“Ese es mi hijo”
It is a phrase heard throughout South Florida sporting events. Translated, it means “That’s my son.” Usually coming from parents, it is a way to show recognition for accomplishments, a cry of pride and acknowledgment.
For many in the South Florida community, they felt like Jose Fernandez was their son. A man who fled an oppressive regime in Cuba, Jose’s story of struggle and fight were themes that many in this community could relate to. His story of triumph, victory, and success were things that the community could take pride in as if he was ours. Jose Fernandez was Miami. Although he grew up in Cuba and finished high school in Tampa, there was no doubt that he was everything that Miami stands for. He was like a mosaic, and everyone who could relate to him and his story combined to make this amazing young man.
His pitching potential was out of this world, but it came secondary to his love of life. Rarely in this day in age do we see an athlete’s athletic ability overshadowed by his personality and charisma. Jose Fernandez was everything you dreamed of having a son. His charming and loving person, his sense of humor, his pitching talent.
When he was pitching, the stadium seats filled up. TV ratings skyrocketed. It was Jose Day. Even when he wasn’t pitching, you could always see him in the dugout with the smile the size of a kid on Christmas morning. Every. Damn. Game.
One of the most beautiful things in this world is watching someone who has found their passion, their vocation, go to work. It is something that inspires you to be a better, more well-rounded person. It’s rare. Jose Fernandez had that. He was someone that could put a smile on your face no matter what the situation, whether you knew him or not. Even if you didn’t know him, it felt like you did.
Dan Le Batard put it perfectly, “All around that ballpark, in the bodegas and restaurants where people don’t speak English, you will find a slice of his story. So much of Miami’s economy and vibrancy and culture and flavor is built atop it.”
I was able to attend the Marlins first game after Jose’s passing. The Uber I took to the game was driven by a Cuban migrant who came to this country with his two sons 15 years ago. He told me a story about how he saved up money to attend his first Marlins game to watch Jose pitch, and how much pride he felt in seeing someone who saw the same obstacles succeed to the highest level of his craft.
Marlins players remembered Jose in a variety of ways, wearing his jersey and replicating his batting stance. After the pregame ceremony, which was probably the most emotional event I’ve witnessed in my life, there was a game to be played. Dee Gordon, a lefty, stepped into the right-handed batter’s box with Jose’s batting helmet on and Jose’s batting stance emulated perfectly. He took ball one, then switched helmets and took the next pitch left handed. He then preceded to hit his first home run of the season He never hits home runs. He sent the stadium into a mixture of cheering and crying, and that moment will be cemented in sports history forever. If you want to cry, watch it here.
Although he is gone, his passion and love for his family, his city, and the game of baseball will never be forgotten. Loss of life is always tragic, but Jose Fernandez was an extra special diamond. His personality and being was a gift from God, so rare and so easily taken for granted.
Thank you, Jose. Es nuestro hermano, hijo, y amigo.
Que Dios Te Guarde.
