Jai-Alai in Tampa

When Cestas Ruled The State

Posted in History on Wednesday, March 09, 2011. Written by Michael Murillo in cigarcitymagacine.com

The scene could have taken place in northern Spain’s Basque region in the late 1700s or on Dale Mabry Highway in the 1970s. It could have been last Saturday night in Miami as well. Since its creation, jai-alai (pronounced hi-li) has mixed grace, skill, speed and danger in an exciting combination for players and fans. And for a few decades, those players and fans flocked to Tampa for world-class professional contests.

Jai-alai, which includes both singles and doubles competition, usually features round-robin tournament-style play where eight individuals or teams vie for a spot on the court and an opportunity to score points. Armed with his cesta, a player must intercept the pelota after no more than one bounce and deliver it to his opponent within the prescribed boundaries marked on the cancha. The losing team or player is sent off the court and to the back of the line, waiting (or hoping) for another chance to compete before the game ends. The winning side is awarded points and faces a new challenger.

The game that was played against the walls of Spanish churches centuries earlier made its way to the United States in the early 20th century. Cuba (then under United States jurisdiction) already had a fronton and jai-alai magazines of its own. But after debuting at the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, fans all over the country, including northeast states such as Connecticut and Rhode Island, and even at select casinos in Las Vegas, embraced the sport. Over the years, celebrities such as Jackie Gleason and athletes such as Casey Stengel and Babe Ruth were known to watch games, and (not surprisingly) writer Ernest Hemingway expressed his appreciation for the Spanish sport.

But jai-alai found a particularly warm welcome in Florida. The first professional games in the country were played in Miami in the 1920s, and with its strong Cuban roots, jai-alai survives in Florida to this day. Within a few decades of its introduction (and after wagering on the sport was legalized), the state was boasting nearly a dozen frontons in locations such as Daytona Beach, Ocala, Fort Pierce and Tampa-more than any other state in the country. In the 1960s and 1970s, jai-alai was entrenched in cities across Florida. Attendance for a weekend date often approached 10,000 spectators (a slate of games in Miami drew more than 15,000 in 1975), and seasonal handles (money wagered) were reaching tens of millions of dollars for successful frontons.

Millions of fans were attending games in Florida alone, but an evening of jai-alai was about more than just casual wagering. It was a significant social event for the community.

“When the jai-alai frontons first opened up people would come dressed in ties and jackets, and they would buy their seats weeks in advance because there was literally standing room only on Friday and Saturday nights,” explained Mark Kaminsky, ajai-alai enthusiast and the closest thing the sport has to an American historian. While he never played professionally, Kaminsky became enamored with the sport and eventually learned to play himself, adjusting his left-handed tendencies to accommodate a right-handed game. Now he owns an extensive collection of jai-alai memorabilia, which he keeps on display in his home in St. Petersburg. It includes several rare and unique items, including one-of-a-kind official scrapbooks compiled by frontons, autographed pelotas, game-worn jerseys and a copy of the very first program published by the Tampa Fronton.

Kaminsky said that frontons would often schedule their best players at the end of the evening to encourage people to stay and see the most talented athletes. The result would be crowds that stayed until the final matches and several hundred thousand dollars in a nightly handle. “It was a destination; it wasn’t just a stopping-in point. It was for the scene of being there and maybe being seen. Everybody went to jai-alai,” Kaminsky said.

A Night in Tampa

The Tampa fronton was certainly a place to see and be seen during its heyday in the 1960s, 1970s and early 1980s. For many locals, a Friday or Saturday night out meant a trip to the 40-acre location off Dale Mabry Highway, just south of Gandy Boulevard. The games started at 7 p.m. but the gates opened at 6-and if you were on time, you were a little late. By then lines had already formed at both of the fronton’s main entrances and the parking lot filled with cars and buses (dispatched by the fronton) returning with eager spectators and gamblers from Clearwater and St. Petersburg. Fans waited in line clutching programs purchased earlier in the day at newsstands so as not to risk the inevitable sellout inside. After paying the nominal admission (maybe a dollar for general admission and a few more for reserved seats) they lined up for a drink at the bar or booth concession, or perhaps something from the cigar bar which featured a wide selection, including hand-made cigars from nearby Ybor City. Smoke and conversation (some in English, much in Spanish) filled the lobbies, and eventually most fans trickled into the auditorium which housed the cancha, taking their place among the 3,500 seats. Others were able to acquire reservations at La Cancha Club, where they would sit down to steak or seafood, have a bottle of wine and watch the matches on big-screen televisions-an impressive technical luxury for patrons of that era. But thousands of others would simply stand wherever they could find a good place to watch the action.

