Fernando Rodney bounded around on a hastily assembled stage with a fresh World Baseball Classic winner's medal and a plantain that was more than a few days past its expiration date both dangling around his neck.
Hat tilted to the side, Rodney shot imaginary arrows into the night sky, as is the reliever's customary celebration after saving games, above AT&T Park, and many of his teammates joined in, all bathing in the jubilation of having won the WBC title.
This was the type of scene the powerful Dominican Republic — birthplace of more major leaguers than any nation other than the U.S. — had envisioned all along, its players standing in a sea of confetti and wearing gray shirts that proclaimed them the best of the world's baseball-playing nations.
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