The Astros’ clubhouse, usually filled with laughter and postgame chatter, fell quiet Thursday night. Álvarez, 28, sat alone by his locker, head bowed, a rosary wrapped tightly around his wrist. When reporters approached, he hesitated, then spoke softly.
“My grandma is sick… very sick,” he said, pausing. “She’s been my everything since I was a kid. I just want her to know I’m still that little boy she used to feed and tell stories to — just with a bat now.”
In Cuba, Yordan’s grandmother — affectionately known as Abuela Rosa — raised him while his parents worked long hours. She took him to dusty fields, packed his first homemade sandwich for practice, and stayed up late listening to Cuban radio broadcasts of Major League games.
“She was the one who told me, ‘Yordan, one day they’ll talk about you on that radio,’” he recalled with a faint smile. “Now I just hope she can still hear me.”
Álvarez hasn’t missed a game, but teammates say they’ve noticed the change. The smiles have faded. The postgame celebrations have turned into quiet prayers.
Astros manager Joe Espada told reporters, “Yordan’s been carrying something heavy. But even in pain, he shows up, plays hard, and gives everything. That’s who he is.”
During Tuesday’s game against the Rangers, after crushing a 440-foot homer into the right-field stands, Álvarez pointed toward the sky, eyes glistening. Cameras caught him mouthing a single word: “Abuela.”
For fans, it looked like a simple tribute. But for Yordan, it was a desperate message — one he hopes somehow reaches her hospital bed back home.
Yordan Álvarez’s journey from Las Tunas, Cuba, to MLB superstardom is well known — defecting at 17, enduring years of isolation, then blossoming into one of baseball’s most feared hitters. Yet behind every swing, every home run, was the voice of one woman: his grandmother.
She was his anchor when he left Cuba. The first call he made after signing with the Astros was to her. When travel restrictions finally eased and his family joined him in the U.S. in 2022, Álvarez said through tears: “This is the happiest day of my life — my family’s together again.”
But now, as illness shadows his grandmother’s final days, that joy feels fragile.
“If I could trade every home run for one more hug,” Álvarez said quietly, “I would.”
In recent games, Álvarez has started wearing a small chain under his jersey — a gold cross his grandmother gave him when he left Cuba. Before every at-bat, he touches it, whispers a prayer, and steps into the box.
Teammates say they can feel his emotion ripple through the dugout. “You don’t even need to ask,” said teammate José Altuve. “You can see it in his eyes — he’s hitting for her.”
As the Astros push toward another postseason run, Álvarez insists he’s not chasing awards or numbers. He’s chasing one wish.
“I just want her to see me play one more time,” he said, his voice breaking. “That would be my championship.”
And with that, the slugger who’s carried Houston on his back walked away quietly — to pray, to hope, and to keep swinging for the woman who once told him the sky was never too far to reach.
Leave a Reply