Between a house full of 12-year-old girls for my daughter’s birthday party, a trip to Houston, the first week of summer, and work, I’ve been a little busy. So you’ll have to accept my apologies for not getting this week’s recap out on time. I know you all spent Monday evening staring at your phones, desperately refreshing your screens, waiting for the recap to appear. I hope nobody lost too much sleep over it.
But you know what? This week we’re doing things a little differently. Because you already know what happened in the league last week, don’t you?
You already know the Fat Boys clocked Austin 6–4. You know the Roadrunners continued their rampage, dismantling the Cavemen 8–2—just like they’ve dismantled nearly everyone this season as they fortify their position at the top. You already saw the Chihuahuas shred the Redfish 9–1, further cementing the second-best record in the PCI… while still sitting in third place overall because of the division format. You witnessed Oahu vs. Integrals, and you’ve done the math: 11 minus 2 is 8, and 8–2 was the final score as the East-leading squad from Indy keeps rolling.
Surely you’re aware of what went down in the Coastal Bend, where the Mutts came to town and took a bite out of the Oilers—dropping them into 7th while Boerne climbed into 4th. And of course, you saw Sinton and Denver go blow-for-blow until the Donuts pulled away and slapped the Mullets with a 7–4 final. You know all this. So there’s no need for a 2,000-word diatribe.
But what you may not know is that today is a very important day in PCI history. But what you may not know is that yesterday was a very important day in PCI history.
I wasn’t aware myself until I received a simple, slightly cryptic text from Willie B. Lakey over the weekend:
“FYI – June 2nd is Dennis Haysbert’s birthday.”
And with that, the clouds parted and the purpose of this recap became clear.
This week, we honor a great man. A man who is—directly or indirectly—responsible for all of us being here, in this league, right now.
June 2nd, 1954. San Mateo, California. A newborn baby entered the world. That baby would grow into a 6’5” titan of American cinema. That baby was Dennis Haysbert.
After graduating from San Mateo High in 1972, Dennis was offered multiple athletic scholarships (not surprising, considering he was built like a Marvel character). But instead of going the sports route, he chose to attend the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. A decision that every fan of baseball, cinema, and probably just America in general should be grateful for.
He began his career in the ‘80s, doing guest spots on legendary shows like Night Court, The Incredible Hulk, Magnum P.I., Dallas, and even The A-Team—a show once described by critics as “the best thing ever made by humans.”
Eventually, Hollywood caught on to what they had. This wasn’t just a guest actor. This was a force. Haysbert went on to star in not one, but two 20th-century film masterpieces.
In 1990, he joined a star-studded cast in Navy SEALs alongside Charlie Sheen, Bill Paxton, and Michael Biehn. His role: Team Chief William “Billy” Graham—a no-nonsense warrior in a hyper-realistic, definitely-not-cheesy portrayal of America’s elite military forces.
But Navy SEALs wasn’t the first time Haysbert shared the screen with Sheen.
A year earlier, in 1989, came the performance that would forever alter the trajectory of Western cinema—and our humble league: Major League.
Enter: Pedro Cerrano. The hard-hitting outfielder who defected from Cuba so he could practice his religion—voodoo—and crush fastballs. Haysbert’s performance was magnetic. Powerful. Mythic. It’s often mentioned alongside other great cinematic turns: Marlon Brando in The Godfather, Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood, Meryl Streep in basically anything, and Dennis Haysbert as Pedro Cerrano.
And while I didn’t actually look this up, I think it’s safe to assume he took home at least seven Academy Awards for that role. He was so good, in fact, that a recent Gallup poll found that 97% of Americans believed he was actually Cuban and just using a fake American accent in his other roles.
So this week, instead of stats and breakdowns and star performers, I ask that you raise a glass and join me in wishing a very happy 70th birthday to the namesake of our league. But be warned: if that glass contains rum… you’d better be damn sure it’s not Jobu’s.
Because as we all know: “Is very bad to steal Jobu’s rum. Is VERY bad.”
Thanks to Willie B. Lakey for the inspiration—who either has an encyclopedic brain for not just baseball stats but also the birthdays of actors in baseball movies… or spends a truly alarming amount of time Googling obscure things.
Hoosier Longhorn Confederacy 