September/October 2003

“Strike three!” The quarterfinal game was over. Jesús Castillo had tossed his fourth perfect game in a row, earning the Little Leaguers of Miami a bid to the semifinals of the Little League World Series. His face was all over the newspapers. Headlines of Jesús becoming the next Koufax streaked across the tops of the pages. Even though it was in the Little Leagues, when was the last time any pitcher struck out every batter he faced in a game? As Jesús was leaving the locker room, a man in a polo shirt he had seen on TV ran up to him and shook his hand. “Congratulations, Jesús,” he said. “I’m Harold Reynolds from ESPN, and I was wondering if I could do a quick interview with you.” Jesús timidly nodded his head. “I got to ask you this, little man. What’s it like being the most famous twelve-year-old kid in the country?” Jesús felt his heart drift into his throat. Trying to find an answer, he found his mouth saying the words, “It’s great.” “Tomorrow’s the semifinal game. You must be nervous.” “Yes,” Jesús agreed. “Jesús, scouts from the Yankees, Mets, Athletics, and Rockies will be at tomorrow’s game and the championship. Just about every scout from every team will be watching these Little League games. Do you have anything special up your sleeve?” “No,” Jesús replied. “I’m just going to pitch like I normally do.” He had pitched one of the most memorable games in Little League history Harold Reynolds laughed. “I know you’re twelve years old, but there is talk around the league that you’ll be the number one pick in the Major League Baseball draft someday. How does that make you feel?” “Great,” he answered. “All right, Jesús, I got one last question. How did you get such an incredibly strong arm? I mean, it defies the laws of physics that a kid your age could have such a powerful arm.” Jesús could not answer that question. He simply looked into Harold Reynolds’s eyes. “It’s all right,” Reynolds said. “Your secret can stay a secret. Anyway, thanks a lot for giving us your time to do this interview. Good luck in tomorrow’s game.” With that, he left Jesús. For ten minutes, Jesús sat in his chair, looking at the ground, thinking. *          *          * “Play ball!” Team Miami was up to bat first. Jesús anxiously sat in the dugout, waiting for his opportunity to go out and pitch. Yet the look in his eyes was not that of the predator, but that of the prey. He sat back and closed his eyes. As Jesús sat in the dugout with his eyes closed, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced at the scoreboard and found out that Roberto had hit a home run. Jesús was not the only superstar for team Miami. His best friend, Roberto, the catcher, basked in the glory that Jesús also shared. For a league of twelve-year-olds, Roberto displayed incredible power. In the previous three games that the Miami team had played, Roberto had hit five home runs. The team from Miami was truly blessed to have these two remarkable players on the same team. Anyhow, it was time for Jesús to go to work. That inning was a breeze for Jesús. To the delight of the capacity crowd, he struck out all three batters he faced. Strangely, he did not feel any satisfaction with what he accomplished. After each batter that he struck out, he did not feel joy, but anger. His heart was heavy. He returned to the dugout, and sat in the same exact spot that he had left. He didn’t like to be disturbed whenever he was pitching. The next inning was essentially the same for Jesús as the first. Before he threw each pitch, the crowd would rise in eager anticipation to see what the result would be. Even though the stadium was packed with people, Jesús could not sense any of them sitting there. To him, the only people he could see were his teammates, the opposing team, and his father. After every pitch, he would take a look at the stands and see his father smiling with pride. Five innings had passed. Jesús had been pitching like a man on fire. During those five innings, he had fifteen strikeouts. Thanks to two home runs by Jesús’s friend Roberto, team Miami had a two-to-zero lead. As Jesús made the jog to the pitcher’s mound, he looked into the stands and saw his father. Seeing that Jesús was staring at him, his father gave him a thumbs up. Jesús handled the first batter of the final inning incredibly. Three pitches and he was out. The second batter was also remarkably easy and Jesús struck him out on three pitches. The third batter, however, presented more of a challenge. Refusing to go down, he constantly fought off the pitches by fouling them into the stands. Finally, Jesús threw a curve ball that seemed to fall from the heavens. The batter swung and missed. Every player from team Miami ran toward Jesús. Roberto ran from home plate and embraced Jesús. He had pitched one of the most memorable games in Little League history. Night had arrived, and Jesús knew that he would need his rest for tomorrow’s big game. To his dismay, however, he tossed and turned in bed. He cupped his hands behind his head and lay there, thinking about times when he was little. *          *          * It wasn’t too long ago. Jesús was I still living in Cuba at that time. He was thirteen years old, and all day long it had been stormy. He had been inside fiddling with his glove and baseball when he heard screaming come from outside. His father quickly snatched him off the ground and left the house in a full sprint. After hours of running, Jesús and his father finally approached the Caribbean Sea. At last, Jesús understood