JUAN RAMÓN ARRASATE had witnessed the rise and fall of jai alai in Miami. Now, he was preparing to see the new faces of the game.

Arrasate had arrived in Miami from Spain in 1978 and played for 20 years, mostly in front of big, enthusiastic crowds. In 1986, he even appeared in a "Miami Vice" TV episode about jai alai titled "Killshot."

But jai alai, the world's fastest-moving ball sport, fell off in the 1990s and didn't get a boost until 2018, when Florida banned greyhound racing and casinos needed a parimutuel activity (in which all bets are pooled) to continue offering slots and table games.

In January 2018, Magic City Casino tasked Arrasate with coaching a new jai alai roster, but the job came with a twist: Rather than hire those from Spain and other countries who grew up playing jai alai, the standard approach for Miami casinos, Magic City sought players who could connect with a U.S. audience. So the casino recruited former athletes from the University of Miami and other Florida colleges with zero experience, but a desire to learn and play professionally.

Miami emailed hundreds of its athletes from the past 20 years. About 10 agreed to try out for Magic City.

"I thought we were going to get guys just out of college and in their 20s," Arrasate recalled. "Some of the guys that came, they were late 30s and overweight. I said, 'What the hell am I doing?'"

Despite his concerns, Arrasate understood Magic City's strategy. As a manager at Casino Miami, he had struggled to get players to promote the sport. Most didn't speak English and wouldn't meet with reporters. The former University of Miami athletes might have been short on experience and long in the tooth, but they packed plenty of personality and some name recognition.

The group included former Miami quarterback Kenny Kelly, who went on to appear in 26 Major League Baseball games for three clubs; Darryll Roque, an ex-Hurricanes pitcher who won a College World Series championship in 1999; and Tanard Davis, a defensive back who played for Miami from 2002 to 2005, and won a Super Bowl ring with the Indianapolis Colts as a practice-squad member.

Most of the recruits knew little to nothing about jai alai. Some struggled to pronounce it (it's high-lie). But in an unfamiliar sport, they saw renewed hope for their athletic dreams.

"Having this opportunity to be a competitor, to go against another opponent, to show all the work I put in to dominate you, there's nothing more thrilling," Davis said. "I'm thankful, I can't stress it enough."

Earlier this month, the casino launched its fourth season of jai alai, featuring several former Hurricanes who once thought their clocks as professional athletes had long expired. They're helping revive and rebrand the sport in a city where it once was celebrated.

"It's just amazing," Roque said, "to have another opportunity to have a jersey on my back."

FIRST PLAYED IN the 14th century in the Basque region of Spain, jai alai games feature singles or doubles, on large, three-walled courts called frontons. Players both catch and throw with cestas, curved wicker baskets attached to their right hands (playing left-handed is prohibited). The small ball, or pelota, can be thrown more than 150 mph, and must be returned by the opponent or opposing team before it bounces twice or goes out of bounds.

Wagering is conducted like horse racing: Gamblers pick players to win, place or show, and forecast quinellas, trifectas and so on.

Jai alai debuted in the U.S. in St. Louis around the 1904 World's Fair, and made its way to Florida in the mid-1920s. Played regularly in several East Coast states, South Florida became jai alai's American epicenter, particularly the frontons at Casino Miami and The Casino at Dania Beach. During the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s, jai alai was ingrained in Miami culture, even appearing in the opening credits of "Miami Vice."

"We didn't have the Marlins or Miami Heat. At night, the only thing to do was go to jai alai," Arrasate said. "You had big crowds. It was really fun. Then slowly, we had all these little things happen."

A players' strike from 1988 to 1991, combined with the arrival of more pro sports teams, changing gambling patterns and other entertainment options, led to jai alai's decline.

The greyhound racing ban reopened the door, but Scott Savin, Magic City's chief operating officer, didn't want jai alai to become simply a mandatory side act to the slots. While working as CEO at The Casino at Dania Beach in 2016, Savin proposed recruiting University of Miami athletes to become professionals.

The Dania Beach players, most of whom came from Spain's Basque region, told him there was no chance. Either you're born into jai alai or you're not.

"How long would it take them?" Savin asked.

"Probably never," they replied, "but it'll take five years before they're even competent enough to go on a court with us."

"That stuck in my mind," Savin recalled. "I was thinking it was kind of B.S."

Savin, who had been Magic City's COO since 2006 but in 2018 transitioned to work exclusively for the casino, pitched his plan to owners Barbara and Alexander Havenick, Miami alums who are major donors to the university and the athletic department (Barbara Havenick is a trustee). They signed off, and Miami sent the mass email in 2017.

"I thought it was a little joke, but I decided to answer it," Roque said.

At the first meeting of Magic City's jai alai roster, Savin brought a poster he had made, which featured the Hurricanes' logo and the Spanish flag, and the words "Canes versus Spain." He told the group that in time, they could match up with the Spaniards at Dania Beach.

The problem: They didn't have much time to learn the game. Their crash course began in January 2018, and their professional debut at Magic City would take place in July.

"Trial by fire," Davis said. "Learning how to play it was extremely, extremely frustrating. You had to teach a guy who is used to using his fingers to catch something, to now you have to use a basket to control it."

The first weeks were difficult for a group used to excelling in just about any sport.

