I took that picture when Mike left. I wonder if we ever had it. Well, it was a real disturbance, a bochinche, a mote, news that walked between aisles, avenues, cafes, on the Internet, do not say it ... Uy, as commented and crushed to exhaustion. They were big things. The commentators cut the fang them self’s and the Hampton did not fall out of his mouth, neither they nor us, the people also questioned us. And wanting and not, we get to rebound its arrival, that in the end, if we thought a little and boldly, nor benefit us, not quite the opposite. Each person who heard him was talking about him said: Listen and own jet, and earn fifteen million dollars. What about us? I mean, he was not going to lend me her plane, she would not even know the smell of her dollars, but that's how we felt, my grandmother said. That night, I swear I was careful; I went to the closet for the best suit; If the molcajete had dust, that was history, total, in Navojoa we are all pulverized to the core. In the state of Sonora, we are known as the dusty ones and we, who no longer tickle us, is a truth and we have become accustomed to carrying it, we do not even feel it, although it is making our lungs dirty. However, that night I went early to game: down from first entry. That's a record, the Pollo Layo and I; we always get into the third inning, if not later. And that I arrived and that the second entrance starts and that Mike was going up the hill and was well placed, and suddenly ... I see him coming, and I thought, this rice is already reached. Yes, those feelings that warn you, I do not know, I think women should be born without sixth sense, total, no one believes us, even if they have drowned man in front. That's why, I do not know why, but I realized at the time, that Mike was going to paint us a violin. And look, he came to throw the first post, did not notice the uproar, did not realize that it was, the ranks were already hungry good, hungry to be, hungry for a Major League, a millionaire. Mike did not even know that the chaos of his arrival would leave Manuel Cyclone Echeverria's stadium without parking, that the women would be more painted, and with perfume, than the lords and their mustaches, were a new face. None of it saw Mike, did not realize that the kids wondered what Jet, what were the Major Leagues. He did not realize that the children of the city paraded and paraded through our box with the illusion of seeing him, even if it was past, having to count the next day at school. Mike ignored the fact that Mel Esquer and Chabelo Ceceña, in escorting him, looked like their bodyguard, which brought his swollen and swollen breast, that the smile did not fit in his soul and gushed from his eyes, his skin, each tooth. That he did not see Mike. I also know that many people made a great sacrifice to buy a ticket and get out of their monetary routine, because in this city there is not much to grab, I talk about silver, even so, they wanted to be with him. Yes, they wanted and wanted. In third inning, he was gone. He packed his steak and left. He disappeared with his green cloud, he left with his scent, he left with his pain, he left with our dust, he left because: it was never ours, no matter how he did it, he never belonged to us, although that was his roll, Life is like this, some go and others will come. He flew whit his Jet, left with his millions and left with our desire to be a team that, one day had in his ranks a player like him, although we ... Do not throw us, not a wink.