El béisbol es un deporte cruel. Por ejemplo, en el soccer, en la final del mundial de fútbol en 2022 Argentina tuvo una posesión del balón del 60% del tiempo. Pero en el beisbol, en todos los partidos, la defensa tiene el 100% del control de la pelota. Además, la ofensiva no puede tocar la pelota, solamente con un bate, de lo contrario queda fuera.

Ganar es virtualmente imposible para ambos rivales. Por eso escribí lo siguiente y Prensa Libre lo publicó el 17 Diciembre 2025:

En este post quiero dejar una referencia en el tiempo sobre este equipo de béisbol infantil, que jugó en el primer torneo de béisbol avalado por Little League en diciembre en Guatemala llamado Copa Guate.

Stats del torneo:

Glosario de estadisticas a la ofensiva:

GP: games played
PA: plate appearances
AVG: average
OBP: On-Base Percentage
OPS: On-base Plus Slugging
SLG: Slugging Percentage
H: hits
1B: single
2B: double
3B: triple
HR: Home Run
RBI: A run batted in or runs batted in. It credits a batter for making a play that allows a run to be scored
R: Runs scored
BB: Base on Balls
SO: Strikeout / ponche
HBP: hit by pitch
SAC: sacrifice. It refers to a batter intentionally giving themselves up to advance base runners or score a run
SF: sacrifice fly
ROE: Reached On Error
FC: Fielder’s Choice
SB: stolen base

Glosario de estadisticas a la defensiva:

IP: innings pitched
GP: games played
GS: games started
W: attributed wins
L: attributed losses
H: hits allowed
R: runs allowed
ER: earned runs
BB: base on balls
SO: strikeouts
HBP: hit by pitch
ERA: earned runs average
WHIP: Walks and Hits per Inning Pitched

Mas allá de los lideratos (que los hubieron: Jose Javier Rodas y Juan Diego Joachin) lo más importante para mí como papá y aficionado del béisbol es visualizar los escenarios futuros a largo plazo para estos 16 peloteros. No sólo por la posibilidad de que uno (o varios) de ellos llegue a jugar grandes ligas (eterno sueño guatemalteco) pero más importante aun: el desarrollo de la vocación de esos peloteros y futuros-adultos. Me explico a continuación:

Caso de los compañeros de Justin Verlander

Justin es un pitcher de la MLB al dia hoy octavo en la lista de ponches de todos los tiempos (3,553). Su papá escribió un libro en 2012: “Rocks Acorss the Pond, lessons learned Stories Told”. Un de las historias que me gustaron es esta donde un compañero de Justin se convierte en cardiologo:

