Hispanic Fanatic

I’m going to take a break from obsessing about myself (see my earlier posts) to look at the outside world. Two recent developments have proven that the Obama administration is serious about Latino issues. I never doubted the president’s sincerity or commitment, but I had gone on record as saying that Hispanic concerns would take a backseat in the early days of his administration.

I may – and this is as disturbing for me to write as it is for you to read – have been wrong. Furthermore, the president’s recent decisions have implications far beyond the interests of the Hispanic community. They potentially reveal the man for who he is and give some insight into what kind of leader he will be.

First, there is the news that Obama will press for immigration reform this year, which would fulfill a promise he made while campaigning for (and overwhelmingly winning) Hispanic votes. The president’s plan is vague at this point, and it reportedly involves the usual goals of increasing border security and convincing Mexico to hold on to their own people. The big-ticket item, of course, is the proposal to give the 12 million immigrants who already live in America some pathway to citizenship.

Yes, it’s the return of the dreaded “amnesty” provision.

I have, along with every other Latino writer, discussed this topic before, so I won’t rehash the arguments in depth. Suffice to say that conservatives believe that legalizing these workers is a slap in the face of law and order, and a surefire path to economic collapse.

The fairness issue can be debated, although let’s be blunt in pointing out that many of the people screaming about justice are actually just pissed that they had to endure overhearing Spanish in the grocery store. There’s nothing principled about their fear or hatred.

As for economic issues, I have a hard time understanding how more American jobs are going to be lost to people who supposedly have already stolen them. In fact, as columnist Ruben Navarrette has stated, a case could be made that “to help U.S. workers, we need to get the illegal immigrants legal and force employers to pay all workers higher wages and stop playing one group of workers off another.”

In any case, GOP members are hardly the people to lecture anyone on what’s good for the economy… I will refrain from additional cheap shots.

The second announcement from the Obama administration that got my attention was about Cuba. The president intends to make it easier for Cuban Americans to travel to the island and to send remittances. This decision – announced during what was apparently the first bilingual White House press conference – is a welcome first step in ending the arbitrary and counterproductive policy we’ve long held toward that country.

As usual, right-wingers are screaming about going soft on communism, as if our approach had done anything to bring democracy to Cuba. After all, it’s been a half-century or so; when can we expect to see results?

In addition, it wasn’t like the travel restrictions made any sense. Under the guise of getting tough on Castro, immigrants who live in Florida could rarely, if ever, visit their families. But over the years, multiple delegations of governors, members of Congress, and businesspeople were routinely allowed to land on the island. They would talk about trade issues with Cuban officials, all while saying, “We don’t officially recognize you, now please pass some of that kick-ass rum you guys make.” Basically, as long as the potential to make money was involved, we put a hold on our principled stand against oppression.

Obama’s decision will, in all likelihood, make it easier for immigrants to see their families, and perhaps it will be a catalyst for much-needed change. After all, a massive 71 percent of Americans support normalizing relations with Cuba. It’s difficult to get that many Americans to agree about anything, except maybe that Scrubs is long past being funny.

Perhaps the change is due to a lot of younger Americans wondering why we have normal relations with Vietnam, where 50,000 of our soldiers died, while we continue some absurd policy toward a tiny island run by a faded revolutionary on the verge of death. Maybe we’re finally ready to drop all the Cold War posturing.

Regardless of how these two proposals turn out, it is reassuring that Obama hasn’t forgotten how millions of Latinos set high expectations for his administration. Furthermore, it’s now clear that he didn’t just toss around promises like confetti in the hopes of garnering votes. The president is tackling controversial issues when he has more than enough drama to occupy him.

Few would criticize Obama if he took a temporary pass on hot-button social problems to focus on minor inconveniences (such as a faltering economy or a couple of wars). Indeed, many commentators expected him to do just that, and Republicans are delighted to lambast him for “trying to do too much,” especially when his decisions supposedly affect a small percentage of Americans.

But this is the crucial point. Obama can apparently see how disparate problems – such as immigration reform – tie into larger issues, like how our economy functions. It’s promising that he understands that concepts interlock and feed off one another, and necessitate a big-picture approach. He is thus far removed from someone who skips the analysis and goes with his gut (a “decider,” if you will). A person like that usually obsesses on a few basic agenda items, then becomes flummoxed when myriad “unforeseen” disasters occur and snowball. With hope, that will not happen to Obama.

