COMPTON, Calif. – “Irving Norwood,” the 13-year-old boy said Saturday morning, holding out his hand.

Lifelong Indians fan Irving Norwood of Baldwin Hills, Ca., got a chance to work with SS Francisco Lindor. (Tim Brown) More

His old-style navy stirrups stretched from his shoe tops to the bottom of his gray uniform pants, which he’d rolled to his knees. He wore a blue cap with a red bill and a blue pullover windbreaker, zipped to his neck.

Irving Norwood — technically Irving Norwood III, as Irving Norwood II hovered nearby in a Cleveland Indians cap and Ohio State hoodie – has been an Indians fan as long as he can remember, an oddity in Baldwin Hills, Calif. His father used to tell him, “If you’re going to be a ballplayer, be like Robbie Alomar,” so young Irving set out to play like Alomar. It meant playing second base. It meant being a switch-hitter. It meant watching a lot of Indians games, even though Alomar had long ago retired, and long before that had left the Indians. He’d still watch the Indians.

That was how Irving Norwood’s favorite player became not Robbie Alomar, but Francisco Lindor, who on Saturday morning took Irving’s narrow, delicate hand, shook it firmly, met his uncommonly sturdy gaze and told him it was right to believe. It was right to hope. It was right to outwork everyone else, even when you’re the smallest man on the field, especially when you’re the smallest, which Lindor usually was, and Irving almost always is.

“It’s amazing,” Irving said.

Irving is a regular at MLB’s Urban Youth Academy, where, in spite of his size, he plays a year up. Lindor, in town to play the Los Angeles Angels, stopped by for a couple hours Saturday morning to watch some baseball, and talk some baseball, and stand before the boys and girls on this corner to say it can happen if they want it to happen. If they will it to happen. If they let it happen.

“People like them,” Lindor said, pointing to coaches and administrators, “helped me. They still do. If you work for it and dedicate yourself to it, why not?

“I was in the same shoes you guys are in. There are going to be people who will doubt whether you can do it. Ultimately, it comes down to you. You gotta be mature enough to understand there’s a right way of doing it and a wrong way of doing it. If I did it …”

He held out his arms. He is maybe 5-foot-11. Maybe 190 pounds.

“Look at me, man,” he said, smiling. “They said, ‘He’s too fragile. He’s too small. He’s going to take his lumps.’”

He raised his eyebrows, puffed his chest and pointed a finger at their hearts.

“OK,” he said. “OK. I guarantee I’ll outwork every one of them.”

He looked over about 20 boys, nice young ballplayers, some who arrived in the backseats of their moms’ Mercedes, others who made a couple bus transfers, some with top-end equipment, others who were allocated used gloves and cleats with someone else’s faded name on them when they signed up.

“If I did it … ,” he said.

They nodded their heads.

* * *

Francisco Lindor is a tough, pleasant, 22-year-old shortstop from Puerto Rico whose favorite author is Paulo Coelho and favorite book is "The Alchemist," which would explain his preoccupation with a journey, his and theirs.

How he got from there to here, and then where does here lead to. Where those boys and girls of the inner cities — in Philadelphia, Cleveland, Compton — will go from here. Where his little sister is headed. And his nieces and nephews, what is their journey? Who is their guide? How big are their hearts?

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