His pitches were comets from distant and never imagined galaxies. They were rockets, they were bombs, they were terrifying, curving flourishes that made you think you were watching the astonishing dazzle of an alien technology. It was a new kind of physics, one that allowed him to perform stunning feats that lifted us from our lousy, mortal shells,.
He was a blazing fire, a goddamned Demi-God.
Fernandez died in a boating accident on Sunday at the age of 24.
( This is a photograph of Dee Gordon, Jose Fernandez’s teammate. Gordon is known for his speed, not his power, and he is so thin and little that he truly looks like a child out there amongst the gigantic professional athletes. On the first game back after his friend’s death, in his first at bat, he hit a home run, and as he circled the bases he wept like a boy. As he said later in an interview, “I ain’t never hit a ball that far, even in batting practice. I told the boys, ‘If you all don’t believe in God, you better start.’ For that to happen today, we had some help.”)
Three times, Jose attempted to defect from Cuba to the US unsuccessfully, and after each failed attempt he was put in prison where, still a boy, he shared space with hard and dangerous men. In 2007, at the age of 15, he made the crossing successfully, but not before somebody on his boat was washed overboard. Fernandez, operating on the pure instinct of a boy that age, when right and wrong seem clear, and your body, your entire life, is still radiant and unlimited, dove into the night waters to save the person. He had no idea who had been swept into the ocean, and with each stroke he took, an eight-foot wave grabbed him, lifting him up into the shifting darkness above, before splashing down and submerging him again. The person, somewhere before him, bobbing in and out of sight, was his mother. He got to her, told her to hold tight to his left shoulder, asked her not to push down, and slowly swam her back to the boat.
Imagine that.
Imagine doing something so great with your life.
His baseball career was short and beautiful and joyous. It was something to behold, each start an event I got excited for, anticipating it the same way some other people might anticipate a new Game of Thrones episode or a Bruce Springsteen concert.
He was, in a word, awesome, and his death was a tragedy for the communities he lived amongst, and even beyond, even to a 50 year-old white guy living in Toronto who found himself trying to explain to his wife why he’s crying about the death of some pitcher on his fantasy baseball team.
The boat Fernandez was on the night of his death was traveling around 55-60 mph. He was with two of his friends, both around his age, and it was late. It would have been dark, black even– nothing but the feel of water beneath and sky above. Everything beautiful, the wind and spray and stars in his face, infinity spreading out in all directions…And Jose Fernandez, soon to be a father, moving into the future with such velocity, confidence and hard earned momentum… And then the boat hit a rock jetty and all three of the men died on impact.
Just like that.
They would not have known what had happened.
Our lives are so brief.
We’re all speeding through the dark, the beautiful and the damned, alike, each one of us luckier and more vulnerable than we could ever imagine.
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Dear Dragon:
There is this guy in Cell Block D who looks amazing in orange and I really want him to be my bitch, but MS-13 have claimed him. I really don’t have the muscle behind me to take him, and I can’t buy him, either, but I really think we might be in love, any suggestions?
Cellmate 2563514
You are an angel for love, man! A dark angel, made of fire and blood and lust, like all your ancestors before you! Your body is only a vessel and it means nothing, and so you must give your body to the MS-13 so that you may give your soul to your bitch. The MS-13 will take you as their flesh-lover, and in return they will give you your paramour. If this fails, orchestrate their murders and eliminate the gang so that you can have Looks-Amazing-In-Orange all to yourself!
Dear Dragon:
I’m doing life for a triple homicide and feeling really lonely. Sometimes I worry that I missed my opportunity and that maybe love has passed me by. I’m a little bit shy, except when I’m angry or on Meth, and I have trouble socializing with the other inmates. Can you offer me any advice on how to find love before it’s too late?
Cellmate 7836102
Well, the gym is an awfully good place to showcase your earthly body and mingle with all the other guys. I’ve seen a lot of romances blossom, some very immediately and very intensely, in the gym yard, and it’s a beautiful, violent and loving thing to witness, man. If working out isn’t your bag, though, I’d suggest meeting people through Movie Night or Bible Study, and if that doesn’t work, perhaps you should orchestrate the murder of several inmates in order to highlight your virility and mystical powers over the conformist world around you.
