Bottom of the ninth, the score 3 to 2, runners on first and second. Chris, with a 2 and 2 count, this team needs to work some magic here. Yeah Jim, it’s a great but extremely stressful position to be in if you’re in a spot like Andre’ is right now on that plate. These guys train and prepare for a moment like this one all their lives but it’s not exactly where one chooses to be for sure. We’re seconds away from an outcome and one of these two clubs are gonna be champions. Medina could seal it up and make history, giving this team its first world series win in 60 years.
It’s a tied world series and Andre’ Medina finds himself in a spot like none he could have ever imagined as a child. Playing baseball in the backyard with his friends was just for fun back then, it was also a tool which helped him gain acceptance in a strange new world.
Andre’ had a natural talent in baseball; he’d worked hard all of his life honing his skills. Finally, he made a living with it. Yes indeed, a professional baseball player. His team, until this year, had one of the worst records in the league. A record that was earned long before he was born. The losing streak seemed almost like a curse, if you believe in superstitions that is.
Year after year the city endured such heartbreaking losses. Five years ago they almost made it to the championship, but a stroke of bad luck for an outfielder brought, yet another, dismal end to the season. That was before Andre’ was traded to the team. Even better, a team for which he’d always dreamed of joining. His adopted hometown!
When he learned of the trade his fellow teammates joked about it. Some offered their condolences, others hesitantly wished him well. Andre’ always smiled and told them not to worry, he was as happy as could be.
And now all eyes are on Andre’ on this October evening. Not only in the stadium…across the planet! Andre’ is a long way from that backyard on a lazy summer afternoon, this is the big league and a defining moment in his career, if not his life.
In an instant the TV cameras rapidly swung, turning their focus to an unscheduled player who made his series debut on the diamond. We seem to have an unexpected member on the team Jim! The commentators in the broadcast booth laughed loudly. Spectators in the stadium rose to their feet, wildly cheering.
Andre’s mouth dropped as he watched the rogue team mate scramble across the field. He slowly lowered his bat until it rested squarely on the tip of his shoe. He smiled to himself before looking to the sky, then back to the outfield . He laughed out loud.
The umpires, along with stadium officials, zigged and zagged across the field as the cameras documented every turn, every stumble and missed attempt to remove the player from the field. The antics of this rogue player had officially interrupted an historic world series.
The game was halted, giving Andre’ a moment of pause of his own. He used the break to reflect on how he came to be here, and how this particular team mate may have been destined to join him in the spotlight on this historic evening after all.
Andre’ grew up in a tiny village in Honduras. It was a troubling time for his country; a country which was divided by warlords. A group of organized gangs who preyed upon fears at a time when most Hondurans lived in poverty, making the gangland way of life seem that much more enticing. Loyalty to the homeland was a powerful tool that the warlords used to entice young, impressionable, minds. Andre’ fought temptations to join the fight with all of his might; many of his friends had no such willpower.
At the early age of 10 his parents, realizing that a better life awaited Andre’, finally made the toughest of all decisions. They must choose between he and his sister. A choice that would give one of the two an opportunity to make a good life, far from poverty and danger.
Andre’s parents gave him up for adoption to an American family. It was part of an outreach program which assisted those who wanted to help the children of this impoverished land. And so, just like that, Andre’ found himself in a strange new place far from his home. This was his new home.
Andre’ soon found that fitting in wouldn’t be easy. He looked different from the other children; he spoke differently, which made him stand out even more. He ate lunch alone everyday; no one in his class dared to befriend this strange new boy from, what they viewed as, a faraway land. It was almost as if he were from another planet.
Most afternoons found Andre’ swatting rocks with driftwood across a pond near his house. It was his solitary escape and it made him happy.
His home life was great; his adoptive parents loved him and showed their love and support in every way. He knew that he was fortunate to have such an opportunity, but he longed for friendship. He missed his friends back in Honduras.
The citizens here felt comfort and insulation in their tiny town. They felt well protected from the news and troubling events that they read about and watched on television. It all seemed so far away to them. It didn’t seem real if it didn’t happen within the boundaries of their city limits sign.
Andre’s classmates, and most certainly their parents, couldn’t imagine some of the things that he’d already witnessed through his 10-years in this big and, sometimes, scary world.
Wow! A voice rang from behind. Andre’ quickly spun around, spotting a boy from his class standing in the distance. He had been watching Andre’ swat, stone after stone, across the pond. The young boy walked closer.
