Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Last night, I went to my first Mexican baseball game with the Oaxaca 'Guerreros' playing the Veracruz Eagles. The home town boys got creamed, 14-7. But, who cares? It was a spectacular night to be at the ballpark, just the right temps with a light breeze. I hung out with some other Americans from the gringo library.

They enjoyed fairly light attendance...not even a quarter of the seats filled. Which may be a hangover from the flu epidemic, folks being shy of large public gatherings. Or the horrible economy. Or the lousy team. The front page of the local paper's sports section carried the headline, "Guerreros ask for absolution."

Game play was the same as American baseball, in fact the team is an official Minor League Baseball team. They start the game with the announcer announcing, "play ball." Not in Spanish, in English. And "home run" gets translated into one word: "hon-ron." It makes me chuckle to hear it. The program/stats sheet they give you when you walk into the park is titled "HOME PLATE" (in English) and the headline was "now, to improve!" I gives you the idea right up front that this isn't going to be a burn-down-the-barn kind of ball game.

Of course, the main reason anyone goes to a ball game isn't to watch the game. Silly! It's an excuse to eat and drink. Mexican games are no different. Plenty of beer was flowing (Corona, NOT Budweiser). And instead of hot dogs, we had Lupe selling her famous homemade empanadas. A parallel here: what goes into an American hot dog...you don't want to know. What goes into Lupe's empandada...your guess is as good as mine. But they sure were "sabroso" (tasty). Then there was the guy walking around selling a tray-full of tacos on little plates, the guy selling peanuts (not shelled in bags, but scooped loose with hot sauce on top). Even a Domino's pizza guy made the rounds. Since I don't eat it in the U.S., decided to skip it in Mexico. Lupe's empanadas were a better choice. No heartburn.
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Today, I got up and went over to the shelter for street kids, where I've been volunteering. Fun! We did little English learning games. Each day, there is at least one kid who really, really wants to learn. That's encouraging.

After volunteering, I went over to the American library and hung out, chatted. There I made a new friend, and we went out to lunch down on the town square. Terrific food, great company. Then I walked over to look at an apartment for rent. (Nice, but a bit expensive). At 5, I had a session with the college girl I'm tutoring. And at 6, I joined a meditation group (5) at a yoga studio in Conzatti Park.

Politics in the Town Square

Oaxaca's zocalo (town square) is known as perhaps the prettiest in all of Mexico--with a bandstand, cathedral, ringed by covered archways (portales), and lovely leafy shade trees. People spend hours on the park benches enjoying the world go by. Or seated at the cafes and bars under the portales.

Except now. The city is in the grips of another protest. Protests in Oaxaca are as common as showgirls in Las Vegas. This time it's the Popular Front and the teachers union. They've taken over the zocalo with a flea market. Yep, a flea market as protest. Go figure. But alongside the mounds of embroidered shirts and pirated CDs are booths distributing political literature. And (this is Mexico, of course) loud speakers. Lots of loud speakers broadcasting lists of demands, names of political prisoners. And a striking banner across the sidewalk with images of Stalin, Lenin, Marx, and Engels.

Now, as a foreigner and one on a tourist visa, I am forbidden by Mexican law to have a political opinion or become involved in Mexican politics. And that's fine with me. Mexican politics for Mexicans, U.S. politics for Americans. Makes perfect sense.

The analogy is: what would it be like if a Frenchman came on TV and told Americans who to vote for for president? We would be enraged. Find it ballsy. And we wouldn't stand for it. So...ditto here.

But, it seems to me that, since tourism is the overwhelming mainstay of the Oaxacan economy, covering walls and buildings with political graffiti and filling the centerpiece of the historic city with a flea market isn't a great way to attract tourists and put much-needed money into the ailing economy.

Another analogy--(I like analogies)--it's like peeing on your front lawn. Sure, you can. Just to prove the point that you can. But to what end? You get a brown yard and no one wants to come visit you.