KILOMTER 56, Dominican Republic _ With each step Manuel (Manny) Margot took down the muddy, cratered gravel, hand in hand with his wife of less than six weeks, the more unrestrained the smile became.
It was unchecked joy, lighting a face at the mere sight of the place where it all started _ an overgrown, littered, bad-hop launch pad that propelled the 22-year-old to the brink of becoming a starting outfielder for the San Diego Padres.
A horse lazily patrolled this particular outfield, grazing on the grass in center without a whinny of concern for a rogue rooster's defensive shift in short right. Near the backstop, a rusted-red headrest of a bed leaned against a palm tree. Tire ruts occupied the on-deck circle. An old, sunken tire anchored the pitcher's mound.
Filtered through Margot's eyes, the scene glowed like Petco Park.
"I'm proud to be here," he said. "This is where I grew up."
In the Dominican Republic, baseball is defined by the adventure far more than the aesthetics. Sharp groundballs unexpectedly change direction, bloodying noses. Fly balls in uneven outfields test the durability of ankles.
On a Caribbean island obsessed with a game that's labeled America's pastime, perfection isn't the expectation _ or the reality. The currency, then, now and always, remains unflinching perseverance.
On opening day in 2016, 82 Dominican-born players owned spots on Major League rosters _ easily the most from a single country outside the U.S. _ while Mexico, 40 times its size, contributed 12. The Padres started that season with pitcher Luis Perdomo and now-departed arms Carlos Villanueva and Fernando Rodney.
"From the time you're born (in the Dominican), from the crib, you have those instincts," said Margot, through a translator. "... The second you come into this world, you have a brother, you have a cousin, you have an uncle, you have a relative who has played the game.
"So that makes it easier to get involved. It sets that type of path."
For a boy blessed with the magical mix of agility and skill, the roadmap beckons. These final steps, the ones that painted a wide smile on Margot's face, understandably intoxicate.
Memories of the $800,000 signing bonus Margot collected from the Red Sox swirl. Thoughts drift to the November 2015 trade that shuttled closer Craig Kimbrel to Boston as the Padres scooped up Javier Guerra, Carlos Asuaje, Logan Allen _ and a speedy prospect born in San Cristobal, a 15-minute drive from the Padres remote training facility.
All of it, from childhood bruises to heady business decisions, eternally linked by Dominican dirt.
You'd smile, too _ especially in a village teeming with knowing whistles and waves, a place so small that it's named after the closest roadside marker.
"I've always thanked God for being Dominican," Margot said.
