JACKSONVILLE, Fla. – Imagine starting over in a new country, where you don’t speak the language, don’t know the culture, and the only thing familiar is the game you’ve played your whole life.
That’s the story of Cristhian Leyva, a teenage baseball player who left behind everything he knew in Holguin, Cuba, for a shot at something bigger: freedom, opportunity, and the dream of playing in the Major Leagues.
“Baseball is my life,” he said. “I’ve been playing since I was four. My dad took me to the field every day. It’s everything to me.”
In Cuba, baseball is more than a sport—it’s woven into the culture and spirit of the country. But while talent runs deep, opportunities often don’t. Despite being one of the top players in his age group, Leyva said he was denied a spot on the national team, with no explanation—just sent home.
“When I was 15, I led the league in doubles,” he recalled. “They brought me in for a tryout, and when we were getting ready to travel, they told me I wasn’t on the team.”
It was a painful reminder of what life under a dictatorship can be: uncertain, unfair, and unforgiving.
Determined to give their son a real chance, Leyva’s family embarked on a difficult, year-long journey, crossing multiple countries before finally settling in Jacksonville, Florida.
Now a student at Ribault High School, Cristhian is rebuilding his life from the ground up.
New language, new school, new teammates.
“It’s hard when you get to a country where you don’t know anything,” he says. “But little by little, you start getting used to it.”
On the field, baseball continues to be his safe space—a place where effort speaks louder than words. Off the field, he leans on his teachers, teammates, and even subtitles and Google Translate to bridge the communication gap.
“We use Google Translate a lot,” said his coach, Rodney Tisdale. “Sometimes during a game, I have to ask the umpire for extra time just to explain things.”
But despite the language barriers, Leyva’s determination is unmistakable.
He wakes up early to train, stays late after practice, and even plays for a travel team. He’s excelling academically too, surprising many with how quickly he’s adjusted.
“He’s grown more confident in class,” one of his teachers shared. “He’s more engaged. Baseball gave him the confidence to try in other areas of life.”
And it hasn’t gone unnoticed.
Teammates respect him. Coaches admire him. Teachers root for him. He’s become more than a player—he’s become a leader.
“They love him,” Tisdale said. “They joke with him, support him. They look up to him.”
Still, Leyva knows every swing of the bat, every English word he learns, every grade he earns, is part of something much bigger than just his dream.
“They left everything behind for me—to play baseball,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I want to make them proud.”
He hopes to play in college—and one day for the San Diego Padres, his favorite team. But more than anything, he wants to honor the sacrifices his family made and the country they left behind.
“Thank you for always supporting me,” he said. “I’m going to fight to make it to the MLB.”
For Leyva, baseball isn’t just a sport. It’s a lifeline, a language, and a promise he intends to keep.
