went to my room and thought … Green. What now?
When I went back downstairs, there was a sealed letter for me at the reception desk:
The window is open in the bathroom. Climb out and I’ll be waiting for you with a car.
I sat down for breakfast and saw all my teammates. Yunel Escobar. Kendrys Morales. My friends. Was I ever going to see them again? Was this really the right decision? The emotions going through my body were indescribable.
After a few minutes, I got up and approached the security guy.
“Hey, is there any way I could go to the bathroom?”
“Yeah, but I have to go with you.”
“Okay, but I need some privacy, you know what I’m saying?”
“Sorry, but I’m coming with you.”
We walked over to the bathroom and I turned to him and kind of laughed.
“I don’t think you’re going to want to be in there for this one. Come on, where am I gonna go?”
“Okay Peña, you got five minutes. Hurry up.”
The door closed behind me. The window was open.
This was real. This was really happening. I started breathing so hard I thought I might pass out. On the other side of that window might be anything. It might be my friend. It might be security. Or it might be nobody at all. It might be freedom, or it might be jail.
I had nothing but the clothes on my back. No bag. No money. No passport.
Then … I just went for it.I flushed the toilet to make some noise and jumped up and grabbed the ledge. I was numb, man. I was thinking, Be there. Please, please, please God, be there.
I crawled through the small opening …
And I saw my friend behind the wheel of his car.
He gave me a sign that it was all clear. I hit the ground and started running. The door opened, I dove in, and we started driving away. I looked out the back window. Nobody was following us. The hotel got smaller and smaller and then it disappeared.
I get goosebumps just thinking about that moment.
I had nothing but the clothes on my back. No bag. No money. No passport. My family didn’t know where I was going. My friends didn’t know. And the worst part was that I didn’t know if I would see any of them ever again.
But I had a dream, and nothing was going to stop me. When the car got about an hour outside of Caracas, I started weeping. I was so happy, and so sad. So excited, and so scared.
But you know what? I was free.
Some people might be reading this thinking, Peña, are you crazy? How could you crawl out a window and leave everybody you love with not even a dollar in your pocket?
But you know what I call that window? It was my window of opportunity. You might laugh, but I’m serious. Let me tell you a story. When I was a little boy, I used to play baseball all day in the sun. But we didn’t have any Gatorade or anything like that. So I used to drink way too much guarapo — water with sugar cane in it. This is Cuban Gatorade. Every Cuban kid knows it. But all the sugar made me a little chubby, so my coach told me to either go on a diet or park my butt behind home plate and be a catcher.
Photograph By Rick Osentoski/USA Today Sports Images
Back then, equipment was extremely hard to come by in Cuba. I used to share a mask with five or six other catchers. The chest protector we shared was probably from 1959. But the biggest problem was that I only had one pair of shoes that were so old and beat up that my toe would poke out the front.
Then one day, a friend showed up with a pair of baseball cleats that he got a hold of somehow. They looked a little bit funny, though.
“Hey Peña, they’re your size,” he said. “But there’s only one problem, bro. They’re both left shoes.”
It was like Christmas for me. I didn’t care. Give me the two left shoes. At least I have real baseball cleats. I thought I was so cool, man. I wore these things everywhere so I could get used to it. I played a whole year in two left shoes. Whatever, I was never that fast anyway.
My family thought this was the funniest thing ever. But you know what? I didn’t care how I looked. It protected my foot behind home plate. I was going to do whatever it took to get my opportunity to play baseball at the highest level I could.
When I was 10, my grandma Rosa told me, “Brayan, I know in my heart that you are going to do something special with baseball. You’re going to make us proud.”
To Americans, this might seem like no big deal. This kind of talk is in your blood here. But in Cuba, our window of opportunity is so small. To have my grandma believe that I was going to do great things meant the world to me.
And my grandma was right. It took me a year in Costa Rica trying out for scouts before I was drafted by the Atlanta Braves, and then five years in the minor leagues, but in 2005, my manager called me into his office and said, “Brayan Peña, tomorrow you go to Boston. You’re going to be a big league player.”
I ran out of that office and called my family in Cuba to tell them the news. We just cried and cried and cried. My grandma and my mom kept screaming, “Lo hiciste! Lo hiciste! Lo hiciste!”
(“You did it! You did it! You did it!”)
Listen, I know I’m never going to be a Hall of Famer. I may never win a World Series. But I could thank God every single day until the day I die for that phone call with my family, and it will still not even be close to enough thanks.