In addition, and perhaps more important, these recent developments indicate that Obama is willing to fight, even when it would be politically easier to skip the tough battles. If that’s true, these decisions are not about kissing up to a key constituency. They are about improving a tattered nation.

And that, of course, is good news for the entire country.

The word that got her was “sandpaper.”

There was nothing funny about the three syllables in and of themselves, nor did they have any hidden meaning or ironic subtext. No, the reason she laughed (with tears gushing and everything) was because all seven of us said the word simultaneously for no apparent reason while staring right at her. Cousin #4 flinched at our voices washing over her, then busted out in stuttering giggles.

As we explained to her later, I had made a bet with the other cousins that her default setting was to laugh. Cousin #4’s natural effervescence compelled her to smile at anyone who wasn’t actively furious (and few people are in her presence). So I suggested testing the thesis by saying, “sandpaper” at her and seeing if she laughed. She did, of course, but that may have been because we were so flash-mob  choreographed  about it.

I had first witnessed her tendency to be joyful on the day I met her, when she was a small child. She and her brothers (Cousins #2 and #6) were coming to America after the death of their father (Uncle #1). I sat next to her on the plane, vainly trying to answer her questions about the United States. She spoke only Spanish at that point, and my grasp of the language was abysmal. Furthermore, I was a teenager, and so prone to dismissing people with a curt snap, especially little kids who asked a million questions.

I wanted her to go to sleep and leave me alone, but conjugating verbs was beyond me, so I just said, “Sueno!” at her (which means “I sleep!”). Cousin #4 looked at me in confusion for a second, then laughed so hard that our fellow passengers wanted to know what was so funny. At regular intervals for the rest of the trip, she tapped me on the elbow, got close to my face, and shouted, “Sueno!” Then she laughed and laughed.

Her cheerful  demeanor  has carried over into adulthood, but this doesn’t mean that she goes through life giggling or is incapable of dealing with adversity. Indeed, as a child she had to deal with the murder of her father and assimilating to a new country, challenges that few of us will ever face. As an adult, she has raised two daughters, one of whom has special needs. Her marriage is currently under attack by the U.S. government, which is a long story and the subject of another post. It’s doubtful that anyone could be nonstop happy-go-lucky through all that.

Still, every time I see her, she maintains her composure and optimism. She relies upon her faith (maintaining ties to our childhood Catholicism) to get through these horrific times in which we live. And perhaps most impressive, she is still able to laugh.

My last few posts have been, with reason, somewhat dour. So let’s lighten up things around here. Instead of bemoaning the economy and worldwide collapse, let’s reminisce about fond childhood memories.

For example, like a lot of guys, I read whole stacks of comic books when I was a kid. I was unusual, however, in that I was big into horror stories, like the House of Secrets, and gravitated toward anti-heroes like Conan the Barbarian and Jonah Hex. For the most part, costumed superheroes bored me, with their goody-goody ways, and the only ones I liked were the ones who were messed up psychologically, like some of the X-Men.

It’s funny how early our tastes get set, because to this day, I’m much more interested in dark tales than heroic ones. Still, I acknowledge that when most people say the words “comic book,” it’s images of mighty, spandex-clad men and women fighting for noble causes that come to mind.

So I was pleased when I saw an article in Aqui – a great magazine and one to which I have contributed – that profiled Hispanic superheroes. The article was illuminating. I have to admit that despite the many hours I spent pouring over the exploits of Marvel and DC heroes, I could not recall a single Latino flying in to save the day. I remember black-power figures like Cage, and even advocates for the disabled like Daredevil, but Hispanic cape crusaders were nonexistent.

Or so I thought. Aqui pointed out that as far back as the 1970s, Latinas such as Fire (true identity: Beatriz da Costa) were striking down evildoers. Through the years, the White Tiger, Echo, and Vibe have kept us safe from evil geniuses and mutant monsters. For the demographically aware, there’s even a lesbian Latina, the Question, who fights crime. And to my surprise, the future version of one of the most famous heroes (in a series titled “Spiderman 2099”) is a guy named Miguel.

Yes, I stopped reading comics at the wrong time. Otherwise, I would have been more aware of hotties like Arana and Pantha. Then again, La Lunatica would have just freaked me out (it’s hard to get past the ominous name and ghostly skin, despite her rather impressive physical features):

In any case, I thank Aqui for educating me on the subject. And I’m glad that the next generation of kids who spend Saturdays flipping through comic books will not even think twice about the significance of a Chicano lifting cars off people or capturing muggers or fighting off alien invaders. Instead, they will recognize him as an all-American hero. 

