It was overcast in Guadalajara, and oddly for summer, there was a chill in the air. My boyfriend and I zipped up our jackets and joined the current of fans headed toward Estadio Panamericano, home of the Charros de Jalisco. It was the final game of the summer season, and the energy in the air was unmistakable.
We live in Puerto Vallarta, but we make the trip to Guadalajara just for this. It’s a good few hours each way, and still, it’s always worth it. Because baseball in Mexico doesn’t feel like baseball anywhere else.
It’s not just the game, it’s everything around it. It follows the same rules as in the U.S., but a Mexican ball game isn’t just about the sport. It’s about the joy and the chaos. It’s the way strangers become teammates by the third inning. It’s something deeper than balls and strikes. It’s the same game, but with an entirely different soul.
Ten minutes after sitting down, I had a taco de arrachera in one hand and a michelada in the other. Someone at the end of our row ordered tequila shots from a stadium vendor and handed them out like party favours. We toasted“¡Salud!” with strangers, and it all felt like community.
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