I was a big leaguer.
In the 11 years since that day, I have experienced so much. I met my wife, had children, brought my mom and dad to America, and I’ve even become an American citizen. I’ve played for the Braves, Royals, Tigers, Reds, and now the Cardinals.
But when you talk to Cuban players who have made it to America, there’s always a bit of pain behind the smiles. Because we cannot see our families in Cuba. We cannot go home. For 16 years I couldn’t hug my grandmother, and expected that I never would hug her again.
Then last season, the craziest thing happened. My friend Leonor Barua from the MLBPA came up to me and said, “Hey, I just want you to know, we’re talking with the Cuban government about a goodwill trip.” I thought it was just wishful thinking. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
But then at the winter meetings, Leonor came up to me with a big smile. “It’s happening. We just need a yes or a no. Do you want to go home?”
I said, “Yes, yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes.”
This is one of those moments in your life that feels like it has to be a movie. Even as the months passed by and I packed my suitcase, it didn’t feel real. Even as I got on the plane with José Abreu, Yasiel Puig, and Alexei Ramírez, it didn’t feel real. When the plane took off, it didn’t feel real.
Photograph By Chip Litherland/The Players' Tribune
All of a sudden, I could feel the wheels of the plane being lowered for landing. We looked out the window and saw …
Man, it’s hard to even talk about this.
We looked out the window and saw the green tops of the trees. We saw our home.
I looked at Abreu and said, “This is real, man. This is really real.”
Ramírez, he just started laughing and laughing.
Puig, he jumps out of his seat and starts dancing in the aisle.
The flight attendant literally had to come get us all under control.
“Hey! Guys! You have to put your seatbelts on!”
We’re like, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. We’re just so excited. We’re finally home.”
Puig, he jumps out of his seat and starts dancing in the aisle.
Those
10 minutes from the time the wheels came out to the time that we landed
actually felt like two hours. When we stepped outside the airport into
the sun, I saw the old 1960s Chevys and Cadillacs, and it was so
special. On the drive from the airport to the hotel, I saw all the
places we used to hang out as kids, all the baseball fields and parks. But that was nothing compared to the moment when I was able to see my family.
For the first time in 16 years, I got to hug my grandma Rosa.
Photograph By The Pena Family
This trip meant so much to so many people, not just the players. She couldn’t believe that I was able to come back to Cuba in such a friendly and healthy atmosphere. I wish everybody reading this could experience the energy and the passion and the love running through everyone’s veins.
When we got to the Estadio Latinoamericano, where we held a youth baseball clinic, I got to see how much it meant to the children.
Latinoamericano is like the Yankee Stadium of Cuban baseball. This was the stadium I saw so many times on TV. I had dreamed about crouching behind that plate since I was 10 years old. Now I get to walk out there and teach these kids as an MLB player? Amazing. Just amazing.
The kids don’t have the fancy cleats and bats that kids in America have, but they love the game so much. They don’t let anything stop them. This one kid, I remember his name was Mario Gonzalez. He came up to me and said, “Brayan Peña! I just want to tell you that you, Raisel Iglesias, and Aroldis Chapman make the Cincinnati Reds a lot of fun to watch.”
I was like, What?! How do you know all this?! Here’s a 10-year-old kid in Cuba, who doesn’t have Internet, who has probably never left Havana, who knows all about the Cincinnati Reds.
Nothing can get in the way of a kid’s passion and love for something. They’ll find a way.
Listen, I am not a politician. I’m just a baseball player. But I do believe in my heart that this trip was the start of something special. I know there’s a lot of issues to work out between the American and Cuban governments and MLB, but we should all come together to find a way.
I do not know what the future holds. But the people making those decisions should think about Mario Gonzalez.
This is our window of opportunity. Maybe it is small. But why should that stop us?
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Cubanos en Series Mundiales de Beisbol.
TOMADO DE LA PAGINA DE FACEBOOK "GLORIAS DEL BEISBOL CUBANO, DE WILLIAM PEREZ VILLALBA
Aquí el listado con los 13 cubanos que han sido campeones de Serie Mundial
“El éxito se lo llevan los fuertes y el fracaso los débiles”
Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde
Por Esteban Romero JUEVES, 5 DE NOVIEMBRE DE 2015
Después de los norteamericanos, se puede decir que fueron los cubanos los otros protagonistas de algunas series mundiales durante la primera mitad y las décadas de los 60 y 70 del siglo pasado.
