Links In The Chain

Vladimir Guerrero was lost. He was walking home from the store. He was sure he lived just around the corner, but he couldn't find his way. As a Dominican who spoke only Spanish, Guerrero was afraid to ask anyone in Montreal for help in finding the apartment building where he lived with Pedro Martinez, his Expos teammate at the time. Then Guerrero remembered the piece of paper in his pocket. Written on it was The Manhattan Building; 1625 Lincoln Avenue; Apartment 2102.

It was the spring of 1997, and Guerrero, then a 21-year-old outfielder, was starting his first full season in the major leagues. The veteran pitcher Martinez had taken him under his wing and invited him to share his apartment. It was Martinez who had written their address on the scrap of paper in case his young ward got lost. "At first I was worried about him every time he went out,' " says Martinez, who now stars for the Boston Red Sox. "I care about Vladi like a little brother."

That's how it has been since the first waves of Latin ballplayers arrived in the majors: the veterans helping their young Latino brethren across a cultural divide. Young players from Latin America have to overcome racial and cultural stereotypes as well as the language barrier. The veterans serve as navigators across this treacherous territory, forming a ministry they call La Cadena—the chain. Foreign-born Latinos composed 16.8% of Opening Day big league rosters last season (compared with 7% in 1978), demonstrating that America's pastime has become a pastime of all the Americas.

"There's a lot more awareness of the Latin players now," says Dusty Baker, the former major leaguer who manages the San Francisco Giants and is one of the few big league skippers who speaks Spanish. "I was lonely and homesick when I first started [in the Atlanta Braves system], and I was only from California. You can imagine how much tougher it is for somebody who doesn't speak the language and is away from his homeland."

The language barrier is the most difficult obstacle for Latinos from abroad, says Expos second baseman Wilton Guerrero, Vladimir's older sibling, who, having been traded by the Los Angeles Dodgers last season, is now his brother's keeper in Canada. "Once we have the English, we have everything," says Wilton. "We know we have the talent and skills to play baseball. All we need is the English."

That's what second baseman Quilvio Veras needed as he started out in the New York Mets system in the early '90s. His career nearly came to a halt because he couldn't tell his coaches that he was hurt. "In rookie ball in Tennessee I injured my shoulder," says Veras, a Dominican who now plays for the San Diego Padres. "They wanted me to play, and I said that before I would play in that condition, I would prefer to go home. I could not explain exactly what I felt in my shoulder because of the language. They did not believe me and said that I just did not want to play."

Relief came with the arrival of Felix Millan, then a roving instructor for the Mets. Millan is Puerto Rican, and he spoke with Veras in Spanish. "He explained to the manager my problem," Veras says. "Finally the manager gave me a few days off, and I healed."

The language barrier also separates Latino ballplayers and the mainstream U.S. media. Reporters who speak only English can't get useful sound bites or quotes. "Latino ballplayers in non-Hispanic cities get no media attention," says Julio Sarmiento, the Florida Marlins' assistant director of baseball information and publicity. "There's just no communication there. These players are difficult interviews for Anglo reporters."

Latino players who speak little or no English often decline to do interviews, but not because they disdain the press. "They don't want to be embarrassed," says Philadelphia Phillies utility-man Alex Arias. "They don't want to look foolish."

Conversely, Latino players take pride in communicating in Spanish on the field. It's a secret weapon, says recently retired second baseman Joey Cora, a Puerto Rican who went to Vanderbilt on a baseball scholarship. Before being traded to the Cleveland Indians by the Seattle Mariners last August, Cora and shortstop Alex Rodriguez talked strategy in front of opposing players—in Spanish. "They didn't know what the hell we were saying," Cora says. "But if we messed up, Lou [cursed us out] in Spanish." Cora is referring to Mariners manager Lou Piniella, a Floridian with Spanish roots.