¡Fanáticos! How Delta 17 supports Latinos through sports

By Andrea Bustamante

I’m from San José, Costa Rica, but I did not grow up there. My parents decided to attempt what many others had before them and still try to this day, which is to come to the United States and pursue the American Dream. They took three young kids under the age of 5, packed a couple of bags and a couple hundred of bucks, and took off to Miami, Fla. Since Miami was already a multi-cultural, diverse place full of people from all backgrounds, mostly Latino, it was a natural place to go. It filled the void that we felt when we left.

Due to our economic circumstances, there was only a certain number of things that we could do. One of them was watch sports. Sports on TV are free. My father, being a Latino male, if there were sports on TV, we all watched. Of course, in Miami, we had baseball. I became a Marlins fan for a little bit.

We moved to the Houston area, where we settled down and became a diverse family in the United States of America. We lived in a little town called Pasadena, Texas. Pasadena is a Latino-centric place. In all the schools, English is a second language. Most of the teachers are Latino. The culture is one of families trying to connect with each other, no matter where they come from, in a small town in Texas, a state that is Republican and not necessarily welcoming to people from other countries.

This is what is interesting about the diversity in this country. Latino families are all about work, church, family, culture and food. And that is what the South is about. And I considered Texas and Georgia and all that in between to be the South. It’s interesting to me that an enormous segment of the population in the South is Latino. And we live like many in the South, yet we aren’t welcomed.

Assimilating through sports

Sports was a way to assimilate. Growing up in in a trailer park, we played sports seasonally. If it was soccer season, we played soccer. If it was basketball, we played basketball. If it was baseball, we played baseball.

It was a different being a little girl. As you approach 12 in the Latino world, you better start behaving as a woman. Mom would say, “You are not going to play sports. This is not what you are about. You are a girl. You need to worry about your hair, your nails, what you’re wearing, what people are thinking about you.”

But in my eyes, that was weird because on TV they market sports to everybody in the United States. How are you going to tell me that sports aren’t for me? Yet, what I was being taught was completely different.

Because we had to do chores, our homework and all that, the kids would come to my house, knock on the door and say, “Hey, we’re going to play baseball.” This is the funny part. My brother Daniel was not very athletic. But everybody knew that in order for me to play, he had to play.

I would always have all my stuff ready. As soon as I heard that knock, I would have my cap on, my shoes, my gloves, all ready to go. But they would first ask, “Is Daniel ready to play baseball?” My mom would go, “Oh, yeah, Daniel is ready.” “Can Andrea come, too?” My mom would look back, sigh, but let me go. And we would go out there and it would be the most amazing time ever.

Playing baseball, soccer, football in the backyard built a foundation that allowed me to grow up into an enthusiast fanatic, a supporter of sports beyond putting on a jersey and going out and screaming and shouting on game day.

I earned a soccer scholarship to play at Coker College in South Carolina. I got a two-year degree, came back to Atlanta, started working for corporate America and segued into coaching. That’s what I do now. I work at the Decatur-DeKalb Youth Soccer Club, coaching three youth teams while working for a non-profit called Soccer in The Streets.

It’s not very common to see a Latina woman in the United States working in sports. It’s something very rare, especially considering my background and the things I went through with my mom while trying to assimilate.

Being the difference

Now that I’m 32 and a fan, I have the opportunity to do things. I’m president of a group called Delta 17. The name Delta comes from the derivative of math — the variation of a variable or function — and 17 is the year in which we launched. Our slogan is “Be the Difference.”

The idea behind that was to create a group that would support the Braves and all of Atlanta’s sports. But we are not going to be a tailgating group that just shows up on game days and sets up grills and throw a little party and have fun.

The bigger picture was to create a foundation where people could meet within the Latino community and help each other. For example, a lot of our Latino members are being affected by the uncertainty revolving around DACA — Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. It’s wearing down families and the Latino community itself. Delta 17 reached out to lawyers, asking for their help and saying that we can be a source of information for Latinos in Atlanta.

I’m part of the DACA generation. So is my family — my father Jorge Bustamante, my mother Mari Mora, my younger brothers Daniel and Josh, and my sister Ashley. We have chosen to speak about our immigration situation openly. I’ve used it as a tool to educate people about things that they may not understand.

Ten years ago, when my father driver’s license expired, he went to renew and was denied. He said, “I’m not staying here.” He decided to leave. And left behind my siblings and me with my mom.

