I saw him cry as he left the mound, after the Avilanian waiter's home run, and then I applauded for two protagonists. I did it not only for Raulito and for his three RBIs, which placed his team very close to success; I also applauded for Yadián Martínez, who reminded me of a passage from my childhood and my incipient love for baseball.

It was in a year that I do not specify, in the 1960s. The teams from Ciego de Ávila and Arroceros (representative of the municipality of Florida) played at the José Ramón Cepero stadium, still without stands. They were discussing the right to represent the province of Camagüey in the tournament in the eastern zone, the prelude to the National Series.

Those at home arrived at that date with a disadvantage of one game from their rivals. They had to win the first game of the morning to discuss the decisive game, in which the home team would paradoxically be the visitor.

Those then led by Orlando Marín, a mentor who made history with the teams here and also for his role in the construction of the stadium, came out victorious in the initial duel. It was necessary to go “to the good one”.

There was an audience along the entire length of the fence that surrounded the facility, but also the trucks, packed in the right field area, served as bleachers. A beautiful show.

I am not going to internalize the game, because, although I witnessed it, my memory right now is not enough to name the pitchers of both teams, not even the final score of the clash.

What does seem very fresh to me, as if it had happened yesterday, is that shot by the Floridian Abilio Amargo, in the end of the ninth, that no matter how much the center fielder Félix Herrera ran, he could not catch up with him and from first he scored the one he left to the field to the home team.

Out of curiosity, along with other children from my neighborhood, I went to the third-class dogaut, to see what the faces of the defeated reflected. There were, among others, Miguel Cuevas, Oscar Ortega, Roberto Martínez, Herrera himself and others who at that time were my baseball idols.

In addition, what I saw taught me the greatness of sport. Not a few of those men wept. They discussed whether this or that should have been done, but they were unable to offer their arguments clearly because their voices were drowned out in tears.

Luckily I didn't grow up with that erroneous slogan that "men don't cry", but that image taught me not only that you have to know how to suffer failures, but also that successes should be celebrated, so that, once the setbacks arrive, owe so much to joy.

I see Yadián Martínez cry and it is easy for me to understand what days ago was something alien to me and even annoying: why does this pitcher hit his chest and make gestures to his team in the stands when he is victorious in an inning? Now I know that the boy from Mayabeque knows how to celebrate his victories and suffers, with the skills of a champion, his setbacks.

I have not shared his victories, but believe me: this Monday I was with him in his loss.