Jose Abreu's harrowing journey to the White Sox began last year on a small boat on the shores of Cuba.
"I've heard Abreu's story, and I thought mine was crazy," said his teammate and fellow Cuban native Adrian Nieto, who came to the U.S. on a raft with his family when he was 4. "Him being on a little boat with just two motors and these two huge ships got in between them. He said the waves were 15 feet high and he thought they were going to drown. It's crazy."
Abreu, the front-runner to win the American League Rookie of the Year award Monday, became the 17th Cuban player for the Sox, building on a legacy rooted in the legendary Minnie Minoso. Nine Cuban-born players, including the Cubs' Jorge Soler, made their major league debuts this season. Over the past 50 years, at least five dozen Cubans have reached the majors with scores more playing in the minors.
While Cuba remains a wellspring of baseball talent, its players don't leave the country freely. The U.S. government imposed a commercial trade embargo on Cuba more than five decades ago, and the Communist government there prohibits players from signing with major league teams.
But the lure of freedom and baseball dreams is strong, so young men are willing to take giant risks for themselves and, sometimes, for their families. Players sneak away from a team during a tournament in a foreign country — or, more treacherously, hire smugglers to ferry them off the island.
The recent wave of players can be linked to the rising financial payoff not just for players, but also for those who compose well-oiled smuggling rings: boat drivers, middlemen, government contacts and other colorful characters. At the same time, teams scout Cuban players better than ever, thanks in part to easy access on the Internet and added international competition such as the World Baseball Classic.
"At a minimum, 95 percent of the players leaving Cuba are being smuggled out," said Joe Kehoskie, a baseball consultant and former agent who represented Cuban players. "There is always a profit motive. I can't remember the last time a decent player was smuggled out of Cuba and there wasn't a smuggler there who expected payment."
In the case of Abreu, he disappeared from the tiny Caribbean island in August 2013.
About two months later, Abreu's imposing 6-foot-3, 255-pound frame emerged for a two-day showcase at the Yankees' academy in the Dominican Republic, wowing 200 baseball executives and scouts. By the end of October, he had signed the largest contract in White Sox history, a six-year deal worth $68 million.
The full details of Abreu's journey from Cuba to the United States remain a secret. Abreu and his agents declined to discuss his defection. His family provided few details.
A Tribune review of public records and interviews with more than three dozen people show that Cuban players often are smuggled out of their country through a clandestine network of shadowy figures. While Major League Baseball's $9 billion enterprise continues to see an influx of Cuban players, federal authorities have been investigating at least two Cuban smuggling rings. Five people have been indicted.
Often leaving the island in the dead of night, players promise the smugglers upward of 30 percent of their first contract for securely carrying them between countries. Through it all, players are aided and protected by handlers in Mexico, Haiti or the Dominican Republic loosely affiliated with American sports agents before arriving in the United States.
The most infamous defection reads like a Hollywood script. Dodgers outfielder Yasiel Puig and the group he escaped with were held in a motel in Mexico as smugglers negotiated a ransom. Gangsters threatened one of Puig's friends, and a smuggler turned up dead in Cancun.
The affair is spelled out in a $12 million federal court case a Cuban man filed against the 23-year-old Puig, saying he was falsely imprisoned in Cuba while the ballplayer plotted with Cuban authorities to leave.
"It seems to be a new ballgame out there," said Miami attorney Ben Daniel, a former federal prosecutor who oversaw human trafficking cases, including that of sports agent Gus Dominguez, who went to prison in 2007 for the offense. "It's much more cutthroat."
A baseball prodigy
Abreu, 27, was born in Mal Tiempo, a small neighborhood in Cruces, a city about 150 miles southeast of Havana. He was playing third base in Cuba's national school games by the time he was 7 and continued to excel.
In Cuba, players compete for their province. When Abreu was 16, he made his debut with Cienfuegos in Cuba's top league, the Cuba National Series. He played 10 seasons, setting records in the last four, and in 2012 was one RBI shy of winning the Triple Crown.
Unlike some Cuban players, Abreu was familiar to MLB scouts from his exposure on national teams. He compiled about 300 plate appearances outside his home country.