First, thanks to Profe for his supportive comments on my last post. Second, thanks to my old friend, the Bitca (!), for springing up on the blog and reminding me why I love her. But for the record, Ms. Bitca, I don’t drink screwdrivers. I find them a bit girly.

Nevertheless, drinking heavily is well within my right. As I wrote in that post, I was recently laid off from my job of six years. It’s disgruntling to go from analyzing the plight of unemployed Latinos to becoming part of the story.

Again, I’m not worried about the future or in dire financial straits, for which I’m grateful. But naturally, I want to get the unemployment monkey off my back, if for no other reason than I would like to continue affording luxuries like, say, food and shelter. But as you might expect with an overly analytical blogger with lots more free time, I’ve pinpointed an additional frustration with this mess.

As a first-generation Latino, I feel an irrational need to get back on the payroll quickly so I can resume being a role model for my community. In some sectors of Hispanic society, I can achieve this lofty status, whether I want it or not, simply by getting a good-paying job and staying out of jail. I am aware of the hopes of my brethren urging me on, pushing me toward success as defined by the majority culture. For lack of any other goal, I want to be an outstanding, nonsterotypical member of society, an upper-middle-class big deal.

This is just the latest example of how ethnic minorities perceive the world in subtly different ways than white people do. I’ve written about this before. We tend to pinpoint clichés (e.g., being unemployed) and recoil from them like vampires catching a glimpse of sunlight. White people, in contrast, likely have the freedom to obsess exclusively on their individual problems, taking the occasional break to get angry that they didn’t invent YouTube (actually, I share that annoyance).

It’s a tricky balancing act, however. Because once I get that respectable white-collar job, I still have to be careful not to morph into The Man. But that’s the subject of another post, and in any case, it certainly is not an immediate danger.

That’s because the road to prosperity is closed for repairs, at least temporarily. But, of course, I will eventually get back on it.

In my most recent post, I wrote that the economic collapse has hit Latinos particularly hard. This pain is not confined to day laborers and construction workers (although they are hurting more than others), but also extends to those Hispanics who have ventured into the white-collar world… like your most humble blogger.

Yes, recently I was laid off from my day job. Thus, the Fanatic has joined the 8.1% of Americans, and 11% of Latino males, who have said adios to regular paychecks. My company, hereafter referred to as “the ex-job,” canned four other people the same day. For the conspiratorial among you, let me be quick to point out that my fellow downsizees are all white. They include a woman who devoted twenty years to the organization and another who is a single mom.

I was surprised to get the news, of course, but not shocked. The ex-job is struggling, and if the economy doesn’t stop hemorrhaging, I fear that the thirty or so people who still work there will be joining me in the nation’s cool new fad of updating resumes and emailing LinkedIn requests.

At the same time, I would be lying if I said that I don’t harbor some hostility toward the ex-job. I worked six years as a business writer for them, and it’s impossible to not feel like a sap when your boss says, “Your performance has been excellent, thanks for your great work and loyalty, and now… bye.”

One reason for my WTF reaction is that despite the very real fact that it is a business decision, there is also a personal judgment being made: You (the freshly unemployed) have been determined to be less valuable to the company than those who remain. You are more expendable.

Since my number came up in the great economic-misadventure lottery, I haven’t been depressed or even worried (my wife and I are in better financial shape than many people in a similar situation). But there are still bursts of anger, which I’ve always thought is the most productive of the negative emotions.

Nothing sets off this anger more than the banal clichés thrust at me by well-meaning friends. In the past few weeks, I’ve learned that it’s always darkest before the dawn, that what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, that there’s a reason for everything, and that God never gives us more than we can handle. By the way, I find this latter statement theologically dubious – people who commit suicide, for example, obviously got a lot more than they could handle. But speaking of the Almighty, I’ve also heard that when God closes a door, he opens a window. If you’ve just been blindsided with a layoff, however, you don’t feel like God has been messing around with doors and windows. You think that he just dynamited your house.

Still, I remain optimistic about the future – not just for me but for all of us. Common sense, the laws of economics, and basic karma all say that we’ll pull out of this financial freefall soon.

Perhaps the Obama plan will be the answer. At the very least, maybe the stimulus package will help me land a construction job. I hesitate to look into this, however, not because I’m too good or genteel for blue-collar labor, but because I was really looking forward to continuing Hispanic America’s infiltration into the white-collar world. Also, I’m much better with words than I am with a backhoe. Trust me on this.

