For Cuban stars, money can't buy smooth assimilation to USA, MLB

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla. – Yoenis Cespedes sat mesmerized, flicking one photo after another, recognizing some spots and even finding a few familiar faces in the images captured on the smartphone of a news reporter who had recently traveled to Havana.

The New York Mets outfielder hails from Campechuela, nearly a 10-hour drive from the Cuban capital, but any pictures that provided even a snippet of current life in his homeland were worth seeing. And some of these were particularly fascinating because they captured moments from the Tampa Bay Rays’ trip to Cuba.

When Major League Baseball returned to Cuba last week for the first time in 17 years, the growing number of the island’s natives playing stateside watched the developments in rapt attention, their hopes of going back freely boosted by the parallel visits of President Obama and the Rays.

“For all of us who have left Cuba illegally, our dream is to return and see the friends and relatives we left behind, and the land where we were born and raised,’’ Cespedes told USA TODAY Sports in Spanish. “You have a lot of things here that you wouldn’t have in Cuba, but it’s not the same when you can go out to spend time with your friends, people you grew up with. That’s what you miss the most.’’

The Cuban defectors who have landed multimillion-dollar contracts with big league teams may never again face a financial worry, after growing up with such scarce means that one of them regularly shared a mitt and protective cup with the opposing catcher.

And yet their eyes remain affixed to the country they abandoned, the contrast between their lives past and present as dramatic as the difference between the vintage cars so common in Havana’s streets and the luxury sports vehicles some of the players now drive.

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The language barrier invariably represents the biggest hurdle in their assimilation process, but other factors also complicate the process – distance from family, lifestyle, cultural differences, lack of familiarity with the food, even coming into wealth suddenly.

“In Cuba you call a couple of neighbors and they sit outside in a corner, put some music on, play dominoes. That’s the Cuban environment,’’ said Raisel Iglesias, the Cincinnati Reds’ charismatic right-hander. “Here, people stay inside their house. Oftentimes you may go a year or two without meeting your next-door neighbors. They get in their car in the garage, leave, and when they return they go into the garage and you never see them. It’s like, ‘Who’s that?’ It’s very different.’’

And that’s just off the field. On the diamond, extended absences from the game, a superior level of competition and expectations matching the enormous salaries conspire to add another layer of difficulty to the adjustment.

“I think as an industry we have not done a great job bringing Cuban players over,’’ said Andrew Friedman, the Los Angeles Dodgers’ president of baseball operations, whose club has invested heavily in Cuban talent.

“Oftentimes we’re too quick to try to change guys and have them conform, instead of appreciating the individuality. But at the same time, there are certain things that are critical, and it’s just communicating that and being consistent with it that I think is imperative.’’

During the trip to Havana, Commissioner Rob Manfred expressed confidence that a new system to regulate the transfer of Cuban players to American baseball would be in place by the end of the year. Cuban baseball officials insisted the economic embargo that has been in place for more than five decades would need to be lifted for any deal to be made, and Manfred has no control over the embargo.

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For the time being, the main way for Cuban players to ply their trade in the U.S. is by defecting, which often means putting their lives in the hands of human traffickers, some more scrupulous than others.

Miami Marlins shortstop Adeiny Hechavarria is among the players who took that route, jumping on a boat to Mexico in 2009 and agreeing to pay the smugglers a percentage of his first contract, which was worth $10 million.

“All Cubans who come out that way have to pay,’’ he said.

Considering the hardships they endure, the achievements of several of the Cuban imports have been remarkable. Five of them – Cespedes, Jose Abreu, Yasiel Puig, Aroldis Chapman and Alexei Ramirez – earned spots in the 2014 All-Star Game. After that season, Abreu was named the American League rookie of the year. The previous year, his countryman Jose Fernandez won the same award in the National League.

The number of Cuban natives on Opening Day rosters has climbed from seven in 2010 to 18 last season, and more are on the way in the likes of prospects Yoan Moncada of the Boston Red Sox and the Dodgers’ Yaisel Sierra and Yadier Alvarez. In addition, the highly regarded Gurriel brothers, Yulieski and Lourdes, defected in February and should become eligible to sign in the coming months.

But the success stories have been accompanied by warning signs.

The Red Sox’s Rusney Castillo ($72.5 million), the Arizona Diamondbacks’ Yasmany Tomas ($68.5 million) and the Atlanta Braves’ Hector Olivera, originally signed by the Dodgers for $62.5 million, have yet to prove they’re worth anywhere near those figures.

