The Cuba Diaries: The Last Days of the Caribbean Derek Jeter, Carlos Tabares

Editor's Note: VICE Sports senior staff writer Jorge Arangure Jr. recently went on a reporting trip to Cuba. "The Cuba Diaries" series is a collection of his stories while exploring the country. Click here to catch up on previous installments.

Despite all the excitement I sense for impending changes in Cuba, I begin to also realize an entire generation exists that will miss out on the progress. For the most part, these people, aged approximately 40-50 years old, are entrenched in their lives, and there's little that can happen now to drastically alter whatever future they have left. There may be improvements—perhaps they will get to leave the country for the first time on vacation—but realistically, these people will remain in Cuba living a similar version of the life they've always led.

This group could be called the in-between generation, too young to have experienced the glory years of the revolution, but also now too old to fully appreciate the changes that are undoubtedly coming.

This unfortunate in-between generation has been hit hardest by the embargo—the 1996 Helms-Burton Act is considered the most restrictive of any U.S. policy toward Cuba—and they experienced arguably the most profound economic hardship of the post revolution period: the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, which eliminated Cuba's most dependable trade partner. During this period, Cuba saw a drop-off in the availability of transportation, electricity service, and domestic food production. Life was so grim that for the first time, citizens could really question the long-term economic viability of the Castro regime. Perhaps an independent Cuba wasn't possible, after all.

The period from 1990 until about 2010 became known in Cuba as the "Special Period in Time of Peace" (El período especial en tiempos de paz en Cuba), which sounds more like the title of a Gabriel García Márquez novel than a phrase that accurately encapsulates the era. There was nothing really special or peaceful about it. Mostly, it was a time of struggle.

When I wonder what life will be like for these people, the in-betweens, when the country does change, I think about Industriales outfielder Carlos Tabares, who was 17 years old when the Soviet Union collapsed, only months away from his Serie Nacional debut.

Tabares's career has essentially spanned the entire "Special Period in Time of Peace." Yet he's still here playing, at age 40, still clinging to the only thing he knows. And when his playing career ends, in about two years he surmises, he'll continue in the only world he's ever experienced, living the relatively same life he's always led. He knows nothing else.

"After baseball, I want to be a manager," Tabares tells me in Spanish. "I've learned a lot. Maybe some day I could even manage this team. Maybe the national team afterward. But first my provincial team."

Athletes everywhere seem to have a problem leaving the sporting world behind. But that seems especially true here in Cuba. What else is there for someone like Tabares, one of the most decorated players in Serie Nacional history?

Tabares has been on five of the Industriales's 12 championship winning teams. He is considered one of the best postseason players in league history, and holds the record for most postseason hits. His career batting average (.308 at the moment of our conversation) will likely stay above .300 for the remainder of his career, barring a total collapse in his predicted final two seasons. He is a media and fan favorite, and a certain Hall of Famer. And he's been the captain of the Industriales—considered the Yankees of Cuba—for more than 10 seasons.

"You could say that I'm a little bit like Derek Jeter," he says. "I'm well liked by fans, I have a good reputation within the game. You could make those comparisons I suppose."

But there is a void. Now well past his prime, Tabares will almost surely never play in the Major Leagues.

"That pain will always probably exist," he says. "It was always a dream to be able to measure yourself against some of the best. I had the opportunity to participate in the first Classic and there I was able to measure myself a bit. And we proved that we were capable of competing against everyone. But yes of course, I would have loved to have been able to play in those big leagues either in the Major Leagues or in Japan or even in Korea. It would have been great to learn from them, and for them to learn from us about our style. And I'll always feel a bit of pain about that. But maybe not as much anymore. I realize where I am in my career now. I'm just trying to focus on staying physically capable to play."

Tabares grew up in the Playa neighborhood of Havana. He was a good athlete as a kid, and played multiple sports. But his family, like many others during this time, struggled to make a living. Often he'd spend his time playing baseball in the streets. At age eight he was spotted by a local coach who asked if he was interested in playing on his team. He was. And so began a career that has now spanned 23 Serie Nacional seasons.

Now he plays only sparingly for the Industriales. It's a young person's game, he realizes. It's a young person's country right now, really.

But Tabares does his best to fit in. He says he continues to work out hard during the offseason to stay in shape. During the season, instead of taking the bus on grueling road trips—sometimes as long as 12 hours—Tabares says he'll pay for his own airplane ticket so that he can save his body from the aches and pains of long travel. He's allowed such luxuries because he's essentially a living legend.

But training and care can only do so much to counteract the effects of time. Tabares's diet probably doesn't help either. Just before our conversation, which takes place less than an hour prior to game time, Tabares—who is about 5'10", with a paunch—suggested to several people on the field that they try some of the fried chicken from the concession stands. He has just finished a box of it. But who is going to tell the guy with five championships what he should be eating?

"People tell me that they can't believe I'm still playing," he says. "I have people come up to me who say they saw me play in 1992 and now I'm still here in 2015. It's all about discipline. Regimen. And consistency. All of that is fundamental. You go to the gym. You work as much as you can, but you also get your rest when you can."

Tabares has many beautiful memories—all the famous teammates he's had, the games he's won, the hits he's gotten—but nothing gets him more excited than talking about the 2006 World Baseball Classic. While U.S. fans are mostly indifferent about the WBC, Cuban fans regard it as an important tournament. It is the one true major international tournament now that baseball is no longer an Olympic sport.

Cuba reached the final of that inaugural 2006 WBC, but lost to Japan. Tabares hit .286 in 13 at bats. Most importantly though, Tabares believed Cuba's performance that year showed everyone that Cuban players were as good as anyone in the world.

Prior to games, Tabares said he would talk to players like David Ortiz, Albert Pujols, Miguel Tejada, Bernie Williams, and Carlos Beltran, who would all go on to compliment the Cuban team for its stellar team play. The biggest endorsement though was when these players told him that the entire Cuban team was worthy of playing in the Major Leagues.

"Every time I talk to some of these kids, I tell them a story about the Classic," Tabares says. "For me it was a unique experience. It was a unique time. For so long we weren't supposed to think about the major leagues. And here we were competing against them and interacting with them. It was a lovely experience. For me that's something that will stick with me for the rest of my life."

Tabares spends most of his time now talking to the new generation, the players who will likely get to play in the majors. He advises these youngsters not to take this opportunity for granted. It did not come for everyone. It did not come for him. But he's satisfied. After all, he got to play the game he loved.

"It feels like I was born with baseball inside my soul," Tabares says. "That doesn't go away. I haven't played as much this year. There are younger players here who have taken my place. I have the experience, and I try to help all those kids out. I may not play all 45 regular season games, but I can still help a team. Whoever sees me, I try to give every effort so I can show all these young players what they need to do to have a long career."

We finish our conversation and Tabares heads into the dugout to prepare for the game. He is in the lineup on this day against Ciego de Avila.

In his first at bat, Tabaras hits a home run to left field. In his second, he doubles into the gap. For a moment, as he rounds first base and sprints toward second, I can see flashes of the player that he once was: strong, spry, agile.

I wonder whether there is some major league team out there that could possibly give him one regular season game, one at bat, just to bookend a remarkable career. No one could argue that he doesn't deserve it.

He just happened to get stuck between eras.