Mexico Is Making a Pitch for the Big Time

Baseball hasn’t been very good to me.

My father took me to my first ballgame in San Francisco when I was about 9, before the Giants came to town. The minor league Seals’ game didn’t awaken any athletic interests, but it led to the discovery that I needed glasses.

“What’s the score?” I asked out of sheer boredom.

“It’s on the scoreboard,” he said, distractedly. “What scoreboard?” I asked.

After pointing me in the right direction, he administered a hasty eye exam while my older brother, Lalo, laughed. The next thing I knew, my fellow fourth-graders were calling me “Four Eyes.” I’ve hated organized sports ever since.

So when my editors recently suggested that I write a column about the groundbreaking exhibition game between the Anaheim Angels and a Mexican team from Aguascalientes, I suffered a blinding flashback.

“Baseball in Mexico? I don’t think people care about baseball in Mexico,” I said, trying to sound authoritative.

But later, I learned that 24,000 mostly Mexican fans turned out on a cold, blustery night to cheer the Rieleros (the Railmen), the first Mexican team to play against a major league team in a major league stadium.

The next day, I fumbled for one of my three pairs of glasses to read the score in the newspaper: Angels 5, Rieleros 2.

“Caramba, we lost!”

Not that I cared all that much. But it was clear who those fans were rooting for.

Recently, the Disney team has been trying to lure Latinos who, a survey showed, prefer the Dodgers and even the Florida Marlins to the Halos.

You don’t need a survey, however, to know Mexicans are loyal to players from their home country. Even I know that.

But I quickly realized I couldn’t name a single Mexican major leaguer besides Fernando Valenzuela. And so-called sports fans couldn’t do much better. Even my son, a former Little Leaguer who eats ESPN for breakfast, stuttered to come up with a name.

“Let’s see,” said Miguel. “The guy on the Dodgers. He’s a pitcher. Hold on. Ummm. He wears a chain . . . a gold chain . . . Antonio Osuna!”

Not exactly Osuna-mania.

I’m sure if we lived in Denver it would be different. We’d all know about Vinny Castilla, the two-time all-star with the Colorado Rockies. He’s emerging as the Valenzuela of the ‘90s. And he’s already a hero to baseball fans in Mexico.

There was Vinny-mania in Monterrey, Mexico, earlier this month when the Rockies played the San Diego Padres in the first big league season opener held outside the United States or Canada.

It’s all part of a new era in major league relations with Mexico. It’s sure a welcome switch from the baseball wars of the 1940s, when U.S. players were blackballed for defecting to the then-growing Mexican league.

Today, U.S. teams have a growing confidence in Mexican players. They have increasingly signed agreements with Mexican teams to get exclusive rights to promising talent.

“Teams are in a race to sign up those [Mexican] clubs,” said Zak Gilbert, spokesman for the Rockies. “They’re trying to monopolize the Mexican market.”

Mike Brito, the veteran Dodger scout credited with discovering Valenzuela, has noticed a trend in the growing stature of Mexican players. Not just skills, but size.

“Before, they were short and weak,” said Brito, who has signed 14 Mexican players in 21 years with the Dodgers. “Now, they’re big and strong. Don’t ask me why. Maybe the food is better, I don’t know. But I’m very happy for the Mexican players.”

Their ambition is bigger too. Kids like Karim Garcia, discovered by Brito and now with Detroit, grew up with a dream: “I’m going to be like Fernando.”

Business conditions are also getting more favorable. In the past, Mexican owners set a too-high price for players, who cannot cut their own deals. Meanwhile, the majors had their pick of Venezuelan and Dominican talent.

Today in the big leagues, there are only 12 Mexicans among 841 players on 30 teams, compared with 66 Dominicans, 31 Puerto Ricans and 25 Venezuelans.

Mexico’s time will come, experts say. Mexican owners still call the shots, but they’re more willing to open doors for their players to leave.

My advice to Mexico: Dump those hokey team names--the Cotton Pickers (Algodoneros), the Sarape Makers (Saraperos), the Lobstermen (Langosteros).

“Lobstermen?” asked my puzzled editor. “How can they catch the ball with those claws?”

I feel better. I work for the only man who knows less about baseball than I do.

*

Agustin Gurza’s column appears Tuesdays. Readers can reach him at (714) 966-7712 or online at agustin.gurza@latimes.com.