JAI ALAI / TIJUANA : Here, Players Are Not Living Glamorous Life

The game is not racquetball, but there is a resemblance.

It is played in a court 177-feet long, 55-feet wide and 55-feet high. In it, the players chase a rock-hard ball, which travels faster than 160 m.p.h. They catch and throw it with wicker-like baskets called cestas.

Those who play this game rest in dungy locker rooms and earn menial paychecks.

The name of this game is jai alai, and those who play it do not live the glamorous life.

Said Loren Harris, 22: “It’s tough to put yourself in that (glamorous) image when a guy in the states, bagging groceries, makes more in a week than we do in a month.”

One player has a degree in computer systems from the University of Miami (Fla.), and is working on another one at San Diego State. Another player, who calls himself “Balboa” as a tribute to Sylvester Stallone’s “Rocky” character, quit high school five months before he was to graduate so he could play full time. A couple of other players have played in Miami, where jai alai is big time, and another started in Connecticut, the other U.S. hotbed of the sport.

There are three players from the Basque provinces of Spain and France, where the sport had its start more than 800 years ago. Six Americans and an assortment of Mexicans fill the rest of the Tijuana Fronton’s 27-man roster.

About a dozen of the older Mexicans, 28 and over, live here and want to stay here. As for the others, they all want out. Quickly.

To Hartford, Millford, Daytona Beach or Miami. The major leagues.

There, a jai alai player can make $25,000 to $100,000 a year.

“This is a training school for us, like Triple-A is to major-league baseball,” Harris, 22, said. “It is professional. To the older Mexicans, who have been playing for a long time, this is professional. It is for us too, but we’re trying to move up and play somewhere else. I don’t consider myself a major leaguer, but I’m a pro.”

Said Mike DeCarlo, 24: “This is like the minor leagues. I want to do good here and get a chance to go back to the states, to Connecticut, and make good money. I think I can hack a year down here.”

Said Mark Matera, alias Balboa, 18: “In six months I want to be able to go to Florida. I’m young. The only thing I can do here is improve . . .”

When Matera speaks of the game, his eyes widen and a faint smile appears. His mother began working at a Bridgeport, Conn., jai alai court in 1976 as a mutuel ticket puncher and gave Mark a cesta for Christmas that year.

“I used to play baseball,” Matera said, “but when I was 8 and got that first basket under the tree, that was it.”

Exactly a decade after receiving his first cesta, Matera said he quit school to concentrate on jai alai.

“Every day I would go to homeroom, then leave and play jai alai all day against buildings,” Matera said. “I just kept practicing for five or six hours a day, every day, and playing in amateur tournaments on weekends.”

Matera’s parents made him return to school, and he received his general education degree at Platt Technical School in Millford, Conn., last spring.

Jose Alberdi, the player-manager at the Tijuana Fronton, gave Matera a six-month contract on June 1. Alberdi asked Matera what his name was, but Alberdi could not pronounce “Matera.”

“So I says, ‘Give me Balboa,’ ” Matera said. “Rocky’s awesome.”

Matera started as a $300-a-month professional player. But, since most players are paid 80,000 pesos a month and the exchange rate skyrocketed just after Matera started, his salary had slipped to $126 a month at last Friday’s exchange rate.

“I was happy to turn pro when I was 18, that’s an accomplishment,” Matera said. “I love the game, the speed appeals to me the most. I want to make good money and be outgoing, maybe play matinees in Miami three times a week and a couple of night matches. Maybe go out with the guys to a bar, have a nice car, live near the beach. . . . All I want to do is play jai alai. If we weren’t dedicated, we wouldn’t be here.”

Harris, the best U.S. player here, has competed in more than 700 games and has finished in the money--first, second or third--more than 27% of the time. Mike DeCarlo is the closest American to Harris at 23%.

Recently, as he sat on a rock-hard couch in the players’ lounge, his eyes were bleary and dark, and he looked like he would fall asleep. An American show, in Spanish, was on the television. Once in a while, when the antenna is moved just right, the television can pick up American stations.

“Some of the frontons in Florida have ripped couches, etc.,” Harris said, “but it’s not like sitting on a bus bench. This is pretty raunchy . . . but it doesn’t bother me. You have to overlook it. It doesn’t bother you if things are going your way, but if you’re in a lousy mood everything bothers you.”