That’s awesome! He exclaimed. Thanks, Andre’ said. I’ve seen you around school, my name’s Michael. I’m Andre’. You’re the guy from that island place right? Andre’ giggled. What? Michael wondered what could be so funny. It’s Honduras; it’s a country in Central America…not an island. I’m not real good with geography, only what I memorize for the tests, Michael explained. Well, it’s not as far off as you think, but I understand, Andre’ replied. I’m still learning the United States so don’t feel bad, Andre’ continued.
One of my buddies told me that your people eat folks who get lost in the jungle, Michael blurted to Andre’. Andre’ sat silently and stared at Michael for a moment. Andre’ wore a solemn stare on his face as he struck the bottom of his shoe repeatedly with the large piece of driftwood in his hand.
Michael broke the uncomfortable silence. Is that true?? Not anymore, Andre’ replied, with a straight face. Michael stared at Andre’, fear filled his face until Andre’ could no longer mask the laughter inside. Michael shoved Andre’s arm. That’s not funny! He exclaimed with a relieved smile.
We play baseball every Friday afternoon and Saturday morning if you wanna join us, Michael invited. I don’t think your friends want a man-eating islander on the team, Andre’ joked. I’ll talk with em’, c’mon, stop by this Friday, Michael urged.
After a few weeks of backyard baseball, Andre’ became part of the gang. It wasn’t easy at first, but Andre’ tried his best to educate his classmates about his homeland and culture. He also absorbed as much information as he could about theirs. His was a better gang than that which would have been available back in Honduras. He forged friendships while doing what he loved…passing a lazy afternoon away playing baseball and being a 10-year old boy.
One afternoon while the boys played, what seemed to be, a 30 inning game, a group of kids from the next block showed up. You call that baseball? One of the kids taunted as Michael swatted and missed a fastball. Michael tossed his bat to the ground after being struck out and replied. Yeah? You guys think you can do better? The two neighborhood teams talked trash until a challenge was issued. It was time to show the next block how baseball was played.
It was the ninth inning, the game had been close for the previous eight. The moment of truth. This game was either going extra innings or come to a joyous ending for one team, but a humiliating and painful end for the other. Bragging rights for the neighborhood block is EVERYTHING when you’re a 10-year old boy. This was the world series to these boys.
Andre’ headed to the plate. His defining moment with the gang, he thought. Suddenly, from nowhere, a black cat darted in front of him and scurried off to the nearby bushes. Andre’ gasped.
Superstitions ran deep in Andre’s culture. Until the time when he left Honduras for his new life he’d long heard tales of the unexplained, the curses and black magic. His grandmother was especially superstitious. A black cat!! Andre’ fretted, thinking back to the folklore that he’d heard from his elders.
Andre’ stepped up to the plate, he readied his bat for the pitch. The ball sped toward him at, what seemed to be, a thousand miles per hour. A loud crack pierced the late afternoon air on this tiny city block. A beautiful, dead on, hit! The ball sliced through the air to the outfield at lightening speed. His team mates roared with excitement.
The ball soared over the heads of the opposing team until it finally landed, firmly, in the mitt of an outfielder. A “noisy out” as it’s often called. The game was over, a humiliating defeat for Andre’ and his team mates. The prize of bragging rights went to the boys from the next block.
Andre’ was certain that it was the black cat! His team mates were sad, but they never blamed Andre’. It was a great hit, but a few feet short. The two teams shook hands, some grudgingly. Andre’ had learned two lessons this late summer afternoon. Good sportsmanship, and that black cats were indeed bad luck.
By the time Andre’ made it to high school, he’d caught a lot of attention with his incredible baseball skills. He was a shining star on the team and had been scouted heavily by college coaches until, finally, he was offered a baseball scholarship. He never dreamed that he could go to school for free, just by doing something that he loved to do. This truly was the land of opportunity, he thought.
Andre’ graduated college and, soon after, began playing for a minor league team in the city. He couldn’t believe that he was earning a paycheck for playing a game! It was a small paycheck, but it was money.
Andre’ was married now, with a child on the way. The land of opportunity, to him, truly was an American dream come true. Even though life was a struggle at times, it felt good to Andre’.
He often thought about his family in Honduras, but felt a sense of thankfulness. The incredibly difficult sacrifice that his mother had made was the most selfless act of human kind, he thought. A second chance.
Andre’ took an afternoon stroll through the neighborhood. He’d just returned from a 4-day road-trip with the team and felt quite happy to be home. He stopped occasionally to watch the neighborhood kids playing. He absorbed the sounds of a late summer afternoon as the sun lay low on the horizon.
In the distance, he spotted a little kitten limping along near the sidewalk. As Andre’ approached, he noticed that the cat’s tail was odd. It was about 3 inches long. Andre‘ stood over this pathetic looking little cat who let out a deep and haunting meow.