Before the games started they perused their programs and studied the match-ups, looking for winners among the list of names. Some were the players’ actual names, but many were nicknames or simply the city from which they hailed. But once the bets were placed and the players came out to salute the crowd, the conversation slowed and all eyes were on the contests.

In Tampa, those contests featured some of the best talent in jai-alai at that time- Almorza, Bolivar, Rufino, Laca II, Randy, Aramayo and Gorroño were among the many who impressed and awed thousands on those nights. Better players meant more exciting contests and often longer points, as volleys were answered and returned, only to be handled impressively and returned again at higher speeds. As points reached 30 seconds, the crowd would exclaim and gasp at each exchange. At 40 seconds a dull roar continued to grow as those in attendance marveled at the speed and skill on the court. Heading toward a minute, those special points were greeted with wild cheers and enthusiasm as fans drowned out the announcer, whose own appreciation for the game was apparent in his voice.

For several years (1979 until 1994) that voice belonged to Mark Biero, who still remembers those long, impressive exchanges and the fans that enjoyed them. “There were times when I was announcing the game as it was going on where I couldn’t even hear myself!” Biero recalled. “You feel a sense of pride that people were reacting to the excitement of the game. I was merely reporting it. I didn’t have to embellish anything. It was quite amazing.”

The games continued for hours, with the best talent often featured in the final matches. After midnight the crowd would leave the fronton happy (especially if they won a little money) and somewhat exhausted as well. But the evening wasn’t over for many of them, who would fill local restaurants and bars for a late drink or meal. Places like the Lamas Club, Zichex and Malio’s would accommodate patrons who gathered to socialize or spend some of their winnings, and maybe see a few players who would stop by to relax after a long night.

The next day, coffee shops and restaurants in West Tampa and Ybor City hosted conversations about the previous night’s games, as fans celebrated their winnings or lamented their losses over café con leche and discussed the best matches of the evening in passionate voices. We had great seats. Almorza was looking good. Bolivar was in fine form. Did you stay for the last game?  It was unbelievable! Those who were in attendance that night provided the highlights and those who couldn’t make it planned to attend the following weekend, or whenever they could get seats. Before the Buccaneers, the Lightning and the Rays, jai-alai wasn’t just a sport in Tampa. It was the sport in Tampa.

A Player’s Schedule

The life of a Florida jai-alai player in the 1970s was enjoyable, but it wasn’t always as fun as the social scene that surrounded the sport’s games. During the season they faced a rigorous schedule based on the demands of a growing and popular sport. When there were matinee games to be played, a player might rise at 10 a.m. after a very late night in order to be at the fronton by noon for the approaching games. The schedule would dictate the order of play (a player might play a half-dozen games that day), but it might be just 14 or 15 hours since their last performance. In the late afternoon, they would have time to go home for a meal before returning for the evening competition just a few hours later.

Players would arrive according to their evening schedule, with friendly banter and card games in the locker rooms, and younger players watching more of the action on the cancha. Older veterans might rest during games or try to stay loose and warm if there was a large gap between their performances. When the last competitions ended, many of them would congregate at a local nightclub or restaurant afterward-some preferred smaller or less-crowded establishments where they could unwind and socialize-or they would gather at players’ homes, sometimes making multiple stops in the early morning hours to enjoy a meal prepared by their fellow athletes. A player might get home at three or four in the morning and try to get enough rest to do it all over again the next day.

That schedule could continue for six days out of the week, with Sunday usually a day off. This schedule was repeated over the course of a four-or-five-month season, and then it was time for some players to head back to Spain, where they would visit with family or perhaps play in the many cities eager for their talents. Others might stay in Florida, take a few weeks to prepare for a new season at another local fronton-Miami players might head to Ft. Pierce, while Tampa players would go to Ocala, perhaps-making the life of a jai-alai player taxing both on and off the court.

