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were watching Esdra. He was going to qualify for July 2 bidding and it seemed certain that there would be a number of bidders. The date of July 2 only had to be mentioned and blood would rush to shy young Esdra’s face. Dany Santana was interested, but he scouted for Tampa Bay, a club that was famous for spending its money carefully. That year they were to make it into the World Series with their low-budget team. He said of Esdra, “He is fast but not as good as his brother Abner. He doesn’t practice enough. He only practices three days, because he is always going to school. It’s this July 2 he will be signing, but maybe not with us, because I think he may cost more than he’s worth.”

Santana was right. The highly organized system was driving up prices. On July 2 the Texas Rangers signed Esdra for $550,000. The Abreus, having already taken in $900,000 in signing bonuses, were on their way. But they still had one more card to play: their youngest son, Gabriel. Gabriel was a little beefier than his brothers—beefier than most Dominicans. Before he was even a teenager he had learned English, to be ready for playing in America. The young Macorisanos knew a great deal about what was needed to make it to the majors. It was a different world than just a few decades earlier when Rogelio Candalario signed with the Astros in 1986 without learning a word of English. “When the manager said something, I would watch the first person who did something and try to guess what the manager had said.” But they weren’t getting half-million-dollar signing bonuses in those days, either.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Curse of the Eastern Stars

It was January 2008. Going down the homestretch of the season, the Estrellas had won seven of their last nine games and were firmly in first place. But the other teams were not worried. Nor were Estrellas fans excited. This was San Pedro’s Estrellas Orientales, the Elephants, a team that had won only three championships in almost one hundred years—the last one in 1968, when they beat Santo Domingo’s Escogido.

They needed only three more wins to clinch the playoff. But, to no one’s surprise, they lost six games in a row. Now it was the final elimination match and it was on the home field, Tetelo Vargas Stadium. They had to win now or their season was over.

José Mercedes, a starting pitcher for Licey, said, “Don’t feel sorry for them. They do this every year.”

And in fact no one was giving them any sympathy. Tetelo Vargas Stadium was half empty. Many of those who were there were rooting for Santiago’s Águilas Cibaeñas. Alfredo Griffin had been general manager of the Estrellas for the past three years. He was still a fit shortstop, a calm, soft-spoken man with few pretensions for a multimillionaire in a small town. His one indulgence was the very bright gold-and-diamond bracelet on his wrist. During his major-league career he had returned every winter to play for the Estrellas, and now as a major-league coach he came home to manage. “I wanted to manage because they are my team,” he said. “I want them to win.”

Not all Macorisanos have this home team loyalty. They know baseball and they like winning teams, so many root for either Licey or the Águilas. Usually Licey or the Águilas win. The rest of the time it is Escogido. The La Romana team, Azucareros del Este, the Eastern Sugar Makers, have won only once: in 1995, when it was managed by Art Howe, an ex-infielder who had managed three major-league teams.

Macorisanos believed in winning, and if the Estrellas were not winning it was their own fault. Julio García, the Cubs’ academy pitching coach, complained, “Everybody here is a manager. They all consider themselves baseball experts.” Not that it was any different in his native Cuba, where a spot is reserved in Havana’s Parque Central for angrily tearing apart the mismanagement of yesterday’s games. The spot is called the esquina caliente, the hot corner. There is no such spot officially reserved in San Pedro’s Parque Central, but that doesn’t stop Macorisanos from having a lot to say.

Dominicans are great fatalists,