Jorge Martinez Blancas...or Humbled in Oaxaca

Our new little league “trainer" has transformed our practices and his mantra is “Vamanos Alegres”…Let’s be happy. That’s what he wants. He wants to boys and girl to be happy when playing, to have fun, I suppose this would be an accurate translation. He’s also teaching them ball skills along the way…I’ve missed the last 4 practices, first we missed two because of being in PEscondido, then I missed because of my ear infection.

Being back on the field today, I saw the transformation. He has the kids “playing baseball” and not “thinking baseball”…if that makes sense. I’ll try to explain the distinction…it’s still a bit fuzzy to me. I suppose I noticed it because everyone was hitting, and I mean everyone, down to the last wimpy player. Gabe is hitting better than ever, but so are all the other players. Blancas moves batting practice very quickly…today starting everyone on bunts and his command was to make contact no matter what. Even if the pitch was high or in the dirt, he wanted them going for contact. They got as many pitches as they needed to get the bunt. Most made contact on that first pitch…especially by the third round. One batter was on deck, one bunting and the rest were in outfield, rotating from first to third. Playing the bunt wasn’t the issue and things moved fast. Next, he let them do one good hit, again going round the rotation, then two hits…(he was pitching).

After that, we played a scrimmage and he got a few of us parents involved. I was one of the fools, of course, because I always bring my mitt and wear the appropriate clothes in case they need my help. We were all players and all got to bat. My first at bat was a strong showing. Blancas seemed surprised. In the next inning, I played right field and had to sprint to catch a fly ball that Gabe hit and couldn’t get to it. I admit, I was feeling a bit of vertigo from my ear infection, but that’s not an excuse. I simply couldn’t get to that ball. It's harder than it looks!

Following that fiasco, we made our third out and I was first up. I felt winded from my run, but ready to whack the ball again in true Susi style, but Blancas was on to me and pitched outside. I did not catch on. He was toying with me and laughing the entire time. I did swing hard at that second pitch and lost my balance, twirled and landed on my butt in the dirt. The parents in the bleachers were roaring and so was Blancas. He had this gleam in his eye and got me swinging and missing on the next pitch as well. The subsequent batter was another parent and Blancas struck him out too, grinning like an evil trickster (okay, that may be too strong…not evil, but yes, he was throwing some funky stuff to us). Meanwhile, I am a bit embarrassed and covered in dirt, trying to avoid the glinting eyes of the parents who will, I’m sure, tell this tale to their great grandchildren, about the gringa who thought she was hot stuff, but fell in the dirt like a circus clown, all for their amusement.

I was redeemed at my next at bat. I took the advice I’m always giving to Gabe...to be patient…I was patient and got my hit. Blancas also may have felt a bit of remorse for getting me to go after that terrible curve ball.

Gabe was three for three in the scrimmage, hit a homerun over the left-fielder’s head and had a great practice. I was sore like heck and ready for bed!

Sure enough, the following day, Blancas laughed at me about the "curve ball" he had thrown, checking to see if I showed any signs of being angry. I wasn't angy, I told him, just humbled. He invited us to his house for pollo and mole. I think in his own way he was trying to make amends for causing a 40-year-old woman to fall in the dirt in front of spectators.