I love this year’s
World Series.

October baseball.
Terrible for my blood
pressure. Wonderful
for my soul.

Who am I?

Don’t bother
Googling my
name. I’m
fictional.
Save your
thumbs.

Before 
Milwaukee’s
story, let me
introduce
myself.

24

Benny Bravo. Former
Boston Red Sox
pitcher. MVP.
Number 24.

My family
calls me
Benito. 
My teammates:
Benny.
Fans:
BB.

Last year, a ball
hit me in the ear.
I retired at my peak.

I can still hear.
Just not well
enough for the
game at that level.

Retired
doesn’t
mean
harmless.

My El Diablo
fastball can still
scare a batter.

Invite me to
a game,
and I might
show up.
The smile
travels free.

Sydney. Charity
exhibition game.

Did the crowd get
quieter…

…or am I just
hearing less of it?

Before Boston, there
was Havana, Cuba.

Home. Family.
Baseball in the street.
Usually
in that order.

I grew upward.
My throwing arm
apparently missed
the stop sign.

The smile came
early. The nickname
came later.

Now I’m a U.S.
citizen. Boston
is home, too.

I love this city.
Yes, even when
the wind picks
a fight.

Then an athletic
survival show
introduced
me to Buzzer.

Try not to lose.

You WANT
me to
lose?
Now it’s
personal.

We were born
competitive.
The show just put
cameras on it.

After the show.
Celtic Park.

Baseball is
a duel.
One pitch
can change
everything.

Basketball
has duels. We just
don’t take a nap
between them.

You said
baseball
has NO
flaws?
Finally.
Progress.

Boston Common. 
A different argument.

Boston beats Miami.

Miami has
beaches.
Your wind
just slapped
me.

Boston
builds
character.

So does
a parking
ticket.

I invited
you to Miami
so we could
settle this.

Excellent. Where do
we eat?

You can’t
call a city inferior
before lunch.

I heard “you
CAN.” But I
respect lunch.

Cuban sandwiches.
Finally, common ground.

We’re both
a little evil
when there’s
something to win.

Especially
at
sports.

You can steal
 a base,
but don’t steal 
my sandwich!

That ear thing…
It isn’t
just a punch line.

Sometimes I lose
whole pieces
of a sentence.
Sometimes
I hear the opposite.

I miss trusting
what I hear.

Then I’ll face
you when I talk.
And repeat it
when you
need.

My turn. I’m
color-blind.

Team colors
were a problem.
The pro doors
I tried stayed
shut.

Streetball
gave me
somewhere
my game
could speak for
itself.

Different
problems.
Same
fear of
being
counted
out.

You’re 
my friend, Benny.
That part
isn’t a 
competition.

Anyway, 
that’s me.
Benny 
“El Diablo”
Bravo.

I’ll be back 
when
the World
Series
ends.

Until then…
don’t
touch my
sandwich.

You owe me
Cuban folklore.