For foreign baseball players hoping to make it in America, just about every conceivable journey — the 1,300 miles from Venezuela, the 5,000 miles from Japan, the 7,000 miles from Australia — has been easier than the 90 short miles from Cuba. That trip, over the last 50 years, has involved almost mythic hardships: improvised rafts, drug lords, ransoms, death threats, forgery, machine guns on the high seas. And yet the Cuban players have come, drawn by the promise of freedom, glory and outrageous capitalist paydays.
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