42. MATEO
forty-two
This past week, I’ve been brainstorming with Isabella and Daisy about the charity game nonstop.
Daisy’s in charge of the charity event, and after I decided I was going to participate, I realized that there was so much more I could do.
I gave her free rein, including permission to use my name and promote the event however she saw fit, auctioning off signed items, and scheduling meet-and-greets with me. Something that seems so stupidly trivial, yet can bring in so much aid for those in need.
Though I did keep some things close to the vest when I decided to make a few phone calls and make some changes to the opening ceremony.
For instance, after the national anthems for both the US and Puerto Rico were sung, I let Daisy know at the last minute that Marc Anthony would be stepping up to my pitcher’s mound to sing “Preciosa.”
The opening notes of the Puerto Rican cuatro vibrate through the stadium, and I can see the collective gasps within the audience.
I let Marc get through the first half of the song on his own, but once he gets to that long note, I make my way onto the field. I jog with the Puerto Rican flag on a pole leaning against my left shoulder and, for the first time ever, run the bases.
The place feels like it’s going to erupt with all the barely contained energy.
The flashes from professional camera bulbs look like small fireworks surrounding every corner of the field.
As a pitcher, I never get this view or the chance to run these bases, but as I do now, with a grin plastered on my face, I vow to never take this place or these people for granted.
When I round third and start to make it to home base, some of my team is waiting there, rallied around in a huddle of overexcited Hispanic men.
When I arrive, they give me a moment to step on home properly, and with a shift of the pole, I’m able to get a good grasp, and wave it proudly for all of Monarch Stadium to see.
For the entire world to see.
Because my island may be small, but it is powerful.
And it may have taken me almost thirty-three years to claim it as my own, but just like everyone I love in my life, it shall forever remain mine.
With misty eyes, I mouth, “Te quiero, Puerto Rico,” I place my right hand over my heart and nod my head to those cheering up in the stands.
My team decides that they’ve given me enough of a moment to shine, and they promptly surround me, bouncing in place as if we’ve just won a big game. I’m completely put out of sight, but I make sure to prop the flagpole higher so eyes are always on my beloved Puerto Rico.
When the song is over and the pitcher’s mound is now vacant, I hand the flag over to Anthony, who takes it proudly and starts to wave it enthusiastically while yelling, “?Eso eh pu?eta! De Puerto Rico pa’l mundo!”
I’m handed a mic as I settle into the spot that has been my home for many years. Where I’ve made my career and lost some hard games.
From the pitcher’s mound, I’m able to see it all.
My team, the crowd, my family.
My Isabella.
And there’s not a dry eye in the place.
I lift my wrist, making a point to jiggle it slightly, then kiss the friendship bracelet Anna made for us. Then quickly make a mental note to have a platinum and diamond one made for my girls and myself.
I guess Ace’s jewelry habits are starting to rub off on me.
I clear my throat and welcome everyone to the event.
Then I ask for a round of applause for our performers, especially Marc, for agreeing to fly up and do this for us last minute.
And halfway through my speech, I realize that, once again, there is so much more that I can do, that I can say. So I forget the lines that I practiced with Isa into the late hours, and I speak from the heart.
“You know, I haven’t always had the best connection to my roots.” The crowd’s rowdy cheers softly subside as they hear the change in my tone. “There were moments where it was tough, trying to figure out who I was as a man, as an athlete. As someone who is Puerto Rican, but not born on the island.” I falter for a moment. “Sometimes, I felt like I had let my people down by not knowing or being able to relate to the lived experiences of those who grew up in Puerto Rico. Felt even worse when I struggled with not being able to speak Spanish. And I know I’m not the only one out there who has probably felt a little disconnected with their homeland.” I look up into the stands and see an array of nods and mouthed yeses .
“Although in my own small ways, I’ve kept a tight hold on my love for the island.” I pause as I get ready to reveal something I’ve kept to myself all of these years. “Early on in my career, I was asked to pick a jersey number. Many pick a year or a specific number that means something to them. I picked number thirty-five. Because Puerto Rico is one hundred miles long and thirty-five miles wide. An island so small that, in theory, shouldn’t make such a big impact on the world. Yet here we are.” I smile as the cheers threaten to overwhelm me.
“But recently, someone very special to me made me realize something. Something that I will never forget.” I clear my throat as I prepare to say the first Spanish words I’ve ever spoken in front of the media. I take a moment to breathe, because I want this shit quoted correctly. “Yo soy Boricua aunque naciera en la luna.”
The crowd goes wild.
Torres looks unhinged, probably yelling some amped-up profanities, making it impossible for poor Daisy to use in her hot mic’d segment. But what snags my attention is the suite housing some of the most important people in my life.
I can see my mother fully sobbing into Isabella’s mother’s shoulder. I spot Isabella carrying Anna in her arms and waving their friendship bracelets in the air, pointed at me.
She mouths something to me, and it might be my wishful thinking, but I’m pretty sure it’s an I love you .
I don’t chance not saying it back. Even if I’m wrong, she’s going to have to get used to me saying it. So I look right at her as I speak into the microphone. “I love you, tesoro.”