Abreu told the Tribune he decided during last year's World Baseball Classic to defect.
"I've heard Abreu's story, and I thought mine was crazy," said his teammate and fellow Cuban native Adrian Nieto, who came to the U.S. on a raft with his family when he was 4. "Him being on a little boat with just two motors and these two huge ships got in between them. He said the waves were 15 feet high and he thought they were going to drown. It's crazy."
Abreu, the front-runner to win the American League Rookie of the Year award Monday, became the 17th Cuban player for the Sox, building on a legacy rooted in the legendary Minnie Minoso. Nine Cuban-born players, including the Cubs' Jorge Soler, made their major league debuts this season. Over the past 50 years, at least five dozen Cubans have reached the majors with scores more playing in the minors.
While Cuba remains a wellspring of baseball talent, its players don't leave the country freely. The U.S. government imposed a commercial trade embargo on Cuba more than five decades ago, and the Communist government there prohibits players from signing with major league teams.
But the lure of freedom and baseball dreams is strong, so young men are willing to take giant risks for themselves and, sometimes, for their families. Players sneak away from a team during a tournament in a foreign country — or, more treacherously, hire smugglers to ferry them off the island.
The recent wave of players can be linked to the rising financial payoff not just for players, but also for those who compose well-oiled smuggling rings: boat drivers, middlemen, government contacts and other colorful characters. At the same time, teams scout Cuban players better than ever, thanks in part to easy access on the Internet and added international competition such as the World Baseball Classic.
"At a minimum, 95 percent of the players leaving Cuba are being smuggled out," said Joe Kehoskie, a baseball consultant and former agent who represented Cuban players. "There is always a profit motive. I can't remember the last time a decent player was smuggled out of Cuba and there wasn't a smuggler there who expected payment."
In the case of Abreu, he disappeared from the tiny Caribbean island in August 2013.
About two months later, Abreu's imposing 6-foot-3, 255-pound frame emerged for a two-day showcase at the Yankees' academy in the Dominican Republic, wowing 200 baseball executives and scouts. By the end of October, he had signed the largest contract in White Sox history, a six-year deal worth $68 million.
The full details of Abreu's journey from Cuba to the United States remain a secret. Abreu and his agents declined to discuss his defection. His family provided few details.
A Tribune review of public records and interviews with more than three dozen people show that Cuban players often are smuggled out of their country through a clandestine network of shadowy figures. While Major League Baseball's $9 billion enterprise continues to see an influx of Cuban players, federal authorities have been investigating at least two Cuban smuggling rings. Five people have been indicted.
Often leaving the island in the dead of night, players promise the smugglers upward of 30 percent of their first contract for securely carrying them between countries. Through it all, players are aided and protected by handlers in Mexico, Haiti or the Dominican Republic loosely affiliated with American sports agents before arriving in the United States.
The most infamous defection reads like a Hollywood script. Dodgers outfielder Yasiel Puig and the group he escaped with were held in a motel in Mexico as smugglers negotiated a ransom. Gangsters threatened one of Puig's friends, and a smuggler turned up dead in Cancun.
The affair is spelled out in a $12 million federal court case a Cuban man filed against the 23-year-old Puig, saying he was falsely imprisoned in Cuba while the ballplayer plotted with Cuban authorities to leave.
"It seems to be a new ballgame out there," said Miami attorney Ben Daniel, a former federal prosecutor who oversaw human trafficking cases, including that of sports agent Gus Dominguez, who went to prison in 2007 for the offense. "It's much more cutthroat."
A baseball prodigy
Abreu, 27, was born in Mal Tiempo, a small neighborhood in Cruces, a city about 150 miles southeast of Havana. He was playing third base in Cuba's national school games by the time he was 7 and continued to excel.
In Cuba, players compete for their province. When Abreu was 16, he made his debut with Cienfuegos in Cuba's top league, the Cuba National Series. He played 10 seasons, setting records in the last four, and in 2012 was one RBI shy of winning the Triple Crown.
Unlike some Cuban players, Abreu was familiar to MLB scouts from his exposure on national teams. He compiled about 300 plate appearances outside his home country.
Abreu told the Tribune he decided during last year's World Baseball Classic to defect.
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