So until I land that next office gig, I will be sharpening skills, hustling for freelance gigs, and networking like an overly caffeinated, extroverted state senator up for reelection. And of course, I will remain thoroughly and completely fanatical.

We’ve never been more obsessed with bottoming out.

Every day brings a fresh prayer that the economy has gotten has bad as its going to get – not only for this recession but for the rest of our lives – and a fervent, dry-mouthed wish that tomorrow will see prosperity’s inevitable return. But so far, all that praying has been as useful as a cowboy hat on a toad (as my father-in-law would say).

The gasping economy has hit Latinos particularly hard. Up until a few months ago, we Hispanics had been making great strides toward economic equality. The day when Latinos were no longer assumed to be members of the lower class was fast approaching. But then the chasm opened up on the capitalist freeway, and Latinos hit the brakes with both feet.

Currently, we’re more likely than any other group to lose our homes, and we’re more likely than most to be unemployed. Hispanic Business reports that “by the end of 2008 the general Hispanic jobless rate had spiked at 9.2 percent, almost 2 percent higher than the rate for the entire U.S. population.” The overall rate is now closing in on 9%, and one presumes that Latinos will continue to lead the dismal pack. Hispanic males, in particular, are stuck with an ungodly 11% unemployment rate.

Furthermore, the Pew Hispanic Center notes that “76% of Latinos, and 84% of foreign-born Latinos, say their current personal finances are in either fair or poor shape, while 63% of the general U.S. population says the same.”

So as bad as it is for America right now, it’s even worse for Latinos. And as I indicated in a previous post, there’s the extra indignity that Hispanics are subtly being blamed for this mess. 

Many discussions of the subprime mortgage fiasco – the catalyst for this chaos – include the insinuation that too many Hispanics bought too many houses that they couldn’t afford.

Of course, many Americans will be delighted that our anorexic economy has stemmed the flow of illegal immigrants. After all, given the choice between being poor in their native country or being poor in the United States, a lot of potential immigrants will skip the border crossing and opt for poverty at home. Hell, many immigrants are actually moving back, which might cause some conservatives to rejoice, even as a dark thought crosses the right-wing mind: The USA is simply not so attractive anymore. 

So is there any good news in this flood of pessimism? Well, some reports indicate that the group hitting bottom the quickest may be the very same one that jumpstarts the economy. Yes, Latinos are the potential salvation to this financial cataclysm.

A remarkably optimistic article from MSNBC claims that Hispanics “remain a thriving, even booming, market that’s expected to grow by 48 percent in the next four years.”

The report goes on the say that “marketers now see that the Hispanic market in the U.S. is a great business opportunity” and that “businesses and cultural institutions… are chasing Hispanics aggressively, because that’s where the money is.” Hispanic Business adds that “Hispanics will likely supply valuable labor and sustain the U.S. economy far into the 21st century.”

Well, that’s more like it.

There are several reasons for our newfound clout. For starters, we tend to be younger than other demographics and thus eager to spend money on fun non-essentials such as downloading ringtones or hitting the movies. Another reason is that the strong focus on the family (Latinos tend to have more children) means that we’re signing more credit-card receipts for baby carseats and the like. Finally, there are just a whole bunch of us, and as I’m sure you know, we’re now the largest minority in America.

We Latinos apparently sense our potential for helping out the nation. The Pew Hispanic Center reports that, despite the fact that the economic disaster has hit us harder, “Latinos are more optimistic than others about the future: 67% expect that their financial circumstances will improve over the next year; just 56% of the general population feels the same way.”

Perhaps our optimism comes from the same drive that fuels so many of us to take a chance on a new life in a new country. Maybe the traditionally strong spiritual base that many of us possess helps to guide us through troubled times. Or maybe we’re just used to having less and don’t get worried about losing things. In any case, we seem poised to stimulate the economy.

If that’s true, however, what is a social conservative to do? Latinos have been attacked as scourges on the economy for so long that it’s cultural whiplash to claim that now America really, really, really needs us. The irony is rich, even if the country is not.

As a result of this new status, perhaps young Latinos wandering around stores will no longer be tailed by suspicious proprietors who assume that any group of Hispanics are there to empty the cash register and pistol-whip the owner. Maybe these young  people will be recognized for who there are and what they represent: the very salvation of the global economy.