Wow! You’re loud. The kitten rubbed against Andre’s leg wildly, bucking his head against his ankle. Andre’ bent down and rubbed the kitten’s back until it fell to the ground, rolling on his back feverishly, as if to be begging to have its belly rubbed.
He noticed that the cat seemed to also be blind in his left eye. Andre’ laughed at the irony. A black cat! You’re an unlucky little one, he told the affectionate little kitty.
That cat has most certainly used up about seven of his nine lives, a voice echoed from the front porch with a deep laugh and thick southern drawl. An old man walked toward Andre’ as he knelt, still rubbing this noisy, ugly little cat.
Andre’ smiled at the old man. Yeah, I thought black cats brought other people bad luck, Andre’ said. Not this one, he’s been through a lot, that’s for sure, the man replied.
Is this your cat? Andre’ quizzed. Nah, we’ve just been takin’ care of him. He got hit by a car. We got him all fixed up and then on Halloween some kids hurt him pretty bad since he’s a black cat. We just been feedin’ him and now he won’t go away; no one seems to want him. The old man looked down to the cat at Andre’s feet. He ain’t pretty, but he seems to have taken a liking to you, the old man pointed.
Andre’ knelt back to the kitty and rubbed his scruffy head. The cat purred wildly. I’ll take him off your hands if ya’ don’t want him, Andre’ offered. He’s yours if ya’ want him, the man replied.
Andre’ scooped the ugly, crippled, half blind, bob-tailed little kitten in his arms and headed home. What is THAT? Andre’s wife asked as he walked up the driveway. It’s a cat. Yes dear, I can see that, why is it in your arms? She quizzed. He just seemed like he needed a friend, he’s had a bit of bad luck, Andre’ explained. Yeah, I can certainly see that, his wife laughed.
I thought you were superstitious; you realize this is a black cat Andre’? I know, but I figure this little guy’s had so much bad luck, maybe some good luck is ready to follow him around for a bit. You’re silly, come inside for dinner, Andre’s wife laughed as she went back inside.
Before Andre’ followed, he spotted his next door neighbor, an old Cajun man who kept to himself. He noticed that the old man was walking his way. A rare occasion indeed. What could this be? Andre’ wondered.
That’s one ugly cat, the old man laughed as he approached. Yeah, he’s nice though; he’s had a bit of bad luck I think. Yeah? Looks like little Menieu has had more than a bit of bad luck, the man teased as he playfully poked at the cat’s head.
Menieu? Who’s Menieu? Andre’ asked. Ah, Menieu is a great name for a cat my boy. Yeah? Andre’s eyes were wide, he eagerly held on to every word, hoping to learn the history of this “Menieu” that the old man spoke of. Could it be some ancient explorer? A notable leader; even better, a war hero!! Tell me more, Andre’ begged.
Andre’s wife cracked the door and called for him to come in for dinner. Just a minute, I’ll be right there, Andre’ assured.
Andre’ turned his focus back to the old man. Who is Menieu? He begged. The old man laughed as he walked back to his front porch. Andre’ stood still, watching as the man reached his porch. Andre’ turned for the door as the old man yelled out. Cat! What do you mean…cat? Andre’ asked. The old man laughed; Menieu is Cajun for cat.
Andre’ laughed and waved goodnight to the old man before heading inside to dinner. Inside, he placed the cat on the floor. Well, I suppose your name is Menieu. Menieu rubbed vigorously between Andre’s legs before falling squarely on top of his feet.
A seemingly unlucky little black kitten suddenly became a lucky little pet, thanks to a chance meeting with a superstitious minor league ball player who had decided that Menieu was due for some good luck. Andre’ knew what it felt like to look different. He knew what it was like to be an outcast in a strange new world. He also remembered that someone took him in when he needed it most. Perhaps Andre’ was looking for a little luck himself; maybe he was looking to simply return the love and acceptance that he was shown. Or, a little bit of both.
Andre’ was running late for the game. He had taken Menieu to the veterinarian and the appointment ran long. He tossed Menieu in the front seat and sped to the ballpark for the beginning of a three night home-stand against their team’s arch rival.
After screeching to a halt in the back parking lot, Andre’ raced into the locker room, Menieu firmly under his arm.
What is that? The manager demanded. It’s a cat, Andre’ replied. Yeah, I can see that…you’re late! Has the game started yet? Andre’ quizzed. The manager grumbled as he trailed away through the locker room. Get dressed out, he yelled back to Andre’ before slamming his office door.
