Let’s Go Fish!! Vamos Pescados!!
In either language, all tongues were wagging on this bright Sunday when a star was born, when, if only for a couple of hours, the region’s most honored right arm belonged not to Dan Marino but to Livan Hernandez.
Indeed, because the Miami Dolphins still reign supreme, the baseball game here was delayed slightly, so NBC could complete its local football feed without missing a pitch. A wise decision, for this was an afternoon to be savored.
If the Marlins are destined not to play here again until April–and hold your bets on that one–this will be remembered as the day when the national pastime fully gripped South Florida, an area that both stretches the tourists’ entertainment dollar and forces them to double-lock their hotel doors.
When Hernandez, a Cuban defector, got Fred McGriff looking for his 15th strikeout to punctuate the Marlins’ 2-1 victory over Atlanta’s Braves with an exclamation point, fans who might not have understood each other opted for a universal sign of elation. They hugged.
A winning team performs wonders for a stressed city that doesn’t always get along, and the Marlins are one triumph away from a World Series. The Marlins have been bruised, depleted and occasionally ignored, and their best pitcher is still sick to his stomach. But they have magic on their side.
Even the owner who has put the team up for sale was floored by this love-in. Downstairs, Wayne Huizenga’s face beamed.
“Best money you ever spent,” he chirped. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” said David Dombrowski, the Marlins’ general manager, “for allowing me to spend it.”
Dombrowski, formerly of the White Sox front office, another gem who got away, was on his honeymoon when he got word. Hernandez, a legend on tour with the Cuban national team, had dashed through traffic in Monterrey, Mexico, and jumped in a car, crying as he bid adios to his native land and his family back home in the village of Villa Clara.
The date: Sept. 27, 1995.
“It wasn’t really in our budget to bid for Livan,” Dombrowski recalled, “but Mr. Huizenga said, when I phoned from Australia, if he’s that good, go ahead.”
Hernandez is that good. The Yankees and Braves also pursued, but he settled for less–$4.5 million over four years–to play near Cuba, although Miami is as close as he’ll come. Hernandez isn’t even sure whether Sunday’s masterpiece was seen or heard by relatives, particularly the brother suspended by the national team for life when Livan ran to daylight.
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The Braves, however, got their fill. Kenny Lofton opened the first inning with a bullet triple, and Keith Lockhart walked. But then Hernandez’s new country, America, witnessed why he started 9-0 for the Marlins this season and why manager Jim Leyland didn’t kill a pack of Marlboros finding a suitable replacement for Kevin Brown, still ailing.
Hernandez fanned the next three batters, and this stadium was his. He made 143 pitches, working the edges, locating spots with staggering composure. The Florida bullpen never stirred, lest Atlanta get relief from this prodigy of 22.
A few bereaved Braves groused that Eric Gregg, the plate umpire, either had a liberal strike zone as wide as his body or an early buffet reservation. But Greg Maddux, the beaten favorite, forever a professional, took the high road.
“I thought a strike was a strike and a ball was a ball today,” he said. “The kid just outpitched me.”
Three of baseball’s finest and most committed organizations chased Livan Hernandez. Why doesn’t anybody from Cuba ever defect to Chicago? Ah, but we just answered that question.