Following The Fastball

Two weeks after the chaos of Campeche, the Diablos were back in it and this time for the LMB Championship against Guadalajara.

Guadalajara. One of Mexico’s major cities, and conveniently, one with a direct flight from the US. Which meant one thing, I had absolutely zero excuse not to go.

I’d missed the championship the year before and the FOMO nearly did me in. I watched from home while Justin celebrated an epic win, and I promised myself that was never happening again. So when the Diablos punched their ticket to Guadalajara, I was already pulling up flights.

I flexed my 40 hours at work, booked a Friday morning departure and a Sunday morning return, and called it a plan. The shortest international trip I’d ever taken. Forty-eight hours in Mexico for a championship game. Completely reasonable. Totally worth it.

When I arrived at the stadium, it hit me immediately that this was not a minor league crowd and the stadium was massive.

The place was packed. The energy was loud and electric in that way that makes your chest vibrate before the first pitch is even thrown. I arrived with the wives and girlfriends on the team bus, and let me tell you these women came ready. Handmade red blazers covered in sparkles and rhinestones, their husband’s name spelled out across the back, red Diablos lipstick that meant business. 

I had not gotten the memo on the matching jackets and arrived in my jersey with Courtney on the back. It was giving championship energy just without the rhinestones

The stadium leaned fully into the spectacle. The mascots had multiple costume changes. The jumbotron was practically its own entertainment system. At one point they panned the crowd searching, apparently, for the most beautiful women in Guadalajara and my face appeared on the screen.

I wanted to dissolve into my seat.

I had no reason to be embarrassed. And yet my face went completely red and I immediately turned away like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

Somehow Justin and his teammates caught my jumbotron debut from the dugout before I even had time to recover.

On the field, the Diablos handled business. They led by a comfortable margin all night, and by the time the ninth inning rolled around, it wasn’t a question of if, just when.

As the final outs crept closer, the wives and girlfriends started making their way toward the tunnel to get onto the field for the celebration. What followed was twenty minutes of absolute chaos.

The crowd was enormous. We were packed in, pushing through a sea of people, everyone moving in five different directions at once. When we finally made it to the gate, the stadium workers decided that was as far as we were going. They held us there, gate closed while the families argued in Spanish around me. I didn’t understand a word of it, but I understood the energy, and I just stood quietly, trusting that eventually we’d get through.

We eventually got through, and ran down the tunnel and onto the field, and I found Justin with a championship medal around his neck, Serie Del Rey hat on, and the biggest smile I’d seen all season. I jumped right into his arms.

It was one of those moments I knew I’d think about for a long time. The kind that reminds you exactly why you booked the forty-eight hour trip.

The celebration on the field rolled into the locker room, and that’s where the party started.

Cases upon cases of Tecate and tequila bottles. Beer showers. Loud Mexican music echoing off the walls. The trophy passing from player to player, everyone dancing and celebrating. All happening in the tiny away locker room of Panamericano de Beisbol. The WAGs had been invited in too, which I did not expect, and honestly? Being included in that felt like its own kind of honor.

The bus ride back to the hotel kept the party going dancing in the aisles, music blasting, everyone still riding the high of a championship.

And then the Diablos did something very special that I didn’t see coming.

They had arranged a full team banquet in the hotel ballroom. A mariachi band performed. A complete spread of food and desserts. Tables set up for players and families together. It was nearly 11:30pm by the time we arrived from the stadium, and none of that mattered, the room was full and alive!

Instead of the guys disappearing to a club to celebrate on their own, the organization had created something that included everyone. That’s not nothing. In a world where baseball life often means wives and families watching from the sidelines, the Diablos made a point to make everyone feel part of the team. That kind of thing sticks with you.

Forty-eight hours in Guadalajara. A jumbotron moment I’m still recovering from, a championship I almost missed, and a celebration that reminded me why we keep chasing this crazy life.

Completely worth it.