There’s something almost magical about a fall night at Calexico High, warm and humid, with a light drizzle turning Belcher Field into a glistening diamond under the Friday night lights. The smell of fried foods and hot dogs drifts through the air—sometimes overpowering, sometimes just enough to make you wish you’d skipped dinner. The turf smells of earth and sweat and grass that’s been stomped on by generations of cleats, from little league to legends.

This is Belcher Field, named after Elmer Belcher, the coach who could turn a wild throw into a lesson about life… and probably still give you a lecture about it afterward. But tonight, it wasn’t high school baseball. This was professional baseball—yes, in the middle of high school football season.

The Águilas de Mexicali were in town, playing a tune-up game against the Valley All-Stars in the Border Pro Classic. Baseball legends were shaking hands with the crowd, signing autographs, and throwing out the first pitch like they hadn’t spent years in stadiums with thousands of screaming fans. Rudy Seanez, Brawley High legend and two-time World Series champ, moved like he owned the field, and Ruben Niebla, our own Calexico alum and San Diego Padres pitching coach, had that calm, confident presence that makes you wonder if you even need a glove.

Seeing them there, on the same field where I once fumbled my way through high school baseball, made it feel personal—not distant, not a professional showcase—but like we shared the same turf. I can say I played on this field with Ruben, though I was never on the same level as him. But for a few games back then, we were part of the same game, breathing the same air, chasing the same baseball dreams—and occasionally trying not to get beaned by a fastball while imagining myself in the majors.

And then there were the Águilas de Mexicali, our sister city’s beloved team, whose presence reminded everyone of the deep ties that stretch across the border. Seeing them brought back memories of El Nido de los Águilas, their raucous home ballpark, packed with fans who made every crack of the bat feel like an announcement to the entire city. Baseball doesn’t stop at the border—it flows across it, like carne asada tacos or summer humidity, connecting neighborhoods, families, and towns in one shared heartbeat.

The bleachers were alive with energy—the cheers, the banter with friends, the quiet nods to people you’ve known your whole life, and many you’d never seen before, plus the excited chatter from folks who’d crossed the border just to catch this game. Every pitch, every swing, every play carried weight, not just in the game, but in that intangible pride of seeing your hometown reflected in those who came before.

Unlike the cavernous stadiums where professional teams play, Belcher Field is cozy, almost intimate. On the third-base side, a smaller softball field peeks over the fence; the concession booths were sprawled haphazardly, selling everything from tasty fried ‘colitas’ to nachos and hot dogs, while the high school football stadium looms on the first-base side. Beyond the outfield fences, classroom buildings stand quietly, as if keeping watch over the game. 

Kids ran around chasing each other between innings, laughter cutting through the cheers, while others perched on the small bleachers, hoping to snag a foul ball. There was a sense of controlled chaos here—a contrast to the polished precision of a pro stadium—but that was part of the charm. Everything felt closer: the players, the game, and even the possibility that, for a moment, you were part of it all.

The smells, the lights, the laughter—it all made it feel like more than a game. It was a celebration of community, of shared history, and of fleeting moments when hometown heroes, professional legends, and high school kids all felt just a heartbeat away… and maybe, if you squinted hard enough, like you could almost steal second base without anyone noticing.

Enjoy this one? You might just be one of us. There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com —stories and reflections that feel like remembering something you forgot you knew.