De hecho el primer pelotero latino en estos eventos fue el habanero Adolfo Luque, quien se estrenó con los Rojos de Cincinnati en la famosa serie en que varios peloteros de los Medias Blancas fueron sancionados de por vida al haber apostado y vendido juegos de su equipo. El segundo pelotero en participar en estos eventos fue el reglano Miguel Ángel González, que lo hizo como receptor de reserva de los Cachorros de Chicago en 1929. Cuatro años después Luque, con 42 años de edad cumplidos, nuevamente lanzaba en una serie mundial, esta vez para los Gigantes de Nueva York. Esta hzaña de lanzar con 42 años en serie mundial, dentro de los peloteros latinoamericanos, fue igualada por el dominicano Bartolo Colón en la serie mundial de 2015. Luque, en las dos series que lanzó, se llevó los anillos de serie mundial correspondientes.
El primer pelotero negro cubano y latino en participar en serie mundial fue el receptor santiaguero Rafael Noble, que lo hizo en 1951 como catcher de reserva de los Gigantes de Nueva York, serie que perderían con los vecinos de Manhattan, los Yankees de Nueva York.
Edmundo Amorós tuvo la dicha de haber sido parte de la nómina de los victoriosos Dodgers de los años 50, lo que le permitió jugar en tres series mundiales y llevarse un anillo muy merecido en 1955. De hecho fue Amorós el que garantizó la victoria de los Dodgers en el decisivo séptimo juego.
Ocho peloteros cubanos integraron nóminas de equipos campeones en sus ligas y participaron en series mundiales en la década de los 60, pero de ellos ninguno se adjudicó anillo de serie mundial. En 1970, los Orioles vencieron, y los cubanos Miguel Cuellar y Marcelino López fueron parte de esta victoria.
En 1971 el agraciado fue el infielder Jackie Hernández jugando para los Piratas de Pittsburgh, mientras que en 1972, 1973 y 1974 el torpedero Bert Campaneris fue parte de la maquinaria vencedora de los Atléticos de Oakland. El gran Tany Pérez, miembro del Salón de la Fama, fue integrante de la maquinaria roja del Cincinnati, la que logró los títulos de serie mundial en 1975 y 1976.
Vino nuevamente otra sequía hasta que Bárbaro Garbey, primer pelotero cubano proveniente de series nacionales en participar en serie mundial, fuera puntal en la victoria de los Tigres de Detroit en 1984.
José Canseco participó en cuatro series mundiales y obtuvo anillos en dos ocasiones. Liván Hernández se convirtió en 1997 en el primer pelotero cubano y segundo latinoamericano, el primero fue el dominicano Pedro Guerrero en 1981, que obtenía el MVP de Serie Mundial, lo que logró cuando los Marlins vencieron en esa serie a los Indios de Cleveland.
Orlando “Duque” Hernández, hermano de Liván, llegó a ser parte de cuatro equipos campeones de serie mundial, en muchos de esos su pitcheo fue vital para la obtención de los títulos. José Contreras fue el as del pitcheo de los campeones Medias Blancas en 2005.
En la serie mundial de 2015 jugaron dos peloteros cubanos, con lo que terminó la sequía de 10 años de serie mundial sin pelotero cubano. Yoennis Céspedes por los Mets y Kendrys Morales por los Reales de Kansas City fueron los dos cubanos que participaron en esta serie mundial.
En total han sido 26 los cubanos que han jugado en un total de 33 series mundiales, y han alcanzado un total de 20 anillos de series mundiales. Más detalles aparecen a continuación.
En total han sido 26 los cubanos que han jugado en un total de 33 series mundiales, y han alcanzado un total de 20 anillos de series mundiales. Más detalles aparecen a continuación.