“At one point in my career, we literally played 50 matinees and nights straight, which is a lot of toil on the body. That’s with just Sunday off,” explained Randy Lazenby, a former professional who enjoyed a 25-year career before retiring in 1993. Lazenby was also the first American-born player to play professionally in the United States.  During his playing days, he enjoyed the French and Basque cuisine provided by his fellow players late into the evening. “Mostly it would be just the guys,” Lazenby said. “We would think nothing of eating at 1 o’clock and 2 o’clock in the morning.”

As hectic as that life was, the rewards for a jai-alai player could be lucrative. Lazenby said that players often earned upwards of $40,000-$60,000 for a season during its heyday. For a young athlete (Lazenby was barely in his 20s after starting his career at 16), it was a good income. But the money coming in to the frontons was even greater, and the players often struggled with management to receive what they considered fair compensation for the attractive crowds they drew (and the millions they spent and wagered). A strike in the 1960s was painful for the sport, and a second strike in 1988 lasted nearly three years. That lack of premier talent during the strikes made it even harder for jai-alai to fend off competition for gambling dollars. The Florida Lottery, with its scratch-off tickets, instant gratification and millions advertised on billboards took a large share. Casino-style gaming opportunities also attracted interest. And the rise of professional sports teams such as the Lightning and the Buccaneers- and even the Arena Football League’s Tampa Bay Storm-was providing alternate options for local sports fans. As the 1990s progressed, frontons were fighting to retain their local status and remain profitable.

In the end, some succeeded but many failed. Tampa’s fronton tried to weather the storm with new management and a card room, but the fans never came back to pre-strike levels. As the handles dropped around the state (Florida Gaming Corporation saw state-wide handles drop from more than $400 million in 1986-87, to $180 million in 1995-96) interest was waning in the Bay area. The Tampa fronton closed its doors after almost 45 years in 1998, paving the way for the Home Depot and Sam’s Club, which attract shoppers to the location today.

Cestas in St. Petersburg

Today, jai-alai players in the Bay area still hurl the ball toward the frontcourt at high speeds while others wait for its return and a chance to capture it in their cesta. But these games aren’t played in front of thousands, and there is no late-night social scene accompanying the games. Instead, they play on the cancha located in Jack Puryear Park in St. Petersburg. It’s the first amateur jai-alai court built by a municipality in the country (thanks to a combination of private financing and the City of St. Petersburg), and players have been known to use it well after the sun goes down and the lights come on. Amateurs, former professionals and interested parties will make their way to the court, which is open to the public and free to use.

Jeff Conway, a director for the National Jai-Alai Association, said that while experienced players have to get used to the court’s dimensions (it’s only about half the size of what professionals use) and a different ball-since the walls aren’t equipped to take the battering from a hard, regulation pelota-they enjoying spending time on the local cancha.

“They seem pretty happy,” Conway said.  A former amateur player with decades of experience on the court, he contributed $10,000 of his own money to help get the project going in 2007. Now completed and a destination for experienced players, the NJAA has future plans to expand the game’s appeal by developing leagues for younger people and introducing the sport to the next generation of residents.

The pelota hasn’t bounced off the walls of the Tampa fronton in more than a decade, but long-time athletes and fans still remember that era fondly. In addition to being the “voice of jai-alai” in Tampa, Biero’s vocal talents have been in demand for many events: Spring training games with the Cincinnati Reds, stadium announcing in the early days of the Buccaneers, high school and college football and the television hit “BattleBots.” But he is perhaps best known for his years of ringside work during some of the most prominent boxing events aired on Home Box Office and Showtime featuring boxers such as Roberto Duran, Evander Holyfield and Oscar de la Hoya. He still works the fights, and his experience and longevity has earned him a spot in the Florida Boxing Hall of Fame. Still, despite his close affiliation with many sports, it’s the one played with a cesta that remains closest to his heart.

“Nothing for me personally generated as much excitement and as much pleasure in doing a job as the sport of jai-alai,” he said. “I love baseball and boxing, particularly. But man, I loved jai-alai. I miss that more than anything else.”

Featured in Cigar City – Issue 24 – 2009