ReadingLipps

The façade of Stadio de la Revolucion in Torreon, Mexico bears a graphic relief of soldiers fighting in the Mexican revolution.  As Pancho Villa marched through this area on his military endeavors, the locals claim him as a local legend and so equally do they claim allegiance to the Union Laguna Algonoderos, the local professional baseball team.  Tonight they play the Tigres of Mexico City, the defending champions. 

            The entry to the stadium is a crowded mess of roaming ticket vendors, taco stands, pistachio nut salesmen, and guys selling these very hot beef sandwiches that are apparently the equivalent of the hot dog at an American game.  A ticket in the good seats costs 30 pesos, roughly three dollars.  The cheaps were 150 pesos.  The crowd was thick and the tense air of rivalry filled the small one tier stadium.  The stands were almost packed, a few cheap seats had yet to be filled, and it was definitely a baseball game.  The home team Union Laguna was in the field wearing home whites with maroon trim and caps, while the visiting Tigres wore road grays with orange trim and gray hats, a huge Carta Blanca beer ad took the  place where the players name would be on an American jersey.

            There were also a few familiar names on the field on that night.  Julio Franco of Texas Ranger fame was starting first baseman, and Luis Polonia of underage-girl infamy, both wore Tigres uniforms.  Pepe, my host, was here too, somewhere in the stands and I had to find him.  Turning to face a vast crowd of Mexican faces, it was absurd to think I would find anyone in this mass of people.  Finally a beer vendor knew where he was, he pointed down the aisle to another beer vendor who pointed to a big smiling waving man at the top of the stands, it was Pepe.

            I began to settle into one of the little seats near Pepe and his wife.  He was sitting comfortably in the last row and apparently knew many of the people around us.  He drank bottled water and was wearing a tight cotton shirt, brown polyester pants and a big grin.  Pepe is a fan of baseball and it shows with his knowledge of the game.  We talked about the level of play and about the infinite differences between an American game and a Mexican game.

            As the vendors yell out their products the crowd responds by cheering in response, “No”.  One vendor, selling those spicy beef sandwiches, first shouted an offer for his product and was greeted by a resounding “no”.  When he asked if they want beer, which he did not have, the crowd enthusiastically responded “si” and he waved his hand in feigned disgust.  Laughter filled the air as the home team batter grounded out to short.

            In the third inning a ballpark favorite emerged streaking across the field, “El Pollo”, or the chicken.  The curse throwing, dancing, sliding chicken was quite a source of joy for the crowd.  Often his antics were the show and the game fell to the background.  The crowd cheered him on, yelling out, “Pollo, Pollo” as he gyrated and instigated to the trumpets of “Rancho” Mexican music and Cristina Aguilera in Spanish. 

            Another cherished tradition here at the ballpark in Torreon is when women dance to the music.  The fatter the woman, apparently, the more cheering she gets.  Everyone whispers back and forth about someone’s grandma that had too much to drink.  One plump older woman kept the entire stadium on its feet for almost a whole inning.  Her music played on loudly as the game started up, allowing her to continue dancing.  She twisted and shook and all the men saluted her with their beers and by whistling and hollering. 

            The game here was covered for a nationwide audience and could be seen across the U.S. and Mexico.  The matchup tonight was worthy of a Mexican superstar, in the front row sat Cuatemoc Blanco, a key member of the local first-place soccer team, Santos, as well as the formidable Mexican national team.  In a nation whose heart belongs to soccer, it was a sign of respect for another national pastime of Mexico, beisbol.

            Other things stood out as well.  The team was much more involved, like college ball here in the states.  Often our professionals seem to lack enthusiasm and team spirit but in Mexico the players cheered each other and gathered at the plate after every homerun.  Pepe explained that officially the Mexican pro league was akin to triple A baseball, but he personally suspected it was closer to double A.  A warm up pitcher threw 3 wild pitches, one sailing well over the leaping catcher, so at times the level was in doubt. 

            All in all, nine innings were played, there were three strikes for an out, four balls for a walk, and the beer guys worked the hardest.  The popcorn might come with hot sauce on it instead of butter and the beer is Carta Blanca instead of Budweiser but this was definitely one heck of a game.  The home team Algodoneros lost in the last inning of a close 3-2 finish.  Children flooded the field after the last out, half of the children ran to play a quick game on the good field, and half ran to the departing players to touch someone that gets paid to play the game of baseball