Following The Fastball

2025 was Justin’s year.

He came out of the gate as one of the best starters in the LMB, putting up numbers that turned heads across the league. For a guy who has ground through minor league bus rides, independent ball, winter ball, and everything in between, this was the kind of season that felt like the universe finally paying attention.

And the universe’s way of saying so? An All Star selection.

This was a big deal. The LMB isn’t a league you overlook, it’s full of ex-major leaguers, seasoned professionals, and guys who have been at the highest level of the game. Being named to the All Star team in that company meant something. Justin knew it. I knew it. We were both buzzing.

This year’s format was foreign players versus the Mexicans. And because the game was hosted in Mexico City, his home stadium, he was named the starting pitcher.

I booked my flight immediately.

I wasn’t going to miss this one. Justin hasn’t had a ton of marquee moments in his career and when they come, I want to be standing right there next to him for all of it. I flew down for the full week, not just the weekend. Some milestones deserve more than a quick trip.

The All Star weekend kicked off with a formal banquet the night before the game, which happened to coincide with the 100th anniversary of the LMB. This wasn’t a casual dinner, this was a red carpet event. A couple hundred people, awards, speeches, performers, the works.

I made sure I was ready for it.

I went out and found a long, chic dress with heels to match. The kind of outfit that requires actual planning, not just a jersey and sneakers. It was probably one of the first times Justin and I had ever dressed up together like that, and honestly? It felt really good. We cleaned up well.

They bused us across Mexico City to a banquet hall, which in true Mexico City fashion, took nearly two hours. Nobody seemed to mind. The energy on the bus was good, and we were all riding the excitement of the weekend.

When we arrived, there was a red carpet.

Photographers lined up, sports news interviewing players, the whole production. Justin and I walked it together, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t fully know what to do with myself. But I walked down the red carpet on Justin’s arm and took it all in.

Inside, the banquet went on for a few hours. Awards were given, speeches were made, performers took the stage. The only minor issue was that all of it was in Spanish, and my attempts at real-time Google Translate were unsuccessful. I caught enough to follow the vibe and clapped when everyone else clapped, which I’m counting as a win.

We bused back to the hotel, another two hours, and called it a night.

The next morning, Justin was up and into his pregame routine. I was in the hotel room doing what I always do on game days, searching Google Maps for a new coffee shop to check out and scanning the weather app.

It was not looking good, dark clouds, rain in the forecast, the kind of sky that has opinions. I told myself it would pass. It did not pass.

I rode the bus over to the stadium with the wives and families, everyone dressed up and repping their guys, handmade jackets, rhinestones, last names across the back, the usual. The energy was high. The stadium was buzzing.

There was just one problem: because the game was run by the LMB rather than the Diablos organization, the family seating arrangements were completely different. Instead of our usual suite section, families had been scattered across the entire stadium. I ended up in the nosebleeds.

I had brought my glasses, so I was going to make this work.

The pregame intro was a big production, loud, the kind of entrance that gives you chills. Justin walked out to start warming up.

And then the sky opened up.

It didn’t drizzle. It didn’t sprinkle. It downpoured.

Within minutes, the game was paused. Thousands of fans who weren’t under covered seats, myself very much included, were pushed back behind the stands, packed into the concession areas like sardines, shoulder to shoulder, waiting it out.

We waited. And waited. And waited.

The fans were unreal, I’ll give them that. Nobody left. They were singing and dancing and keeping the energy alive through what became one of the longest rain delays I have ever witnessed in my life. Mexican baseball fans are just built different.

I spent those hours standing, trying to get updates, and at one point attempted to quietly slip into one of the family box sections when I spotted some of the other wives inside. The staff was having absolutely none of it. I was politely but firmly redirected back to the general area, where I continued to stand in the chaos.

Eventually, with Justin’s help from the inside, I managed to get into the family section. I found a seat. I sat down. I exhaled.

It was 11:30pm.

At 11:45, they called the game. I respect the optimism of whoever thought a full All Star game was starting at midnight on a Saturday in Mexico City, truly an icon of hope.

Four hours of standing in a rain-soaked stadium, and the moment I finally got comfortable in a seat, it was over. I just sat there for a second and laughed, because what else do you do?

They rescheduled the game for the next day.

It wasn’t quite the same, and it couldn’t be. The crowd was smaller, the electricity of the original night was harder to recreate on short notice. But to make it up to the families for the chaos of the night before, they invited all the wives and families up to the owner’s box to watch.

So we watched the All Star game from the owner’s box. Air conditioning, great sightlines, actual seats. Justin took the mound and started the game he had been preparing for all week.

It wasn’t the night we had planned. But somewhere between the red carpet and the rain delay and the owner’s box and the rescheduled game, it became something better a story we’ll be telling for the rest of our lives.

That’s baseball. That’s the life. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade it.