Baseball is more than just a game—it’s a universal language that bridges cultures, languages, and continents. But when you add a team like the Kingdom of the Netherlands to the mix, it becomes something even more extraordinary. Imagine a clubhouse where four languages flow seamlessly, where players from Aruba, Curaçao, the Netherlands, and the United States unite under one banner. This isn’t just a team; it’s a microcosm of global unity, and it’s happening at this year’s World Baseball Classic (WBC).
Take Chadwick Tromp, for instance. By the time he started catching at age 11, he was already a linguistic prodigy. Growing up in Aruba, he spoke Papiamento at home, learned English and Spanish at school, and studied all other subjects in Dutch—the official language of the former Netherlands Antilles. Being quadrilingual is practically a rite of passage in the ABC islands (Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao), but when Tromp and his teammates—Xander Bogaerts, Kenley Jansen, Didi Gregorius, Ozzie Albies, Jurickson Profar, and Ceddanne Rafaela—step onto the field for the Netherlands, it’s about more than just baseball. And this is the part most people miss: it’s about connection, heritage, and the power of shared language.
“It’s very special to communicate with your WBC teammates,” Tromp shared. “You feel like you’re home because you’re speaking Papiamento, a language nobody else understands. Even Dutch feels unique here. It’s like having a secret code that brings us closer.”
But here’s where it gets controversial: in a sport that thrives on communication, being multilingual isn’t just a perk—it’s a superpower. Bogaerts puts it perfectly: “It lets you do more. Whether it’s reading the scoreboard or having a conversation, you don’t need an interpreter. It’s fun, man. It breaks down barriers.”
In a tournament like the WBC, where players from diverse cultures must bond quickly, this ability becomes game-changing. Veterans like Bogaerts and Gregorius use their linguistic skills to build camaraderie, effortlessly switching between English, Papiamento, Spanish, and Dutch. Is this the secret sauce to their success? Or is it just a happy coincidence?
During gameplay, English usually takes the lead, but there are exceptions. “If I need to say something critical to my pitcher and don’t want the other team to understand, I’ll switch to Dutch,” Tromp admitted. This strategic use of language highlights the team’s adaptability—a trait honed through rigorous preparation, especially in pitcher-catcher dynamics.
Take Shairon Martis, for example. In 2006, the Curaçaoan right-hander threw the first no-hitter in WBC history, despite not being fluent in Dutch at the time. His catcher, Sidney de Jong, understood his pitches and preferred situations, proving that language isn’t always a barrier when trust and preparation align.
Off the field, the team bonds through universal languages: gaming and food. They have a gaming room where PlayStation and FIFA sessions break the ice, and they share meals where the highest-paid players often pick up the tab. But does this camaraderie translate to better performance on the field? Or is it just a feel-good story?
For many, the WBC is a rare chance to play alongside friends they’ve known for years but rarely shared a field with. “It’s fun to have these experiences,” Bogaerts said. “To talk about our countries, our childhoods, in our own languages. The WBC is probably the only time we get to play together.”
Even for those who didn’t grow up together, the Netherlands’ clubhouse fosters deep connections. “Speaking multiple languages helps you understand each other’s cultures better,” said Arij Fransen, a right-hander from the Netherlands. “It’s why everyone accepts each other. We come from different backgrounds, but we get each other.”
In the end, baseball speaks its own language—one that transcends words. But here’s the question: In a world divided by language and culture, could baseball be the ultimate unifier? What do you think?
Padres beat reporter AJ Cassavell contributed reporting for this story.