My brother Daniel was 19 at the time. He also couldn’t get a driver’s license. Because of his immigration status, they wouldn’t accept him in the military. He couldn’t go to college. He decided to go back to Costa Rica with my dad.

At the time, I was in college on scholarship. It was weird because here I am trying to go to school while my family is breaking up in half. Fast forward six years later; my mother finds herself in the very same situation — she couldn’t renew her driver’s license. Because she refused to stay here undocumented, she also returned to Costa Rica.

My brother Josh is still here in the States, but on a timeline. We’re trying to figure out what’s the next big step. We don’t want to jump the gun and say, “Okay, Josh, pack your bags and head to Costa Rica.” What if something happens with legislation that potentially could be favorable and help my brother? What if nothing happens and at the end Josh still has to go?

He may have to get rid of his house, his car, his three dogs, in short, get rid of his life. He has bank accounts, phone bills, electricity bills and all sorts of stuff.

For him and us it’s difficult. Josh hasn’t seen his father or brother in nearly 10 years. And his mother in four years. While we’ve been able to obtain good legal advice, the advice at this point is, “Hang in there.” We’ll see what happens. It’s very, very scary.

My sister Ashley, the youngest child, is a U.S. citizen, born in Galveston, Texas. She’s in a weird situation, a young girl trying to figure it out just like everyone else in the world. It’s a big weight on her shoulders to be the one U.S. citizen in a family full of immigration issues. She is 24, old enough to petition for her brother, but first she must be able to provide for him financially.

Fortunately for me, through my spouse, Holly Willis, I was able to obtain my Green Card in March. That day for me was unexplainable. I literally bought a ticket and went to Costa Rica the next day. And I hadn’t been there in 20-something years. It was the most epic thing. I can’t explain the feeling I had. I felt like a tourist. I still feel touristy there.

We also have the crisis in Venezuela. There are Latinos who are dying of need. We set up different centers around Atlanta to collect protein, medicines and first aid and things that are actually needed there. It goes to Miami and then it connects with people in Venezuela, who make sure it goes to the people directly instead of being intervened by the government.

These are projects that spurt out of a community of Latinos that always wanted to do something for Latinos, but didn’t have the resources or the people who felt empowered to do something.

The American dream

Why do I like baseball? Because I played it as a kid and loved sports. I read magazines, collected baseball cards like crazy. Sammy Sosa was my dude. That was my guy. He was a mainstream Latino player that anyone could associate with; I just loved him. And when he got into that home run derby with Mark McGwire, it was so cool. Two totally different guys from different backgrounds in this race bombing the ball out of the park, it was epic for me.

For me, culture is everything. We moved from a very small country to a very large country. And within this country, all these states are their own little cultures. For me, it’s always been about this learning opportunity. The game of baseball provided a full-circle opportunity to see a sport that brought out many different things. Latino players coming out to their favorite songs. American players coming out to their favorite songs. And they would be totally different. You would hear salsa and then hear country.

That those two things could coexist in the same place meant a lot to me. That America stood for the whole idea of why they wanted me to come here — the American Dream — to be in a cultural space that was diverse and different that could broaden us and enlighten us and make us better.

I don’t think that this was the idea my parents had of the American dream. As a kid, I envisioned the American dream as hot dogs, popcorn and peanuts. Where do you find that stuff? At the ballpark. That’s why baseball resonates with me. It’s so personal.

I like the intelligence that goes behind baseball. It’s a game that requires a lot of signals and communication, though not necessarily verbal all the time. To play the game, players have to be very intelligent. For me, it’s very strategic in terms of trying to beat the opponent in a game that is basic: There’s a bat and a ball. But to win the game, there’s strategy within it, a little bit like a chess match. That’s what I like about the game.

Through sports, I adopted America. That’s how I became an American. Sports built a foundation within me that allowed me to create a platform where Latino women can take a peek at someone who has been through the whole system of being an immigrant in American, a woman in American, one striving for the American dream.

Now that I have the opportunity to be a coach and mentor to kids, day in and day out, specifically for girls, one of the main things that I let them know is that it doesn’t matter who you are or your size — I’m 4-foot-11 and 120 pounds soaking wet — what matters is what you want. Anything is really possible.

Featured Image: Sean Magner / La Vida Baseball