The air was moist and sweet. And before us lay the Eden of the Caribbean, a baseball field. On it, great players would show us their skill, and the reason that every Dominican child dreams of life in this game. All would have been perfect on that Santo Domingo night if someone hadn’t uttered the phrase that always chilled me, “You should have been here last night. Big Papi was here.”

I hated that “should-have-been-here” phrase for its smugness. In the TV biz, I’ve heard it hundreds of times, each one a saber in my side. It tells a reporter that he has blown it, a day late and a dinero short. And, it inspires me to retort, “Well excuse me while I jump-start my time machine.”

The biggest name in baseball, Red Sox star David Ortiz, a Dominican-born slugger, had thrown out the first pitch the night before. We’d missed it. I vowed to settle the score if it took me ‘til the 12th inning of never.

Big Papi is the player every Dominican kid wants to be. Taking baseball equipment there last December, we found every kid dreaming of life with the Red Sox. Ortiz, their national hero, is the main reason.

We had to meet him. I wanted to tell him about Cleats for Kids, Humboldt County’s campaign to collect equipment for poor children. And, I wanted to settle the score with the twerps who said I “should have been there.”

The defending World Champion Red Sox were coming to Oakland in May for a weekend series: two hot teams, face-to-face. It would be my only chance.

I chose to have Humboldt Crabs announcer Rodney Brunlinger, at my side through much of the Cleats for Kids grunt work. He’d gone with me to El Limón. We would wear Dominican baseball jerseys to catch Big Papi’s eye, but the baseball world is never as it seems. Some stars are arrogant and aloof. Their security guards are junkyard dogs, descendants of Satan’s hell-hound, prepared to lick their devil lips at our demise. You get my point.

On the field of McAfee Coliseum, Rodney and I looked out of place, red-neck rubes in the Palace of Fine Arts. People stared at us and I’m sure the security guys were checking the batteries in their stun guns. I gave us five minutes before someone would bust us. I sat in the dugout and prayed while Rodney treaded toward forbidden territory, the outfield. And he might have made it. One Oakland player summoned him to find out how to get a job with a Caribbean team. Rodney was explaining when a security guard collared him and gruffly sent him back. Strike One.

We retreated to the Red Sox dugout as security people leered at us. May they spend eternity in Barstow, I thought.

Just then, a tall, muscular man with a broad grin emerged from the Red Sox clubhouse. Big Papi had arrived, playfully grinning as so many Dominican kids. And what is he, anyway, but a Santo Domingo Little Leaguer allowed to be a boy a while longer? I watched him greet other players, then sit down near us. I saw my chance.

“Would you like to see your Little League coach?” I asked, mustering uncommon courage. I had brought photos of our December El Limón trip, including one of a man who said he knew Papi as a boy. We also had snapshots of a boy wearing a Red Sox cap, another with Rodney, and finally the photo of me dancing with a rooster on my head. What photo display would be complete without it?

I waited for the brush-off I half-expected, but Ortiz smiled and thanked us for our work. He also posed while we took his picture, his powerful hands draped on our shoulders. He had approved of our efforts: Cleats for Kids had been validated, as if we needed it.

He encouraged us to continue. And of course we will, with barrels at Arcata Ballpark, Redwood Capital Bank branches and the Eureka Rescue Mission. We hope to return this December, and you’re welcome to join us.

Maybe the kids we help will be tomorrow’s big leaguers. That, however, is not — and never has been — the point. I believe that love may germinate on its own, but grows faster when we share it.

I’d do Cleats anyway, whether or not Ortiz had been grateful. Life is always sweeter when we don’t expect too much. Still, it’s nice to know that Papi cares, even if that and five bucks buys yogurt-in-a-helmet at the Coliseum. I’ll take that any time.

Sullen guards watched us emerge from the Red Sox dugout. If I’d thought of it, I’d have “Tazed” them with the perfect punch line: “We just made friends with Big Papi. You guys should have been there.”

Dave Silverbrand is a local television personality and teaches Journalism at the College of the Redwoods.