A glory of the Major Leagues, Pedro Ramos, from Pinar del Río, has honored these days the stands of the Victoria de Girón Stadium. He sat there, in silence, with a cigar in his hand and a cap that recalls his passage more than half a century ago through the New York Yankees. On the field, the Matanzas and Granma teams were deciding the first game of their semifinals. It was not difficult to see that the eyes of this 81-year-old man were scanning each detail of the match. They were looking at the pitchers, the outfielder, the batter of the moment, the public. It had been a long time since he had entered a stadium in his country: exactly since 1961, when he helped Cienfuegos beat the Almendares team during the last season of the Cuban professional championship. Fifteen years as a pitcher for the Major Leagues, experience as a trainer and scout in the organization of the California Angels, and periods in charge of pitching in the absolute teams of Nicaragua and Colombia, endorse the capacity of this man to capture the essences of baseball. That’s why it would have been unpardonable to pass by the occasion of...

The first time I saw José Fernández was when he already had five consecutive wins in the Marlins Park, and a total of eight in his career in Major League Baseball. I had been told about him: about an incredible slider, about his authoritarian straight ball, about phlegm, character and those other words used when people try not to mention balls. It was a game against Puig’s Dodgers, which that year looked difficult with the pitchers. Caballo Loco was going crazy, batting left and right: it was so much so that his OPS stood at around more than 1,000 points. But he couldn’t have fun with Fernández. That night, the Cuban from Santa Clara limited the one from Cienfuegos to two outs, a rolling to the short, a foul fly and a high ball to the middle. I remember as if it were right now that I celebrated during all the way home the work of that white rookie. Starting that August game I started a systematic follow-up of Fernández. As I could, I monitored each time the kid came out to pitch, and I was one of the many hearts that 90 miles away sent him all the positive...

The National Series has just started, and already wish it ends. Do I deserve to be called implacable? It can be. But I've always felt aversion to long and painful illness, and that's what happens with Cuban pastime. I'll say it again: cancer is not the inability (or excessive flexibility) of Higinio, nor the insolence of Victor or the peanut cones Vargas eats. Cancer is housed above in the central nervous system of the championship. Cancer, as we know, has no cure. I was chatting with a good friend about baseball. I had just arrived in Havana from Spain, and came with the head full of white goals, Barca poems and deeds by the Atletico. But the call of the jungle-that play ball! I have as a incurable virus in my veins was stronger than fatigue from the transatlantic flight... Juan, they say Hector Olivera is gone. Do you know if that physical problem had been doping? I have been told that he was injecting peanut oil, which is a Paleolithic variant of doping. 'And it is sure he is gone? Wait till I make a call. Five minutes later... Yes, Raul, a source at the Santiago Commission tells me...

The millions are irrationally dancing on the baseball, and now an outfielder as Rusney Castillo just received 72.5 million to dress the mythical shirt of the Boston Red Sox. Would it be the Cuban outfielder worth that much? In my opinion he isn’t Neither José Ariel Contreras deserved the 32 the alienated New York Yankees paid for him. And to go even further, not even Alex Rodriguez made enough to reach those 250 that prickled the skin of the universe, and yet he was the best hitter in the world. As old timers would put it, in baseball they "have lost respect for money." Any stranger with a couple of notable tools makes group presentations and ends rewarded with greater than seven million per season salary. Poor Babe Ruth: so many homers to only get paid 80 thousand in his prime... In a championship where the minimum salary is $ 500,000 per season, the deal Rusney got from the Red Sox was to be expected. That is a player slightly above average and comes from the Cuban factory whose prestige has been revitalized lately, but is not that kind of figure that makes a difference or drags the pack. Attention:...

Yuniesky Gourriel has never been nor will he ever be -a star on the baseball firmament. Unlike his brother Yuliesky, the center fielder is not a wonder at the plate, nor impresses by a strong arm and the ability to steal bases. However, life has given him an important mission. While Yuliesky is playing in the powerful Japanese League with other main players of the island, Yuniesky breaks the ice in a more modest scenario, but key for the future short term. Because Canada lacks a championship with the gloss of the Japanese, but is much closer to the United States. That is in baseball what Brazil is to football or Scotland to whiskey. But first things first. That is, a recognition and a diploma without applause to the idea of ​​allowing National Series players to take part in professional leagues in different latitudes. Something that (it seems obvious) should never have been banned in an island where the sport is such an idiosyncrasy thing as Santeria, and where the athlete, as well as the Paraguayan or Cypriot, eats, drinks and has a family to attend to. Anyway, the unfortunate restriction is over and players don’t need Alfredo Despaigne´s talent...

The Jewish or Hitler are not the ones to blame. It isn’t the moon’s fault, nor my white grandfather’s, who one evening long time ago crossed the steel curtain and settled in Uruguay. It isn’t Buena Fe’s fault, though I deduce there is a lot of bad faith in blame. It isn’t Pocholo’s fault either; he was a nasty guy with a gang. It isn’t Higinio’s fault, though he also has a gang and we find that’s a terrible burden. A single individual is not to be blamed for the fact that Cuban baseball is in such a mess. Cuban baseball has –essentially– been so great that a single man would never be able to discredit it, even in one hundred years of incapable, irresponsible and atrocious individual management. Strong as the Chinese Wall (Marrero, Luque, Méndez, Miñoso, Vinent, Marquetti, Casanova), the Cuban baseball would have been able to fight back if it hadn’t been for the plot. Yes, the plot. The maneuver, hopefully unconscious, by which it seams have gradually got loose. It begins (or ends) in the economic US blockade and ends (or begins) in the mental blockade by the Cuban part, focused in defending principles that can...