Baseball without Borders: The International Pastime

8. Cuba: Community, Fans, and Ballplayers

8 | Cuba Community, Fans, and Ballplayers Cuba, as one friend put it,“is the most boring place in the world when there’s no baseball.” In the summer there’s nothing to talk about, but during the season, he opined, everyone comes alive with baseball. Baseball provides a vibrancy that fuels the workers in the factories, energizes the old men, and feeds the dreams of young boys. Taking my cue from him, this essay explores the world of Cuban baseball by examining the fans’ social connections , historical and current, real and imagined, to baseball. Since I have been studying the cultural aspects of Cuban baseball. In the late s I spent two full seasons in Havana attending every game played at the Estadio Latinoamericano. During games I chronicled fans’ actions and words to understand the relationship among fans, national identity, and the government. I also interviewed fans, athletes, coaches, journalists, and officials. Here, I will use one particular game during the pennant chase in the Serie Nacional, the premier Cuban league, to look at Cuban fans’ place in baseball. As will be seen, some aspects of being a fan are no different than those in the United States, but others are specific to Cuba. First, I will provide some historical background, which will be followed by a discussion of the contemporary dynamic between players and fans. Historical Rivalries Baseball arrived in Cuba sometime in the late s or early s. University students returning from the United States are credited with bringing the first equipment and organizing the ฀ ฀ first clubs. These young men were among Havana’s wealthy, and their nineteenth-century games were major social events. Clubs hosted a Sunday afternoon game and then provided a dinner and dance for the visitors, players, and elite members of Havana society. Because players mingled with their spectators after their afternoon’s exertions, a heightened degree of familiarity existed between ballplayers and these socially elite fans. Some of these privileged supporters were even allowed into the clubhouse while athletes changed into their uniforms prior to a game. Some even assisted players in getting dressed. Described in what may be the first written history of baseball, Wenceslao Gálvez y Delmonte , a historian and shortstop, chronicled his preparation for a game against Habana in . One by one we, the Almendares players, arrive at Aurelio’s Gymnastic Club. . . . The most enthusiastic or most presumptuous [fans] come in to see us get dressed, witnessing it all, somewhat indecorous at certain points. And in their delirium for the team they might praise the beauty mark on so-and-so’s right thigh. They help us with our toilette, tying the string on our undershirts and the brand new blue silken scarf, which was purchased at the Chinese boutique. “How about dedicating a hit to me today? I have already seen the habanistas [Habana’s players] at the gym on Consulado Street. Don’t strike out. Have you had much wine?” They continue in their impertinent and foolish manner until it is time to leave.1 While Gálvez y Delmonte’s social equals were permitted to enter the clubhouse during athletes’ preparations, supporters of lesser social standing had to wait outside for the players to emerge for their journey across town to the rival club’s ground. These early games, more than athletic contests, were premier social events. They were galas that attracted the attention of a broad spectrum of society and were places to see and be seen. Even traveling by carriage from one social club to another for a baseball game attracted attention along their passage through Havana’s streets. Gálvez y Delmonte describes one such journey from the gymnasium where his team changed to the home team’s field for an afternoon game. No sooner do we appear outside the gym door than the curious began to stop in Community, Fans, and Ballplayers their tracks and stand in front of us, and those who recognize us point us out to their friends as if we were some sort of monument. “There’s Carlito Macía,” pointing his finger at my teammate. “Look, that’s Alfredo Arango.” “So fat? I thought he was much thinner.” “Well, I’ll prove it to you. Psst, psst, hey aren’t you Alfredo Arango? . . . Yeah, man, that’s him. He just doesn’t want to answer.”2 Their arrival, as Gálvez y Delmonte...