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Move over, Alomar brothers. Forget about it, Ripken clan.

You’ve got nothing on Oxnard’s Hernandez boys. No fewer than 15 brothers, fathers, sons, cousins and brothers-in-law play in this city’s adult softball league.

They don’t have World Series rings or multimillion-dollar contracts, but they dominate the Oxnard Recreation Department’s Sunday division. Their team, the Warriors, has racked up a 6-0 record so far this spring.

And in a separate Thursday evening division, family members manage or play on three of eight teams, spicing the citywide competition with lots of sibling rivalry.

“Thursday nights are competitive. Whoever wins has the bragging rights,” says Guillermo Hernandez, who, at 37, is the league’s senior Hernandez. “Sundays are fun. Everybody pulls for everybody.”

Either way, the semiweekly softball games help keep this immigrant family close.

Felix Hernandez and his wife, Maria Castillo Hernandez , moved their family from Michoacan, Mexico, to Oxnard in the early 1970s. In an E Street bungalow, they raised 13 children--eight boys and five girls--now ages 22 to 47. On holidays, things got so cramped they moved the furniture onto the lawn so everybody could fit inside.

Money was tight. Felix, who died several years ago, worked in a lemon packing plant. His wife worked in a laundermat. Now retired, she cooks the family a carne asada dinner on game days.

“We didn’t have a lot of money, but we could always count on our brothers for advice about the things you go through, like girlfriends,” says Raul Hernandez, 25. And if someone gave him trouble, “I could always tell him, I’m going to get my brothers.”

Most of the siblings still live in the Oxnard area, working at a variety of jobs: teacher’s aide, cook, truck driver, nurse. Mario , a 29-year old Pasadena school teacher, drives to Oxnard twice a week to play. The extended family is close too. On outings to Dodger Stadium, they fill a block of 20 seats.

Growing up, soccer was their favorite sport. But six years ago, Guillermo Hernandez decided to start a family softball team, thinking it would be a great way for the men to bond. It didn’t start out that way.

That first season, the Warriors went 0-16. Looking back, the teammates offer different explanations: Guillermo, the coach, was just too intense, riding his brothers way too hard. Raul was hot-dogging it, swinging for the fences instead of going for the base hits. Whatever the reason, “We just weren’t clicking,” Raul says.

So the men broke up for a while, forming three Thursday night teams: Guillermo’s Warriors, 27-year-old German Hernandez’s Aztecs, and Raul’s Prime Time.

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But soon after that, they decided to have it both ways: They kept their individual Thursday night teams but started playing together again in the Sunday novice division. For Sunday afternoon play, they keep the Warriors name. And in both divisions, family friends round out the lineups.

On Thursdays, the Hernandezes have plenty of standouts.

The speedy Guillermo Jr., an 18-year old Oxnard College student, plays shortstop for the Warriors. He’s known for his head-first slides--as well as his impressive .500 batting average.

“Sometimes when the game is on the line, I’m on base and my dad drives me in,” says the younger Guillermo. “He gets the winning hit, and I get the winning run.”

Jesse Lemos, 36, married one of the Hernandez sisters, Maria. He plays for the Aztecs. He’s such a good all-around hitter and fielder that teams in other divisions have tried to recruit him, but his wife will have none of that.

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“I told him, ‘If you’re not playing with my brothers, I’m not going to see you play,’ ” she says.

On Sundays, that kind of family spirit is easy to spot.

After all, how often does the coach give the shortstop a kiss on the cheek before the opening pitch, as Guillermo Sr. does to his son? And not every team packs the bleachers with wives, children and friends, who bring them hot chocolate when the weather is chilly.

“To me, what they bring is some identity,” says Richard Arias, the league director. “The older ones are caring for the younger ones. The younger ones used to be a rowdy lot, and now they’re becoming role models. To me, they symbolize positive activity.”

Marcos Hernandez is one of two brothers who don’t play, but the 41-year-old Ventura truck driver is always there to watch.

“It’s great to see your brothers play,” he said on a recent night at Adair Park, as his relatives staged a third-inning rally. “What a better way to spend a day? You go eat at your mom’s, then come out here.”

Adds Marillo Castillo Hernandez, the clan’s matriarch:

“It’s just a game, and somebody has to lose. But at least one of them always comes home winning.”