Dear Dragon:
My cellmate keeps raping me. I’ve wanted to break up with him for months now, but then he always does something sweet, like spit on my lawyer or cut himself because he loves me. This, of course, just pulls me right back in and then he just continues raping me again. What can I do?
Cellmate 6680348
You need to express your feelings to him, Cellmate 6680348! You have to let him know that it hurts your heart and damages your self-esteem when he rapes you. It might just be that he has always been a rapist and doesn’t know that in some cases it isn’t the best way to express love, but if he doesn’t respect you on this it’s time for a conscious uncoupling and you must orchestrate his bloody murder.
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Prince:
“ It was in 2004 and I was on a flight from London to Dubai. While flipping through the stations on my headset I started to listen to the Oldies station because they were playing a little known Beach Boys song that I just adore called “I Can Hear Music.” I just sort of fell into the station the way that you do, and then as if plucked from my nightmares, they played “Purple Rain.” I will never forget the cheesy announcer saying, “He may be a gracefully aging king now, but he’ll always be a Prince to us.” I wanted the plane to crash.”
Bryan Adams:
“I was at the fucking Home Hardware buying a couple of those big 5 gallon water pumps for my studio, okay?”
Michael Stipe of REM:
“I was paying for gas in Michigan. Funny, though, it didn’t make me feel old or irrelevant, it just made me feel beyond time. How long did it take for that to happen? 20 years? That’s really not very much time, but that’s all it took for us to become a part of musical history, to become the music that your parents loved. “
Sarah McLachlan:
“Oh Christ, I wish you hadn’t asked me that! I was in a Vancouver wine bar with a friend and the place was playing some generic radio station, and I don’t know why, but I was listening to the DJ just as she announced, “And here’s an oldie but a goodie by our own Sarah McLachlan—a classy woman.” And then my song “I Will Remember You “ came on and all I could think about was some woman in a retirement home singing along, broken and out of key, while thinking of her dead husband. Oh, it was just awful, I mean, it shouldn’t have been, but it was, it really, really was. And my friend Liz, who was sitting across from me, could see the obvious look of mortification on my face, and she just said, “Classy, classy woman, that Sarah McLachlan. “
Randy Travis:
“The God honest truth is I’m not positive that it was an Oldie’s station, but I was damn sure at the time that it was. I was in jail, that first night after my infamous DUI, and as I was getting processed one of the clerks was playing her radio and my song “Forever and Ever, Amen,” came on. I looked up, startled and ashamed, thinking about the words and what was actually happening to me, and I must have looked a fright because she turned it off immediately.”
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has done his time on reality TV, served as a columnist for Vice Magazine, has been to jail, shares all his late night “inspirations” on Twitter and completely loves cars. In short, he is a 12 year-old boys idea of what the American dream could be, and for a moment that dream was to become mayor of Toronto.
Last week as Canseco was Tweeting his New Year’s resolutions, which included, “Fight Shaq in MMA cage match,” and “ help people getting screwed wherever I can,” he also enthused about running for mayor of Toronto—the city where he hit 46 home runs for the Blue Jays back in 1998. This was pretty much the best thing that I had ever come across on Twitter, and I immediately Tweeted back to Canseco in an effort to help.
@josecanseco: Don’t worry about any Citizenship issues in Toronto mayoral bid, I will gay marry you!
@josecanseco: But first you should try to become one of the Beauties on The Price is Right—they are now accepting men!
@josecanseco: It would make our union credible and be good PR!
@josecanseco: Secure the downtown Grinder vote.
@michaelmurrayca: Jose swings for the fences, not with other dudes!
@michaelmurrayca: I am having my people look into citizenship issues.
@josecanseco: But weren’t you in prison?
@michaelmurrayca: I called it Jose’s Castle, and I was in charge.
@josecanseco: Got it, I hear you!
@josecanseco: I have some campaign ideas for you, I am an idea factory!
@josecanseco: The Ikea Monkey will be your campaign signature, always standing on your flexed bicep– like a fetish.
@josecanseco: Open up Jarvis Bike Lane and make the Ikea Monkey municipal symbol.
@josecanseco: Ikea Monkey everywhere!
