As the hot afternoon hit the stands of the José Ramón Cepero stadium today, a standing ovation unleashed the fury of the concrete.
The roar was not for a home run, nor for a bases-loaded strikeout. It was for a single. For a dry, raw, precise hit. For the straightness of a swing devoid of ornamentation. It was for Yordanis Samón.
At 43, Samón no longer runs like he used to, but his batting remains a sacred rite. He proved it in the eighth episode of the second semifinal duel of the III Elite League of Cuban Baseball, when, with the game closed 3-2, the granmense unleashed an unstoppable hit that led to the plate the run of tranquility.
Ciego de Avila beat Industriales 4-2 and put the series 2-0. But beyond the result, what remained engraved in the collective retina was the image of this veteran without gloves or artifice, hitting the ball as if youth still ran through his veins.
Samón, the globetrotter. That’s what he has been called for a long time, ever since he left the land of the Alazanes to wear the uniforms of Matanzas, Industriales, Camagüey and any team that needed his offensive fire.
With an average of over .340, more than 200 home runs and a mountain of doubles – he is the second highest accumulator of all time in that category – he built a career where consistency was his emblem. And yet the title was denied him time and again. He was saddled with the reputation of a «bird of ill omen», as if his relentless wood could be a curse.
But the last Elite League twisted the narrative. Matanzas asked him for reinforcement. And with the Crocodiles, Samón finally lifted a trophy that life seemed to have denied him. He did not celebrate with fanfare: he did it with the look of someone who has endured too much to waste time on empty celebrations.
In this semi-final, manager Danny Miranda chose him to reinforce his Tigres, a team that led the regular phase more for its pitching than for its offence. And the decision has been golden.
If yesterday he was placed as the fifth bat, escorting Frederich Cepeda, his imprint was enough for Industriales to give him three intentional tickets. Today, Miranda changed the pieces: Samón batted third, ahead of the legendary espirituano, forcing the rival to challenge him.
His performance, with a .414 average in the qualifiers, is confirmation that age does not erase the threat. That although he is no longer called upon to wear the Cuba jersey – perhaps because of prejudice, perhaps because of the calendar – his swing continues to dictate judgement.
In Cepero, the fans cheer him as if he were one of their own. And he responds with that sober, almost peasant seriousness of someone who needs no disguises. Samón wears no elbow pads, no padded forearms, no coloured gloves. Just his tanned hands, his feline concentration and a batting mechanics that seems to come from another time, from a school that no longer exists, where the important thing was to produce and not to shine.
Every time he steps up to the plate, one senses that something might happen. There is no fancy swing or choreography, but there is the promise of a timely hit, of a line that splits the diamond in two, of a veteran who stands the test of time and other people’s labels with dignity.
Yordanis Samón needs no redemption: his career speaks for him. But every time he drives a decisive race, what he does is rewrite his history. He erases the pages where he was branded a jinx, and writes others where he is a leader, an amulet, a living legend.
El Cepero vibrates. The Tigers roar. And in the midst of the din, a single is worth a thousand fireworks. Because in baseball, as in life, sometimes heroes don’t have capes… just a bat and conviction. (Written by: Boris Luis Cabrera)