Secuencia de participación de peloteros cubanos en series mundiales
1. Adolfo Luque (lanzador) – Cincinnati (1919) 1919*
Gigantes Nueva York (1933) 1933*
2. Miguel Ángel González (receptor) – Cachorros de Chicago (1929)
3. Rafael Noble (receptor) – Gigantes Nueva York (1951)
4. Edmundo Amorós (jardinero)- Dodgers Brooklyn (1952, 1955 y 1956), 1955*.
5. Leonardo Cárdenas (torpedero)- Rojos Cincinnati (1961)
6. Camilo Pascual (lanzador)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
7. Zoilo Versalles (torpedero)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
8. Tony Oliva (jardinero derecho)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
9. Hilario Valdespino (jardinero)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
10. José Tartabull (jardinero)- Medias Rojas Boston (1967)
11. Miguel Cuellar (lanzador)- Orioles Baltimore (1969, 1970 y 1971), 1970*
12. Marcelino López (lanzador)- Orioles Baltimore (1969, hizo el equipo pero no jugó;1970), *1970
13. Jackie Hernández (torpedero y antesalista)- Piratas Pittsburgh (1971)*
14. Tany Pérez (antesalista e inicialista)- Rojos Cincinnati (1970, 1972, 1975, 1976) 1975*, 1976*.
Filis Filadelfia (1983)
15. Bert Campaneris (torpedero)- Atléticos Oakland (1972, 1973 y 1974) 1972*, 1973*, 1974*
16. Diego Seguí (lanzador) – Medias Rojas Boston (1975)
17. Luis Tiant (lanzador)- Medias Rojas Boston (1975)
18. José Cardenal (jardinero)- Reales KC (1980)
19. Bárbaro Garbey – Tigres Detroit (1984) 1984*
20. José Canseco (jardinero)- Atléticos Oakland (1988, 1989, 1990) 1989*
Yankees Nueva York (2000) 2000*
21. Liván Hernández (lanzador)- Marlins Florida (1997) 1997*
Gigantes San Francisco (2002)
22. Orlando “Duque” Hernández (lanzador)- Yankees Nueva York (1998, 1999, 2000, 2001) 1998*, 1999*, 2000*
Medias Blancas Chicago- 2005*
23. José Contreras (lanzador)- Yankees Nueva York (2003)
Medias Blancas Chicago (2005)*
24. Michael Tejera (lanzador) Marlins Florida (2003, hizo el equipo pero no jugó)
25. Yoennis Céspedes (jardinero) Mets de Nueva York (2015)
26. Kendrys Morales (bateador designado) Reales de Kansas City (2015) 2015*
Gigantes Nueva York (1933) 1933*
2. Miguel Ángel González (receptor) – Cachorros de Chicago (1929)
3. Rafael Noble (receptor) – Gigantes Nueva York (1951)
4. Edmundo Amorós (jardinero)- Dodgers Brooklyn (1952, 1955 y 1956), 1955*.
5. Leonardo Cárdenas (torpedero)- Rojos Cincinnati (1961)
6. Camilo Pascual (lanzador)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
7. Zoilo Versalles (torpedero)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
8. Tony Oliva (jardinero derecho)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
9. Hilario Valdespino (jardinero)- Mellizos Minnesota (1965)
10. José Tartabull (jardinero)- Medias Rojas Boston (1967)
11. Miguel Cuellar (lanzador)- Orioles Baltimore (1969, 1970 y 1971), 1970*
12. Marcelino López (lanzador)- Orioles Baltimore (1969, hizo el equipo pero no jugó;1970), *1970
13. Jackie Hernández (torpedero y antesalista)- Piratas Pittsburgh (1971)*
14. Tany Pérez (antesalista e inicialista)- Rojos Cincinnati (1970, 1972, 1975, 1976) 1975*, 1976*.
Filis Filadelfia (1983)
15. Bert Campaneris (torpedero)- Atléticos Oakland (1972, 1973 y 1974) 1972*, 1973*, 1974*
16. Diego Seguí (lanzador) – Medias Rojas Boston (1975)
17. Luis Tiant (lanzador)- Medias Rojas Boston (1975)
18. José Cardenal (jardinero)- Reales KC (1980)
19. Bárbaro Garbey – Tigres Detroit (1984) 1984*
20. José Canseco (jardinero)- Atléticos Oakland (1988, 1989, 1990) 1989*
Yankees Nueva York (2000) 2000*
21. Liván Hernández (lanzador)- Marlins Florida (1997) 1997*
Gigantes San Francisco (2002)
22. Orlando “Duque” Hernández (lanzador)- Yankees Nueva York (1998, 1999, 2000, 2001) 1998*, 1999*, 2000*
Medias Blancas Chicago- 2005*
23. José Contreras (lanzador)- Yankees Nueva York (2003)
Medias Blancas Chicago (2005)*
24. Michael Tejera (lanzador) Marlins Florida (2003, hizo el equipo pero no jugó)
25. Yoennis Céspedes (jardinero) Mets de Nueva York (2015)
26. Kendrys Morales (bateador designado) Reales de Kansas City (2015) 2015*
*- Anillo de Serie Mundial
Bibliografía consultada
Friday, August 21, 2015
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)