April 2, 1999
Fidel Castro was standing to listen to the national anthem of the country that once tried to assassinate him and that currently maintains a commercial embargo against his island. Later, American businessmen happily shared cocktails with the planet's number-one critic of capitalism. When the Baltimore Orioles took the field Sunday at Havana's Estadio Latinoamericano to play a team of Cuban all-stars, the contradictions at both ends of the US- Cuban dysfunctional relationship were as clear and sharp as the baselines. But in the run-up to the game, few of the principals in this historic match-up wanted to confront sensitive matters. Instead, most stuck to the line pitched by Orioles reliever Mike Timlin: "It's a baseball game. That's all it is."

But in 1975, when baseball commissioner Bowie Kuhn and aides to Secretary of State Henry Kissinger proposed a US-versus-Cuba contest, government officials argued that a game could "bridge the gap between the Bay of Pigs and a new relationship with Cuba."(They also wanted to set up "a game we are likely to win.") Kissinger nixed the proposal. Still, the notion stuck around foreign policy circles, and a few years ago, Scott Armstrong, a rough-and-tumble former Washington Post journalist who founded the National Security Archive, decided to take a swing. In 1996, he hooked up with Peter Angelos, the billionaire-lawyer who owns the Orioles, and painstaking negotiations ensued among Major League Baseball, the Os, the Clinton Administration, and the Cuban government. "The easiest to deal with was the Cuban government," Armstrong says. "The hardest was the US government." Once an agreement was announced, rightwing anti-Castro Cuban-Americans howled in protest. Other ball clubs suspected Angelos was trying to gain an advantage in a country that produces good ballplayers. To emphasize the people-to-people component of the event, Armstrong arranged to bring 80 children from Washington and Baltimore--many from inner city neighborhoods--to play ball with Cuban children.

In the days before the game, the kids played pick-up games with Cubans, and American reporters scurried around Havana to grab this photo op. At the same time, the capital was overrun by American music stars--Bonnie Raitt, Joan Osborne, Peter Buck, Burt Bacharach, and David and Don Was--who were in town to write, record and perform with Cuban artists. It was a week of extensive US-Cuban exchange that made the embargo seem nonsensical. Then on Friday, a hitch developed. News stories in the United States had reported that the game was to be played before an invitation-only crowd, and these accounts provoked criticism that the Os were being used to reward loyal Communists. (Tickets to games in Cuba are generally cheap and sold on a first-come basis.) The scores of American sports writers who had descended upon Havana zeroed in on the controversy. Last-minute negotiations followed. The players association threatened team members would walk unless the Cubans supplied the Americans with hundreds of tickets that the Americans could distribute to so-called "regular" Cubans. The Cubans, at first, did not yield. Angelos dismissed the controversy: "Sure, there will be friends of important people there. That's how it works everywhere." The game appeared in jeopardy.

Those Cuban officials who do not wish for any accommodation with the United States (including a baseball game) may not have been eager to find a solution. After all, the hard-line gang has been riding high in Havana lately. In February, the government passed a severe anti-sedition law that threatens independent journalists and many others. Last month, it sentenced the island's four best-known dissidents to jail terms. These days, police are out in force in Havana, combating what had been a highly visible prostitution trade but also creating a widespread police presence. The reason for the crackdown is open to speculation. Castro may feel he is losing control, as the dollar economy he unleashed grows. Or these recent moves could be a reaction to the meager steps the Clinton Administration took in January to ease portions of the embargo. The baseball game--and the last minute tug-of-war over tickets--was occurring at a time of heightened tension.

Hours before the Os were to fly to Havana, the issue was resolved. The Cubans agreed to hand several hundred passes to the American delegation so it could invite the kids with whom the Americans had played. On game day, it was not clear how many of these young Cubans got into the stadium--they were not seated with their American friends--but the issue was successfully finessed.

For the pre-game ceremony, both teams paraded into the field carrying their nation's flags. Castro sat between Angelos and baseball commissioner Bud Selig. (The night before, Castro had told Alderson that his interest and prowess in baseball had been long overstated. "Perhaps I was a better basketball player," he noted.) The game was not World Series-caliber. The crowd was atypically quiet for a Cuban game. And the quicker, scrappier Cuban team held its own, tying the score at 2-2 in the eighth inning and sending the match into extra-innings. In the eleventh, the Orioles went ahead and won 3-2. The Cuban team--which outhit the Birds 10-6--proved it could square off against a mid-level major league squad. For the Cubans, that was a victory.

The game, by design or not, was also a victory for those who challenge the status quo in US-Cuban relations, for it exposed the absurdity of both governments. The Clinton Administration policy now is this: big-leaguers can play baseball in Cuba, yet common citizens are not free to travel there. Castro, who assails capitalism and justifies repressive laws by pointing to the threat from the north, stood for the "Star-Spangled Banner" and hobnobbed with American businessmen who probably would like to invade Cuba with commerce or, at least, pick the fruits of Cuban baseball.

After the ball game, as Angelos was heading to a reception where baseball executives would request that Castro sign baseballs for them, he was cornered by reporters and asked to address the political dimensions of the game. Angelos tried to duck, noting vaguely the game might somehow contribute to better relations between the two countries. When pressed, he went further, stating he was for trading with Cuba: "It's better than keeping the door locked. When we isolate Cuba, we isolate the Cuban people from us." As he went on, he revved up: "I've always felt the isolation of Cuba and embargoes that result in the oppression of people are wrong." Finally, here was an admission that the game was indeed foreign policy. But then Angelos paused--as if he realized what he had done--and quickly added: "That's a personal view, not a political statement."