Following The Fastball

Justin had been pitching for the Winnipeg Goldeyes in independent ball when the Diablos Rojos came calling.

The reason they wanted him was specific: they were looking for pitchers whose numbers showed they could perform at altitude, and Justin’s data made a compelling case. Mexico City sits at over 7,000 feet above sea level, and not every arm translates.

It was an exciting opportunity. It was also, if we’re being honest, a little terrifying.

Mexico doesn’t exactly have a sparkling reputation in the United States beyond the well-worn vacation circuit in Cancun, where everything is controlled and curated for tourists. Mexico City was a different conversation entirely. But the Diablos are the biggest, most established team in the LMB. High profile players, strong organization, real safety infrastructure, good money. If you were going to take a leap into Mexican baseball, this was the version of that leap that made the most sense.

So Justin took it. He packed his bags and flew down to Mexico.

And as it happened, I already had a few days off around the same holiday weekend. I had been planning to go see him wherever he was playing anyway so I booked a ticket to Mexico City and figured we’d work out the details when we got there.

This turned out to be a more optimistic plan than it sounds.

Justin landed first, and the team was actually in another city before their home series kicked off. I watched the whole adjustment process unfold over FaceTime.

The food situation was immediate. We were both paranoid about eating anything we weren’t sure about; the water, the street food, all of it. Justin was standing in an unfamiliar city trying to figure out what was safe to eat, and my very practical solution was to walk across the parking lot of the hotel to the near by Sam’s Club and get a rotisserie chicken.

So that’s what he did. For three nights in a row, Justin FaceTimed me from his hotel room with a rotisserie chicken from Sam’s Club. I’d like to think it was a bonding moment.

Slowly, he started to get his footing. The food situation became less alarming. The city started to feel less foreign.

We both had similar flight times into Mexico City, Justin coming from Oaxaca and I was flying from Portland, Maine with a 6 hour pit stop in D.C. before my flight to CDMX. At the time I was in the process of obtaining a reseidence visa to to play professional bandy in Sweden (story for another blog post) and had an appointment at the Swedish embassy that I couldn’t miss.

I was exhausted from the long travel day and intense day of interviews, but made it to Mexico City at the same time as Justin and we started our Mexico City adventure together.

It was the first time either of us had ever been to Mexico City. Justin had a few days on me but not enough to have any real sense of the place. He’s protective by nature, and I could tell over the phone that he was a little uneasy about me coming before he felt fully settled and before he could confidently say he knew where things were, what was safe, how to navigate it all.

We figured it out as we went.

Part of that figuring out meant making friends fast. Which in baseball you tend to get good at. We clicked with a few of the American guys on the team, and one of them happened to have his agent based down there full time during the season. They were kind, welcoming people who made those first few days feel a lot less overwhelming.

The timing worked out perfectly, because Justin’s schedule had him heading to Puebla for a road series, about two and a half hours from Mexico City. My original plan had been to either wing it on a family bus, rent a car, or stay back in Mexico City alone for three days.

Looking back, renting a car in Mexico on my first visit would have been an absolutely unhinged decision. I’m glad that’s not the story I’m telling.

Instead, our new friends offered to let me ride down to Puebla with them in their suburban fully equipped with an armed security guard, because when you’re traveling with a high profile player, that’s just part of the deal. I felt completely safe. Arguably safer than I’ve felt on some road trips in the US.

Before the game in Puebla, the agent and I got a little tour of the city with our security guard pacing behind us at all times.

She took me to a church on top of a hill overlooking the city. It was a very quiet and charming city and genuinely beautiful in a way that felt untouched. It was exactly the kind of thing I never would have found on my own.

The stadium itself was a different story. Let’s just say it was not Alfredo Harp Helú. I was grateful to have been placed up in the box with the team managers and media. Good sightlines, solid company, and a sense of security that the general seating area did not quite inspire.

And that’s where I had my first real introduction to Mexican street food.

Street tacos appeared in front of me along with a Tecate beer, offered by the people around me with genuine warmth and hospitality. I had been terrified of getting sick and ate exclusively bread and peanut butter on this trip, but I didn’t want to be rude so I ate them.it

They were delicious. I was still nervous the entire time, but they were delicious.

After the series wrapped up in Puebla, we made the drive back to Mexico City. I had one more day before my flight back to Boston, and then it was back to real life, back to the long-distance routine that baseball demands.

Justin stayed and kept getting himself settled. The rotisserie chicken phase was behind him. Mexico City was starting to feel less like a foreign country and more like another chapter in the baseball life.

Neither of us knew yet just how much of our story would end up being written there.