Andre’ placed Menieu in his open locker and placed a small cup of water and a few morsels of food on a piece of paper. You wait here and stay outta trouble…I’ll be back soon, Andre’ instructed the kitten. Menieu looked at Andre and meowed. Wish me luck, Andre’ smiled at Menieu before running to the field.
The game was an absolute blowout. Andre’s team won by a landslide; Andre’ himself had four RBI’s. After the game Andre’ showered and got dressed to go home when two gentlemen walked into the locker room looking for him.
They were scouts from the majors. They were there to offer Andre’ the chance of a lifetime, the opportunity that he’d dreamed of since he was a kid.
Later that evening, Andre’ and his wife celebrated with a fancy dinner at a classy restaurant where they dined when they got engaged. They returned home to find Menieu sleeping upside down on the sofa. He's such a funny looking cat, Andre’s wife laughed. Andre’ leaned down, rubbing Menieu’s head. A good luck charm, he assured.
Early afternoon before heading to a game that Andre’ knew would be anything but easy, he packed his bag and sat at the foot of the bed in his hotel room. He always spent a few moments in silent meditation before hitting the field and today was no different…except for the fact that it was the final game of the world series.
Andre’ continued a tradition that he’d begun four years previous. Before grabbing his bag, he called for Menieu, who scrambled from the next room and pounced squarely in his bag. Andre’ drew the zipper halfway, leaving enough room for the curious little cat to poke its head through. Menieu surveyed the world through the opening as he’d done for years as Andre’ headed to the ballpark.
It had become such a well known tradition that there was always a cat bed waiting in the locker room whenever and wherever Andre’ played. Menieu was so accustomed to being in a locker room that it seemed like a second home to him. He curled up before every game in the tiny bed, always patiently waiting until Andre’ returned after the game.
Andre’ watched from the plate as the umps continued their clumsy attempts to remove the game crashing team member. He finally handed his bat to a nearby bat boy and walked to the outfield. It was time to finish this game, he thought. With a whistle he called out for his team mate. Menieu!! Come see!!
Menieu turned his attention to Andre’ and bounded across the field as fast as he could toward him; the umps raced closely behind.
Andre’ knelt down as Menieu stopped perfectly between his knees and plopped to the ground, rolling wildly on his back. Andre’ rubbed the kitty’s head and laughed before scooping him up to his chest. He handed Menieu to a game official and asked him to return the cat to the locker room.
You behave…and wish me luck, Andre’ told Menieu.
After the excitement of Menieu’s antics had settled, the game resumed. The pitch was fast and slightly to the right. Andre’ focused and swung. With a loud crack, the ball soared to the wall, where an outfielder eagerly positioned his mitt to catch, what he hoped, would be a noisy out. The ball grazed the player’s mitt just enough to prevent it from clearing the wall. It bounced to the ground where he quickly retrieved it and threw it as hard as he could toward the infield.
The runner charged toward home plate, hopefully drawing a victorious conclusion to this series for Andre’ and his team mates. The runner slid rapidly toward the plate like a runaway train, his shoes plowed the dirt deeply. The mitt touched the runner's foot with only an inch shy of reaching safety. The game was over. A noisy out.
Millions of eyes from around the world were locked on Andre‘. A heartbreaking loss for his team; the 60-year losing streak remained soundly in tact on this late October evening.
At a time when most would have hung their heads low, Andre’ couldn’t help but to be thankful for this moment. He thought of his family and friends in Honduras. He never saw them again, but he wondered about them quite often.
He was thankful for his adoptive American family and the friends that he’d made through the years. Especially those who shared many lazy summer afternoons swatting a baseball in the backyard. It was usually for fun, sometimes in competition, but always out of love for the game. Backyard baseball taught Andre’ many things about himself.
Andre’ took the second chance he’d been given and did something with it. Even though his team had just lost the world series, he was thankful for having made it to the biggest game in baseball.
Losing that game to the neighborhood kids years ago had taught him lessons, just as tonight’s loss did. It taught him, among many things, how to look at life and the curve balls that it sometimes tosses.
Sometimes you swing at the curve ball and get a hit, sometimes you miss. No matter what, you simply move forward, hold your head high and know that there will be another chance to step up to the plate.
Menieu taught Andre’ a lesson as well. Andre’ learned that being different from the others can be quite challenging, but it only takes one person to make the difference. One person is all it takes to break through an imaginary barrier. For Andre’ it was Michael. For Menieu, it was Andre’.
Even with the game loss, Andre’ was still convinced that little Menieu was indeed his good luck charm and, given the life from which the unlucky little cat was rescued, perhaps Menieu felt the same about Andre'.
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010