@michaelmurrayca: Ford too much trouble to be effective. Gotta fix budget, traffic, get new $ not from taxes, get more businesses, and help schools.
@josecanseco: The only thing that can help schools is a casino!
@josecanseco: A monkey themed casino!
@michaelmurrayca: I’m listening. Contact my assistant.
@josecanseco: And forget about Shaq, you must challenge mayor Rob Ford to an MMA fight. All proceeds to go to the monkey casino for the children!
@josecanseco: Ford is slow and easily confused.
@michaelmurrayca: I will throat punch him.
@josecanseco: He will die if you do that!!!
@josecanseco: Hey, did you ever have sex with Madonna? I bet she was pretty aggressive.
@michaelmurray: Just heard from my assistant and I can’t run for Toronto Mayor.
@michaelmurrayca: Will now just work harder on my anti-aging drink Ponce de Canseco.
@josecanseco: Nothing gonna keep you down! You are my hero. Can I have an autographed photo?
@josecanseco: You remind me a bit of Fred Flintstone, but in a good way!
As Rachelle and I move through the crowds and against the grain, a jittery man with hair that had been cut out of an imposed, institutional necessity rather than the luxury of seduction, falls in step with us. He’s in his late 30s and he’s asking me for money, telling me that he hasn’t been with a woman in five years and wants to take one out. Pleasepleaseplease, he begs. He’s almost hopping with want, his eyes pleading– the unfairness of the universe written deeply into his every gesture.
Walking toward us is a heavy, young man who looks like might work in a video store and along beside him is the most beautiful girl in the world. His body language is a little bit separate, like he knows he’s not supposed to get too close, and there’s a kindness, a sensitivity to the way that his heavy blonde hair falls and curls to his shoulders. He’s shy, you can see that, and suddenly the most beautiful girl in the world grabs him by the hand and pulls him in to her and begins to neck with him right there in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s the final scene in a movie, and time stops as we all fade like ghosts into the background and they glow, the radiant center of this moment that will never be forgotten or repeated.
Another woman, less shy, seemed encouraged that somebody had actually spoken and started a conversation with me about geography. The man she was taking her daughter to visit was a big football fan and loved Brazil’s national squad. “I’d love to go to Brazil,” she said to me.
Her daughter was probably about 16 or 17, had a dollar sign tattooed at the base of her right thumb and having squeezed herself into an outfit that wasn’t much larger than a sock cut off at each end, was dressed to please. Ever since 9/11 she’s been scared to fly, but if she could drive anywhere in the world she told me she’d visit either Australia or Newfoundland. As she was telling me this two very tough looking men in their early 60s approached the building. They looked like they knew trouble and what to do with it– like they were born angry. One guy, covered in tattoos and with a powerful, wide upper body, pulled his shirt on as he entered the room, as if a statement of violent intent. The other man was in a sleeveless, white undershirt, his ashen hair greased back. They sat there like furious, black clouds.
The girl who was scared to travel passed slowly in front of them and then back again, at which point her mother grabbed her by the arm, hissing, “ Jesus Kat, you really gave those two an eyeful, didn’t ya?”
Walking into the prison visiting area is a little bit like passing through security at the airport. You empty your pockets and then walk through a metal detector while largely disinterested officers idle by. Once inside there are two U-shaped seating areas with the red-suited prisoners on one side of the protective glass paneling and the visitors on the other.
A woman who was wearing a hijab began to weep after speaking with her son. She was emotional and talking with her hands, her husband trying hard to steady her from beneath a heavy, masculine mustache. A young man blew streams of kisses at his infant daughter. The child’s mother, waving the little girl’s hand at her imprisoned father, was backing out of the room, stealing as many moments as she could. Nearby a prisoner sat waiting for his visitor. The man had vulnerable, heavy eyes. He was just sitting there in front of the phone, his mind God knows where, and the pull toward his loneliness was so vivid and intense that I had to stop myself from just picking up the phone and starting a conversation.
On my way out of the building I passed through a cluster of people smoking. One woman said, “I thought for sure that my other boy would be here, too, but at 24 he still hasn’t been incarcerated, praise be.” And then she added, “But he’s still just 24, so I gotta keep my prayer on!”
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