That would be so damn cool.

Spring is officially here. It arrived at 8:44 am (CST) on March 20.

But for those of us who live in this snowy Northern city that I call home, winter may not end for another month, when we’ll finally venture outside sans parkas for the first time in a half-year or so.

As I’ve mentioned before, when I was a kid growing up in the Midwest, I was among the few Latinos in a sea of husky blonde children with German and Scandinavian last names. Their ancestors had become impervious to the cold. Indeed, they developed a bizarre affection and even love for the arctic blasts and bone-chilling frost and icy pain that their homelands offered. And they brought this sick predilection with them when they emigrated to America, often passing it along to their children.

This was not the case with my ancestors. They came from tropical climates where people only felt chilled if they had developed some horrific disease brought on by rainforest insects chomping on them. Otherwise, it was constantly sweltering, and they built up little immunity for the chest-bursting cold that is so common in my home state.

My ancestors rarely experienced anything below freezing, while I consider such temperatures to be a comfortable day. And yet I live here by choice. Perhaps it’s all been an elaborate hoax.

I believe that I was scammed as a child into thinking that the climate isn’t so bad. I heard the constant refrain of older citizens (usually the aforementioned ninth-generation Germans and Scandinavians) that the harsh weather “builds character.”

Perhaps there is some truth to this. My time living in sunny California convinced me that people who grow up in gorgeous environments often become pampered, shallow adults. Then again, it’s LA I’m talking about, so perhaps it’s not the best control group.

But even if it is true that the bitter cold “builds character,” let’s be clear about one thing: At a certain point in the winter, and definitely at a certain point in one’s life, you’ve gained all the character you ever will through subzero wind chills. The rest is just punishment or the delusion that we like this or the futile hope that we will become better people because of it. There is little, if any Zen insight to be gained from shoveling snow. In fact, that shoveling is more likely to provoke a heart attack than conjure “character.”

So maybe I’ve never fully adapted to the cold. Maybe it takes more than a few dozen winters to be at peace with the ice and snow.

But then I think of the remarkable determination and resiliency that Latinos have shown over the generations. Certainly, we can adapt to any conditions, persevere over any situation, and succeed in any environment.

Yes, all that is true.

But it’s also true that winter really fucking sucks.

I’ve always had issues with the guy.

I know his good qualities outweigh his bad ones. After all, he’s smart, crafty, occasionally funny, and in his own way, even heroic.

But he’s a thief. And he’s a filthy rodent, which is hard to overlook.

So what do we make of Speedy Gonzalez?

Let’s not get all freshman term paper here, but there are obvious cultural connotations to the old Looney Tunes cartoons. Like every piece of art, they reflect the society and times in which they were created.

The only Hispanic character, to my knowledge, was Speedy Gonzalez. He was a leading man whom kids were supposed to root for. And he always won the day due to his bravery and quick wits.

But the symbolism is inescapable: He was a sneaky mouse determined to steal cheese. I might add that all his friends were lazy cowards. And if the connotations weren’t clear enough, how about that time the mice were trying to sneak across the border?

To be fair, Latinos actually come off better in the old Merrie Melodies than do blacks, Asians, or Southerners. The animators seemed to have special disdain for the French, whom they personified in Pepe le Pew – a rude, oblivious, dimwitted sexual harasser who reeked (and he wasn’t funny either).

They were ahead of their time when it came to gays, however, unless you think it was a coincidence that Bugs Bunny was always cross-dressing. Somebody on that writing staff was just dying to out himself. But I digress.

In any case, the creators of Speedy Gonzalez were, I believe, trying to be positive. They just couldn’t get past the stereotypes. And they were also culturally confused when it came to Latinos. After all, why else would the king of Spain have a Mexican accent (as displayed in the immortal line, “It’s flat like your head”)?

By the way, if anybody knows if they still air Speedy Gonzalez cartoons, let me know. It would be a shame if the kids of today missed out on him… or maybe it wouldn’t, I’m still not sure.

Only once in my life have I thought, “This is a sitcom moment.”

It was the time I wound up on a stranger’s fire escape, peering through the window at a topless woman armed with knitting needles.

This is not an advisable position for anyone, especially for Latino males, who have been known to provoke white women to rush into traffic just by making eye-contact.

I was on the fire escape that evening because my girlfriend (now my wife) and I were celebrating one year of living in New York City. We had grabbed a bottle of cheap champagne and went up on the roof of our Manhattan apartment building, which offered a great view of the city.