Harris began playing at age 18 in Miami with Rafael Sotil (who goes by the name “Lasa,”) at one of the 10 jai alai schools the Florida frontons operate to introduce the sport to potential players. In June of 1984, Harris and Sotil went to Barcelona, Spain, and played for seven months. In Barcelona, they play 30-point games. Fans can bet on each point the players play, and ushers call out the odds after each point. In Tijuana, and in Connecticut and Florida, games are played to seven. The fans, can only bet on each game, not each point.

“This is the Americanized version,” Harris said. “They want quick, 12-minute games. Quick results. In Barcelona, you really get a chance to develop your game and stamina. If you make a mistake you’re not off. Here, you miss one ball and you’re off. You hope, ‘Geez, will I get on again?’ ”

Harris had a nice apartment in Spain and lived well.

“Compared to the others,” he said, “I lived like a king. The exchange rate didn’t fluctuate as much as it (does) here, and I got some help from my father.”

Loren came back to the United States in December of 1984 and found few opportunities.

“I floundered for five months,” he said. “I practiced everywhere. Then a guy I knew at Daytona Beach, who used to manage this jai alai, helped me out. I flew out here for a tryout and was offered a contract. It’s not much, but it’s something. I need twice as much to live here (in Chula Vista) as I did in Barcelona. But I’m playing professional and getting a chance to improve.”

Bruce Weissman, 27, played baseball, football and basketball, even hockey, growing up in Connecticut. He juggles his time during school semesters studying for his teaching credential at San Diego State, playing jai alai, working as an assistant equipment manager for the San Diego State football team and sleeping, in that order.

He did not see one Aztec football game last season, because of jai alai and school, but did help the football team during the week.

Weissman began betting on jai alai while attending the University of Miami six years ago. Then he started playing and got addicted. Two years ago, he was playing amateur jai alai in Las Vegas at the MGM (now Bally) Grand Hotel.

Weissman received his first professional contract here nine months ago. He is getting another degree so he can coach high school football.

“I’m getting kind of old to get a chance (for the states),” he said. “Most players start when they are between 6 and 16, I began when I was 20. I’d like to get out of here, but I don’t know if it’s going to happen.”

Moving up to play in the states is not easy.

“It’s not like you go to Vero Beach, then Albuquerque, then San Antonio (cities where the Dodgers have minor-league teams) and then Los Angeles,” Harris said, “It has to do with the progression a player makes, and who you know. All the jai alai managers in the states have played the game with each other and stay in close contact with who is doing well.”

A month ago, Jose Revellos moved from Tijuana to Miami.

“He deserved it,” Weissman said. “He was an excellent player.”

In jai alai, it’s who you know. Sotil’s father played jai alai for 25 years and is influential because the people he played with are now managers of frontons in the United States. “They help you get your foot in the door,” Sotil said, “but once you are in you have to prove yourself. If not, they will kick you out.”

Five months ago, the fronton kicked out six players, many of its best at the time, allegedly for fixing games.

“One night they called the players in the office after the games,” Weissman said. “They saw a pattern in the betting on the trifecta (in the last game of the night). If you can get three or four teams not to come in, and box five teams (to finish one, two and three), you can make 50 times your investment.

“The general manager thought they were fixing and fired all of them.”

Weissman, and others, said fans might think the game is fixed when they see a player make a very simple error, but it is difficult for the players to keep their concentration every night of every week.

“It’s just like baseball,” Harris said. “When a player plays six games a week, that’s 24 at-bats a week. I’d say 22 of those he’s giving 100%, the others he’s just not there.”

The equipment plays a big part also.

“Bruce is using one of my cestas,” Harris said, “and it’s not suited for him. I’m a front court player and he’s a back court player. Back court cestas are bigger and deeper, and Bruce won’t have the confidence that he would if he was playing with his own cesta.”

Harris said as soon as a cesta’s frame is bent or broken, it can never be fixed. A bad cesta can make shots fly errant to the roof, or off the court.

