For Puerto Ricans, life after Hurricane Maria remains far from normal, but baseball is back

Some weren’t entering the stadium for entertainment, though, instead seeking the FEMA Disaster Recovery Center, No. 22 of 43 in Puerto Rico, located behind home plate and under the part-public address announcer, part-DJ entertaining the crowd from the concourse. For many Puerto Ricans, lives remain in disarray four months after Hurricane Maria crushed the island Sept. 20.

The two realms, separated by concrete and two round-the-clock security guards, encapsulate Puerto Rico as it faces a daunting recovery. Still reeling from one of the worst natural disasters in U.S. history, evidence of Maria’s wrath was inescapable. Utility poles were toppled, trees knocked down and traffic lights out. Blue tarp roofs dotted neighborhoods and swaths of homes — in urban and rural areas alike — were without power. The hum from generators joined the coqui chirps to remix the island’s nighttime soundtrack.

But Puerto Ricans have had baseball this month. They’ve had the opportunity, almost every day, for their minds to go elsewhere, away from their frustration and hardships, for three or so hours. They’re striving to make life normal again, and for some on the island, life is normal when there’s baseball.

“The rehabilitation of a country in a situation like this isn’t just fixing homes and buildings,” Héctor Rivera Cruz, the president of the 80-year-old winter league, said in Spanish. “It’s also spiritual and emotional.”

Edwin Ramos Rodríguez made the half-hour drive to the game at Varo Roldán Stadium on that Monday earlier this month because he had the afternoon off and, well, why not? The janitor had worked a half-day at an elementary school in neighboring Caguas without power. He didn’t have electricity at his home 40 minutes away in Cidra either. A few hours at the ballpark was therapeutic — and the game, like every other regular season game in Puerto Rico this unusual winter season, was free.

Ramos Rodríguez, a bespectacled baseball fanatic in his early 50s, leaned over a railing as he rattled off winter league factoids. The scoreboard beyond the center field wall was still standing, but the storm left it inoperable. The shades above the stands, there to protect spectators from the relentless sun, were stripped. The roof was damaged. But the ballpark survived the storm relatively unscathed for the several hundred people in attendance.

“This is a chance to see the next Carlos Correa or the Francisco Lindor,” Abimail Pascual, a former PA announcer for the Criollos, said in the stands during the first inning. “We have to come see them because we know it gets difficult for them to play here the higher they rise as pros. So, as a fan, I come to watch them play.”

Baseball was an afterthought in Maria’s wake, as millions of Puerto Ricans hunted for basic necessities and waited in eight-hour lines for gas to fuel their generators while another couple hundred thousand residents fled to the mainland U.S. The winter league season, which normally begins in November, was suspended a couple weeks after the hurricane made landfall.

But league officials were determined to salvage it. Rivera Cruz believed suspending the campaign — and, consequently, not fielding a team to defend Puerto Rico’s first Caribbean Series title since 2000 against clubs from Mexico, Venezuela and the Dominican Republic — would have hurt the next crop of Puerto Rican talent, players who depend on the league as a development tool. It also would have eliminated a rallying diversion when people could use one most.

“We knew that, in a way, we could do something for the people,” said Rivera Cruz, a trained lawyer and former Puerto Rico secretary of justice. “The people here need help. Some entertainment helps.”

A little over three months later, the season was underway.

“I call this season ‘The Miracle,’ ” Criollos Manager Luis Matos, a former major leaguer, said in Spanish.

The first step was ensuring there was enough money. In previous years, municipalities bankrolled most of their franchises’ expenses, but Rivera Cruz emphasized that even with fewer sponsorships, the league assumed the entire burden this year.

The game’s din could be heard faintly in the FEMA Disaster Recovery Center down the hall from the Criollos’ clubhouse. The room had thinned out from the morning rush, but some people remained, patiently waiting for help in folding chairs after registering at the folding table in front. The only fans permitted entry were those who needed the elevator to access the stands. Two guards provided security.

“I don’t mind,” said Max Torres, the center’s manager. “We just try to work together. As long as the music isn’t too loud.”

A baseball game and a disaster relief center were sharing the same building because of a ballpark shortage. Two of the four franchises’ stadiums were deemed playable after the hurricane: Isidoro García Stadium in Mayagüez, a city on the west coast, and Hiram Bithorn Stadium, home of the Cangrejeros de Santurce in the capital of San Juan, which is slated to host a two-game series between the Cleveland Indians and Minnesota Twins in April.

Evaristo “Varo” Roldán Stadium — a 2,500-seat stadium that hosts amateur summer league games located a half-hour south of San Juan — was designated as the Criollos’ home field. The Gigantes were left displaced. Further hampering the situation, only Isidoro García Stadium has functioning lights. The circumstances forced officials to schedule most games in the early afternoon, which has suppressed attendance for weekday games — and forced the double booking earlier this month.

Torres said the majority of people arrive at the center seeking help with paperwork. Their problems usually stem from not having the documents proving they owned their home when the hurricane hit. Proof is required to qualify for FEMA assistance.

“A lot of times they don’t have access to faxes or telephone lines because power is down,” Torres said. “So what we do is open these centers to give people a face-to-face setup so they can talk to somebody who can tell them what’s happening with their case. What’s the situation? Which documents do you need? If they bring the documents, we’ll fax them and explain the options they have.”

The center was opened Nov. 12, nearly two months after Maria swept through, and will remain open on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. indefinitely. The staff spends the next three days at the FEMA Disaster Recovery Center in Canóvanas, a municipality 40 minutes to the north. Both centers are closed on Sundays.

So, Torres and his staff weren’t at Evaristo “Varo” Roldán Stadium, when it hosted a Sunday doubleheader. They returned as the sun rose the next day, helping people get back on their feet as others descended in search of a hint of the normalcy.

It was temporary. After the Criollos slugged their way to an 8-7 victory that afternoon, fans filed into the parking lot and drove back to their realities. The escape was over.