Right after walking onto the roof, I turned to her and said, “Don’t let the door close because…” The words “it locks automatically” were subsumed beneath the sound of the door clicking shut.

So now we were trapped on the roof late at night, six stories up. It was obvious what we needed to do.

We drank the champagne.

With that accomplished, we began the perilous climb down the fire escape that led to a suitably grimy NYC alley. To say the descent was difficult is not an exaggeration. New Yorkers have such little space that fire escapes often become extensions of their apartments. So we had to sidestep around furniture, bike racks, and whole gardens clogging the metal stairs. If the building ever had a real fire, dozens of us would die in the impeded scramble to safety – either trampled to death by our neighbors because we couldn’t move quickly enough, or asphyxiated as we lay tangled in someone’s improbably located azalea bush.

Still, I reached the bottom level of the fire escape, where I saw that I had two options. I could drop the remaining fifteen feet into a pitch-black alley that was strewn with trash (my imagination insisted that broken syringes and rusty metal pipes glistened in the dim light) and then I would have to hobble on my twisted, gashed ankles to the end of the alley and climb a tall fence topped with razor wire.

Or I could simply knock on my neighbor’s window. The woman, with whom I had a nodding acquaintance from sharing the occasional elevator, was home but had not noticed my presence on her fire escape.

I peered into my neighbor’s apartment. Then I turned and told my girlfriend that she would have to tap on the window.

“She’s lying on the couch and wearing only panties,” I said. “I don’t think she wants a brown-skinned guy knocking on her window in the middle of the night and demanding to be let in.”

My girlfriend acknowledged this logic. So she approached the window while I retreated up a flight to safety.

“And she’s knitting, with big needles,” I said as my final piece of advice.

A moment later, after what was surely the most awkward request my girlfriend has ever made of a stranger, the window opened. I climbed back to the roof, arriving just as my girlfriend opened the door to let me back in.

“My feet barely hit the floor of her apartment,” my girlfriend said. “That woman just grabbed me and pushed me toward the lobby.”

But we were saved.

Because the whole thing was such a sitcom premise, I thought about pitching the incident as the pilot episode of “The Wacky Latino,” a heartwarming, life-affirming, knee-slapping show about the adventures of a klutzy Hispanic. But then I remembered that there are no shows about Hispanics on television, and I abandoned the idea.

Sure enough, a year or so later, an episode of “Friends” had a subplot where Ross and Joey get trapped on the roof and have to shimmy down the fire escape. When I saw it, I said two things to my girlfriend: They stole our plot, and our version was funnier (no topless female knitters appeared on that show).

And now that I think about it, I feel doubly ripped off because two white males co-opted a moment that rightfully belonged to a Latino male and a white female. There is clearly no end to the oppressive hegemony.

In any case, even a decade later, I still have no answer to the question that haunts me to this day: Who the fuck knits while topless?

My wife and I are geeky enough to watch dog shows on Animal Planet. Go ahead and pass judgment, but if last month’s Westminster winner, Stump the Sussex Spaniel, didn’t charm you on some basic level, I’m not sure that we can be friends. 

It seems like many of the handlers at dog shows are Latino. Certainly many more of them are Hispanic than black or Asian. For me to even notice this means that it’s, well… noticeable.

I’m not sure why Latino handlers are so ubiquitous. I’d like to think that it’s because Hispanics have a strong bond to the animal kingdom and a healthy respect for nature. That’s nice to think, especially as I hear about dogs running wild in the streets of Latin America and the Amazonian rainforest being slashed and burned.

Certainly, it’s not a cultural thing. I can’t imagine a less likely goal for a kid growing up in the barrio than to hope that someday he can escort a Pomeranian in Madison Square Garden.

My best guess is that this oddly specific “sport” is for all those Hispanics with a competitive streak who aren’t interested in baseball. There are few other sporting outlets for us, after all.

For the most part, we’re not big enough for football or tall enough for basketball. And as for hockey… well, let’s just say that ice-focused endeavors face an uphill climb in Latino culture. Soccer is big in Latin America, of course, but in the United States it appears to be the strict dominion of pre-adolescent suburban girls.

So if you’re a Latino who can’t hit the slider, but still want to win at something, it seems to come down to golf, tennis, or dog shows. I’m not sure which of those I would pick, but I understand the appeal of the latter. There’s no sweat involved, and your teammate will always have your back.