The Celestial Jaguar

[Ghosts]

Takaoka, Japan – July 26, 2032

Thiago Tierno stepped onto the grass of “The Shrine” and eyed his surroundings mindfully. He heard his grandfather’s voice as he did, “Try to enjoy the experience – not many 21-year-olds get to travel for free, boy!” Who knew when he might again find himself in Toyama, Japan. The tall, if lanky, Brazilian was on the opposite side of the planet, playing baseball for a living, and the bounty was not lost on him.

It had been difficult to transition from the American organization of the Kalamazoo Badgers to the (re?)-expansion organization of the Japanese Niihama-shi Ghosts, but in the two plus months since his trade, he’d made at least a few friends playing for the Onryou. A couple of those friends had been promoted or demoted off the team – a common occurrence within the rapidly evolving minor league system of the Ghosts – but most were still with him.

It was difficult for the 20-year-old Tierno to believe that he belonged at this level – playing in a league with an age limit of 24. It often felt like he was a high school freshman playing against seniors, again. His .205 batting average did little to dispel that notion. It seemed that any one of these games might be his last as a professional, and while that struck a degree of premature nostalgia in him, it also gave him an appreciation for his position. Grandpa had a point. Still, Tierno wondered what it must be like to go through these experiences with a different mindset. The new kid, Rodriguez, seemed to come with his own press core – such were the expectations for his immediate and future success. “It must be crushing to have that weight on your shoulders,” Tierno mused.

He found himself approaching Rodriguez, who was busily running himself through pre-game drills with an almost religious fervor. Tierno had a healthy respect for the 19-year-old’s dedication, but worried for him as he’d seen no one really speak much with him as they took note of his “extra” efforts.

“Mind if I join you, Esteban?” Tierno shouted as he approached the distance the two would normally find themselves, each on one side of second base. Rodriguez waved him over without looking up. “You’re from Argentina, amigo?” Tierno queried. Rodriguez continued his routine without acknowledging the question. After a pause, Thiago pressed, “Skip mentioned it, I’m from Brasil.” Thiago stood and waited for a response, but again, Esteban continued running his agility drills without a hint of desire to respond. “Sorry to have disturbed you,” Tierno spouted, barely concealing his consternation, and turned abruptly to leave the vaunted Esteban Rodriguez to his obsessive drilling. A sharp whistle, the kind his mother would once use to pierce the cacophony of the shouts and turmoil of he and his brothers’ constant, raucous fighting, split the air in his ear and assaulted his ear drum. Tierno spun in a combination of childhood fear response and adult anger, to see Esteban jogging toward him with a bucket of baseballs.

“Drill now, talk later on bench, capiche?” Esteban tagged the brim of Thiago’s hat and flipped him one of the balls. The two practiced turning double plays for the next half hour, until Tierno tapped out, worried his arm would be too tired for the game.

The two spoke throughout the game, a close match against the Shiko. Thiago was struck often by Esteban’s focus on the game – he was a good guy, polite even, but his attention never wavered from the game. His whole being was invested in the game, but he was still willing and able to talk to Tierno between their respective at bats. They spoke of their respective homes, slipping in and out of English, Spanish, and Portuguese with ease – always careful to speak mostly in English around others. It was something they drilled into all PEBA-associated players – English is the only language to be used in game and in professional discussion at all levels of the massive PEBA organization. It made sense, it was an American dominated sport, even as PEBA globalized the sport much more so than the old MLB ever did, but there would always be sidebar conversations amongst those with other native tongues. It was very cool, in a way, to find friends of both completely foreign cultures as well as those with a somewhat shared culture, even so far from their respective homes.

“So you got a nickname yet, bigshot?” Tierno hammered a high five upon Esteban as he returned to the dugout following his second hit of the day, and RBI single that tied the game at 7 in the top of the 7th inning.

“Not me, no,” Esteban replied, shaking off the damage from his teammates’ excessively powerful gestures.

“How about ‘Jazz Hands’?” Tierno said with a chuckle, mockingly imitating Esteban’s wrist shaking. Esteban clapped his hands together abruptly in a willful attempt to arrest his hands. The two chuckled and continued their conversations of home. Esteban’s mother, it turned out, was of Guarani descent. Thiago prodded Esteban on the subject enthusiastically, as Guarani mythology was an interest of his.

“My mother wanted to name me ‘Charia’ since I was born during a blood moon,” Esteban eventually noted, “but my father thought the name was too feminine.”
“And a little too apocalyptic, maybe?” Tierno laughed. The conversation faded as the game drew toward a close. They’d given up another run and were down 7-8 in the 8th, ending the inning on Tierno’s groundball that led to a double play. Rodriguez snapped Tierno out of self-flagellating as he tossed him his glove and slapped him on the shoulder. They didn’t get a chance to speak again before Esteban took the plate in the top of the 9th. Down a run with only one out left, Esteban cracked a line drive deep into the left-center gap.
The ball took a somewhat awkward bounce off the wall as the Shiko centerfielder chased it down. The two Onyrou baserunners ahead of Esteban scored easily, giving them a one-run lead. Esteban burned past second base and was charging for third as the throw from center came in. Esteban was tagged out in a beautiful play by the Shiko, but the damage was done.

Jogging in from third, Esteban prepared himself for another beating at the hands of his teammates, when Thiago ran out toward him, spun back toward the dugout and announced, “BEHOLD. CJ! THE CELESTIAL JAGUAR! DEVOURER OF THE SKY AND HARBINGER OF THE BLOOD MOON!” Esteban jumped sideways into Thiago’s unready arms, knocking his friend clear off his feet, as a half dozen other teammates piled upon them.