It takes heart to play baseball. No one knows this better than Cardiologist Michael Vranian, M.D. Hearts are his specialty. But to get to where he is today, he had to pass an important test. The medical board exam: the one test and the one chance to determine the direction that Michael Vranian’s life would take after so many years of medical school. Vranian had always wanted to be a cardiologist. He knew it would take hard work, and as his friends said, he’d have to “study his fanny off.” Well, he had. He had made the sacrifices. The long nights studying, while others caught the Monday Night Football games, “House” reruns, and Saturday Night Live skits. Dinners were always on the run, generally out of a cardboard box or neatly folded wax paper. Yes, I’ll take fries with that. Medical school had been all Vranian had known for so long, and it was now time to take the next step, and arguably the biggest step. And it came down to this exam; this one board exam that would determine if he would achieve his goal. For twenty-one straight years, Johns Hopkins has had the #1 program in the country for Internal Medicine, and Vranian wanted it. He wanted it bad. Vranian stared at the cold, gray glowing computer screen in front of him. Man, he was nervous. Carefully he pulled two newly sharpened pencils from his shirt pocket and placed them toward the right edge of the desk, next to the scratch paper provided. Then he fished out the calculator from the same shirt pocket and placed it on the desk to his left. Finally, he took off his wristwatch and folded the linked metal band in such a way that he could form a little stand, and the face of the watch was angled up toward him so he could see the dial at all times. Knowing the time was crucial, especially as it got toward the end of the exam. Wasn’t that the way many things in life worked out? Crunch time is at the end. Vranian looked around the room. He could see heads and shoulders of the other students scurrying to get to their assigned computer stations. Time was drawing near. He looked back down at the configuration of his desk—pencils to the right, calculator to the left, watch at the top. As he pondered the formation, a picture slowly developed in front him. It was a picture of a baseball field. It was the view that he had seen many times before, starting with his Little League days and straight on through his days on his high school team. As catcher, he would peer out toward the mound, where Justin Verlander was when he fired those fastballs. On his right, an imaginary white chalk line angled its way off to first base–toward the pencils! The watch was on second, just past the pitcher’s mound. And on third sat the calculator, cheating ever so slightly off the bag, ready to race home. Vranian’s heart settled a bit. He had been here before. The feelings he had—the nervousness, the anxiety of the situation, the pressure to perform—he had felt them all before. He had never experienced anything like this. The crowds in the stands were so loud, yet he couldn’t hear a thing. Vranian was thirteen years old and standing in the on-deck circle at the AAU Regional Championship game against the Virginia Beach Blasters. The winner of this game would go to the National Championships in Chickasha, Oklahoma. This was huge. Derrick Mitchell, the cleanup batter, was walking to the plate. There was only one out, and two men were already on base. The Virginia Beach Blasters’ coach was motioning for the outfield to pull in close, hoping to give his players a chance to fire the ball home in the event of a play at the plate. Vranian rubbed the palm of his left hand. Playing catcher was tough, especially when Verlander was on the mound. Those fastballs hurt, even with the extra padding. He grabbed a doughnut and slid the ringed weight over the handle of the bat so that it caught on the meat of the bat, about two-thirds of the way down the barrel. It was his custom to swing the bat around with the extra weight, so that by the time Derrick hit, struck out, or walked, Vranian would be warmed up and ready to hit. But while time seemed to stand still on one hand, it raced way too fast on the other. For this was not going to be a usual at bat for Derrick. Vranian stopped in mid-swing when he realized that the Blasters were intentionally walking Derrick. Four quick pitches and Vranian would be up to bat. The pressure mounted with each pitch, and he wasn’t even standing at the plate yet! “Ball four!” yelled the umpire, and all eyes turned to the next kid up to bat, Michael Vranian. He was so nervous that he almost forgot to knock the doughnut off the bat, but with a few quick taps of the handle on the ground, the doughnut came off and rolled to the far side of the on-deck circle. Vranian stepped into the batter’s box and faced the pitcher on the mound. He looked like he was standing on a mountain. Words such as “crisp,” “polished,” and “well-trained” echoed through his head as he recalled how the coaches talked almost admiringly about the Blasters. They were a darn good team, as evidenced by their long string of National Championship appearances and they deserved the accolades. “Strike one!” yelled the umpire. Vranian didn’t swing. Vranian didn’t even move, even when the pitcher took his windup and fired another pitch…“Ball one!” Thank goodness, thought Vranian, still locked in position at the plate with the bat firmly rooted to his shoulder. The count was one and one, and Vranian stepped out of the box to get his bearings. Game is tied at 2-2 late in extra innings. Bases are loaded, and I know they want me to hit a ground ball so they can get a double play. If I do hit a fly ball, the outfield is playing in so tight that they can catch it and still peg the guy tagging up on third when he runs for the plate. Vranian was amazed that he could process all of this, because all he really wanted to do is throw up. He stepped back into the box and lifted the bat off his shoulder, as if to signal to the pitcher that he meant business. Maybe the pitcher would be intimidated and throw the ball into the stands or something. But what happened next was even better. Vranian took a healthy swing and caught the ball pure and flush, sending the ball straight over the center fielder’s head. The man on third scored easily and before Vranian could reach second base his teammates came yelling and screaming out of the dugout, lifted him on their shoulders, and carried him off the field. He’d won the game! Back at the medical board exam, Vranian reached for the mouse and gave it the initial click. “You may begin,” read the large words on the computer screen. With authority Vranian clicked to the first question. “Batter up!”

Verlander, Richard ; Verlander, Kathy . Rocks Across The Pond . Dementi Milestone Publishing. Kindle Edition.

Caso de Alfredo Harp Helú

Prominente inversionista bursátil de Mexico. Dueño del equipo Diablos Rojos de Mexico y tambien dueño minoritario de los San Diego Padres. Hoy tiene mas de 80 años de edad. Su auto-biografía (2003) se llama Vivir y Morir Jugando Beisbol. Se hizo famoso en el mudo bursátil tras la compra de Banamex y la posterior venta a Citibank. Frases intereantes de su libro: “…como en el beisbol: las grandes trageidas suceden con dos outs.” “Crisis significa oportunidad”. Don Alfredo no fué un jugador profesional, pero su liderazgo lo llevó a la presidencia de la Bolsa de Valores Mexicana y entre otros logros terminar la construcción del inmueble simbolo de la bolsa que se encuentra en Paseo de la Reforma y Rio Rhin, el llamado centro bursátil.

Dice el experto Tom House, que antes de los 17 años de edad, en el beisbol, el resultado es secundario. Lo único relevante es el proceso. Mientras estos muchachos se siguen desarrollando, aquí queda una foto en el tiempo de diciembre 2025. Del futuro no sabemos nada, pero del pasado podemos aprender a darle sentido al presente.