“Every time a ball is thrown the frame of the cesta is expanded,” Harris said. “When you throw the ball you really have no control of it. For a professional, that is 70% of the game, when you have a good basket your mind is good. How would you feel if you played baseball, cracked your bat and couldn’t go back to the rack to pick up another? You’d be at a disadvantage when you face the pitcher. A lot of guys are playing with a beat-up piece of equipment.”

DeCarlo said it is much easier to concentrate when a player does get to Connecticut or Florida.

“We’re here (in Tijuana) from 7 p.m. to 1 a.m. every night but Thursday,” DeCarlo said. “In the states, they have 40- to 45-man rosters. Here there’s 27. So, in the states there’s an early group, a middle group and a late group. That divides the time as to when you show up. Here, it’s tough to maintain a tough mental attitude.”

It is tough because of the changes the sport has gone through.

“The difference is that the players made more money in bonuses 25 years ago than we do now.” Harris said. “They got $14 a win, $10 for second and $5 for third. Now, we get 3,000 pesos a win, 1,500 for placing and 750 for showing. Their (players 25 years ago) starting salary was $300 dollars a month and they would play only on Friday and Saturday. How could they get paid more money in the 60s than we do in the 80s? When I started here the exchange rate was 270 pesos a dollar. Now it’s close to 700.”

In the 60s, a cesta cost one-third of what they now do. When the frames broke, players could easily get another. Now, buying a new cesta costs almost an entire month’s salary. The fronton does supply one cesta a month to each player, but frequently that is not enough.

Also, there is an injury factor. In Miami, Weissman saw a player get hit by a teammate’s throw. The ball was moving about 120 m.p.h. and hit the back of the player’s helmet, causing the formation of two blood clots in his head.

“The doctors told him not to drive for 10 years,” Weissman said.

Other players have seen similar injuries and said there is an injury-risk in all sports, but there is a difference in other sports.

“(Running back) Marcus DuPree blew out his knee and will get benefits,” Sotil said. “If we get injured it’s ‘sorry’ and maybe they will hang my number in the rafter. It’s just a gambling game and we’re like horses or dogs.”

“Yeah,” Harris said, pointing to players around him. “He’s Secretariat, he’s Seattle Slew, he’s Snow Chief and I’m Affirmed.”

And there is always another “horse” on deck.

“They are just going to go by the boards and erase the nameplate that says ‘Lasa,’ ” Sotil said. “There will be a Balboa II or whomever to take my place . . . Just like they put a horse to sleep. They’ll put him out to pasture.”

Meanwhile, Harris was relieved two weeks ago as it was announced that the players would be given a raise, from 3,000 pesos a win to 4,000 a win.

“A dollar and 30 cents,” Harris said. “A substantial raise.”

THE GAME

There are eight players in a singles match. Each has a number, designating who the player is.

Player 1 begins against player 2, and the rest wait in a cage to the side of the court in numerical order.

Player 1 plays player 2 for a point, and the loser takes a seat in the cage behind the last, in this case number eight.

Next, player 3 plays the winner of the first match, with the loser taking a seat at the end of the line. And so on.

After Player 8 is finished playing his point, the point value doubles. Games end when a player reaches seven points.

The same pattern applies in doubles competition. The players’ order is important. An example: Player 1 wins six straight points, then loses to player 8. Since the points are worth double in the second round, player 8 would need only three more wins to take the match.

THE EQUIPMENT

The cesta (basket), used to catch and throw the pelota (ball), is about three feet long and is strapped to his right hand, making the sport difficult for lefties.

The ball has a rubber center and is coated with goat skin.

The left side of the court is a wall and a net separates the court from the fans, on the right side. Between the court and the net on the open side is a wooden floor, about 10 feet wide. This is out of bounds.

It is illegal to play without a helmet.

THE RULES

Much like racquetball, the player hurls the ball off the concrete wall and his opponent has to get the ball before it bounces a second time.

The length of the court is divided into 17 lanes, about 10 feet apart. The numbers of the lanes are displayed on the left wall. The server must serve at lane 10, and the ball must land between lanes four and seven. Two players, who are sitting out of the game, judge the action from the open side of the court. They watch to see if the ball hits the far wall before going into a player’s cesta, or if there is interference, etc.