Most troubling, Chapman and Puig have had run-ins with the law for domestic violence and speeding incidents. No charges were filed in the domestic violence cases, but Chapman’s was deemed serious enough that MLB suspended him for 30 games.

In addition, last season the Dodgers suspended shortstop Erisbel Arruebarrena ($25 million) for insubordination, and the Diamondbacks had to go searching for Cuban pitching prospect Yoan Lopez (who cost them $16 million) when he went AWOL in July.

The incidents highlight the dangers inherent in transporting players from a repressive regime who have not been exposed to much money into a wealthy, open society at such odds with what they’ve always known.

“We live a different life and we have to adjust to living in this country,’’ Puig said. “I’m trying, with the help of Adrian Gonzalez and other people around me, to do the right things to avoid any problems on and off the field. I have a lot of fans who are kids, and that’s what really catches my attention. When I get together with kids at some events, I tell them to emulate my best traits, not anything bad they might have seen.’’

Dodgers pitcher Clayton Kershaw, who has had some issues with the mercurial Puig, said he got a small taste of the difficulties Cuban players face adapting to American life when he traveled to the island as part of MLB’s goodwill tour in December.

“You see the lifestyle. You go around and see the city and see what people are used to and what they’re coming from,’’ Kershaw said. “There’s so many different aspects they’ve never had before, and when you couple that with giving them a good bit of money for the first time, it’s got to be really difficult.’’

Veteran right-hander Yunesky Maya, recently sent down to the Los Angeles Angels’ minor-league camp, said it took him a while to learn the folly of squandering $5,000-$7,000 at a nightclub.

Other Cuban players have drawn attention and some criticism for splurging on extravagant cars, such as Chapman’s Lamborghini Murcielago and the collection of expensive rides Cespedes displayed during spring training. Cespedes received a four-year, $36 million contract from the Oakland Athletics after defecting, and is guaranteed $75 million over the next three seasons with the New York Mets.

They defend their right to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

“I never had a car in Cuba. I just had a bicycle,’’ said Chapman, who is under contract with the New York Yankees for $11.33 million this year. “So when you come out here and you can buy the car you like, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. We all wanted to have the means we have here, but the situation wouldn’t allow it.’’

Though some of the top Cuban athletes attend a sporting institute where all their basic needs are covered, not all enjoy that benefit, and many grow up in varying degrees of poverty.

St. Louis Cardinals catcher Brayan Pena played one season with two left cleats because a right one was not available, and he traded catching gear – yes, including a protective cup – with his opposite number in between innings.

“Those things leave a mark on your sporting career and on you as a person,’’ said Pena, who went back as part of the December goodwill tour. “I don’t want to see my Cuban brothers struggling so much. I don’t want to see my Cuban brothers feeling oppressed by their own reality.’’

Even for the ones who have left and cashed in, reality is not always as rosy as they might have imagined.

Tomas received the second-largest deal ever handed out a player coming out of Cuba largely based on his power potential. However, the longball was mostly absent during his rookie season last year, when he batted a respectable .273 but with only nine homers and a .401 slugging percentage in 118 games.

Now enjoying a strong spring after recovering from a knee injury, Tomas said his long layoff from the game had a negative impact, and he acknowledged the expectations were a burden.

“Fans don’t understand,’’ he said. “They say, ‘This guy got $68 million so he’s going to hit 30 home runs.’ Wouldn’t I want to hit 30 home runs and produce the way I know I can? But it’s hard. I expected better home run production too, but people forget that I spent almost a year without playing. And I had never played at the major league level. It’s not an easy transition.’’

His adjustment off the field was eased by the Diamondbacks hiring a mentor in former major leaguer Ariel Prieto, who served the same role for Cespedes with the Oakland Athletics. Not all teams that have signed Cubans have taken that step.

Tomas also has his wife and 5-month-old daughter, Isabel, alongside him – he had to leave another child behind, a common story among Cuban players who defected – and he spent the offseason in the Phoenix area, becoming better acquainted with his surroundings.

But the pull from the homeland remains strong. Like so many exiled players, Tomas dreams of once again representing Cuba in an international tournament like the World Baseball Classic, and he looks with a degree of envy at the other Latin players who can return home in the offseason.

“Here you have everything, but in some ways you don’t have anything,’’ Tomas said. “There are times we may be at home and we’re down because we don’t have relatives or neighbors we can talk to and say, ‘Hey, let’s do this.’ In Cuba you always find people out, during the day or night. Money is not everything. You can have all the money in the world and not be happy.’’

Ortiz also reported from Havana and from spring training sites in Arizona and Florida

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