Spring Training in Medellin
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Spring Training in Medellin
– byMario Crescibene
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In the heart of Medellín, Colombia stands a 20-foot wall overlooking a dirt field. The wall is painted in blue and red designs honoring Independiente Medellín, one of the city’s two major soccer teams. Surrounding the field are radiant tropical flowers, rolling hillsides of rich terracottas and feral greens, and a sky so blue that when you see it, you realize you had forgotten what blue was. That wall and dirt field… are my Goodyear, Arizona.
As the Guardians head to their training facilities, I head to mine. The field is about a 15-minute walk from my rooftop studio tucked into the Aburrá Valley. I never take the same route twice. The streets here wind and twist and you’re lost before you know it. But on those meandering roads, Medellín is waiting — revealing its secrets only to those who dare take the road less traveled. That’s the magic of Colombia. A supernatural force beckons you here, and guides you in the direction you were always meant to go.
Today, my route takes me on a path that leads up above the field. I stop. Medellín spreads out in every direction.
There are three things pictures can never truly capture: sunrises, sunsets, and the majesty of Medellín.
When I arrive at the field, four men are starting to paint the wall white, preparing it for a new design. Long deliberate strokes cover faded reds and blues, erasing the past season. I watch them work and think to myself: “Yes. This is what Spring Training is.”
As the men continue working on their corner of the field, I head to the open part of the cancha and unpack my gear: my mitt, my ball, cleats, and of course my speaker. Now, I don’t listen to Bad Bunny. I’m just not a big fan. I’m more old school when it comes to my raggaeton selection. Think Jacob Forever and Don Omar, mixed in with some Systema Solar. Once I get my stuff set up, I start to warm up as the rhythmic music fills the space with color.
The hot Colombian sun beats down, and my arm loosens fast. Soon my throws and fielding become a salsa dance — the reggaeton acting as the soundtrack to my heroics: Step forward, I throw the ball and it whizzes through the air connecting with the wall with a satisfying thwack; step back, the wall sends the ball careening back as I prepare to field it; step forward, I charge, gather the ball — spin and fire. My dance instructor would be proud of my pirouette.
I play until my arm reminds me that it’s still just February. Sitting in the shade, I bask in that unmistakable energy that Spring Training brings — an intoxicating combination of excitement and tension — when an entire season collapses into a singularity of possibility and pure potential. There are some feelings no drug could ever capture. Maybe ayahuasca.
After resting, I head back out to work on my defensive range. I throw the ball at the wall on an angle and run to field the ricochet. Gathering the ball, I target the images on the wall for the relay — the triangle in the ‘A’, is a good fill-in for a first baseman’s glove — and plant to throw the ball back. I run back and forth until my body says that it’s had enough. I listen. It’s early. The team will need me later in the season.
Years of experience have proven that there is an unequivocal correlation between my backyard practices and Guardians performance. We’ve all played the same game where if we field 10 throws cleanly it means the Guardians will win (or whatever your variation was). You know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend you don’t. Heck, I’ll write a Professor Saber article some day about how there is a causal relationship between my backyard practices and Guardians wins.
Anyways. After fully exhausting myself throwing my ball at the wall, I pack everything up and head out, passing the four painters as I go. I ask them if they are doing a new design for Independiente Medellín. One curtly affirms, too focused on his sacred task. They don’t know that once they’ve finished, I’ll be back to hurl my ball as hard as I can at that new design for Independiente Medellín. Because here in Medellín, there are two football teams: Independiente Medellín and Atletico Nacional. I don’t root for Independiente. Vamos verde!