"No one could catch the ball, no one could throw, we didn't know crap," Kelly said. "You're dealing with former athletes here, and everybody's competitive. So when things aren't going right, I saw guys show up at midnight to work on their game."

Added Savin: "We had to get them to a certain level where they weren't going to kill somebody, basically."

Few skills from football translate in jai alai, other than the agility needed to move laterally. The former baseball players tend to do better, especially infielders comfortable with catching a fast-moving ball. But the throwing motion, with a locked elbow instead of a bent one, takes some adjusting.

Roque threw 93 mph at Miami and 95 in the minor leagues, but he couldn't bring the heat as often in jai alai.

"Starting off, I had to think that I was throwing a hanging curveball every single time, the opposite of what I want to do," he said. "I still have a little problem. I'm still bending my arm. With a straight arm, the ball can carry a lot further."

Former Miami defensive back Dennis Dalton estimates he was 30 to 40 pounds overweight when jai alai practices started, but "snapped right back in shape." His toughest adjustment, like others, was anticipating where the pelota would go based on an opponent's throwing motion.

"The football players, their biggest issue was the hand-eye coordination," Arrasate said. "They were strong and they were fast and they could hit hard, but in jai alai, the ball travels 140 miles an hour. They didn't have that quickness."

Season 1 went about as expected. Filmmaker Billy Corben ("Cocaine Cowboys," "Screwball," "Broke," "The U") documented the year in 2019's "Magic City Hustle," which had a worldwide release last week. The roster had plenty of fun characters with enough athleticism left in their tanks, but not much proficiency to win over the jai alai community.

"We were not accepted and we were ridiculed," Savin said.

The product improved in Year 2 and again last year. In August, Magic City hosted the U.S. national jai alai championship, open to any players who are U.S. citizens. Many of the best players from both Dania Beach and Casino Miami competed.

Magic City's group held up. One of its players, Michael Carballo, made it to the finals in singles. A doubles team of Anderson Correa and Les Bradley, a former Miami track athlete, reached the semifinals, while Chad Barnes, a former Miami wide receiver, also reached the doubles semis.

"They've changed our minds and they've changed our opinions, our expectations, everything," said Julen Goitiandia, a native of Spain playing at Magic City whose older brother, Inaki, won the doubles championship. "They can play jai alai for sure."

IN MAY 1956, Sports Illustrated surveyed spectators at Casino Miami and Dania Beach, asking if they would still watch jai alai without a gambling component. Most answered yes, but some weren't so sure.

"Jai alai is a foreign game played by foreigners," Vincent Nardiello, a physician for the New York state boxing commission, told the magazine. "There is no personal interest in the players as there is in baseball and football. There are no heroes, and little cheering. You pick and bet on the players by names and numbers, as you do the horses."

A half century later, Arrasate faced similar struggles with the Casino Miami players -- "I couldn't do anything with them," he said. "They didn't want to be part of marketing" -- but immediately saw a difference with the Magic City group.

"These guys, they're very marketable," he said.

Magic City's goal is to grow the sport with players who can reach a U.S. audience. There's no all-encompassing league for jai alai in Miami, so casinos operate mostly independent of one another. But Savin and others at Magic City see potential for interest both locally and beyond and have started to find ways to push their product.

Players have visited local youth centers, passing out cestas and demonstrating the game. When Roque attends alumni baseball games at Miami, he'll bring his cesta and catch and throw balls from the outfield.

Magic City live-streams every event, and welcomed back spectators May 8 after its fronton was empty in 2020.

Events at Magic City have a distinct look and style. Jai alai players traditionally are stoic, not reacting to wins or losses. But Savin wants Magic City players to be "as emotional as they want to be" during events, adding, "We have our heroes and our villains."

"It's funny," Goitlandia said. "They do movement, they shout, they do crazy things. They need it. They are so passionate. I like it."

There are limits.

"It's a catch-22," Dalton said. "[Coaches and management] kind of want us to show it, but then when we really show it, some of them get nervous. I'm like, 'Look, you've got American athletes -- basketball, football, track, baseball. When there's a bad call, we yell at the referees.' When we mess up on the football field, we throw our helmets. We're frustrated. You didn't get European athletes from quiet places.

"You got American athletes that follow the American way."

Some players put stickers of Miami's iconic "U" on their helmets. Roque, who plays under the name "Tennessee" for his home state, wears a helmet with the NFL's Titans logo. Players compete under names such Cool Fitness, Juice and El Barba ("The Beard" in Spanish) -- a nod to Dalton's prodigious dreadlocked red beard, which he hasn't cut for six or seven years.

"I'm probably the fan favorite, to be honest with you," Dalton said. "My first year, I had a group of old Cubans, they went and bought some fake beards, and one night seven or eight of them were here. And these old Cuban ladies, they love El Barba, they're speaking to me in Spanish, thinking I can speak Spanish, but I can't speak Spanish. I just nod and wave."

Savin said he thinks jai alai has wide-ranging appeal, offering speed, athleticism, personality and even danger, as the fast-moving pelota can cause serious injury. The in-person product, he said, is especially addictive. He also sees a place for jai alai on TV, and game formats can be altered to make the product more appealing for wagering.

Magic City is committed to its investment and promoting a sport that was "on the brink of extinction," Savin said. The casino has bought airtime on local Fox Sports affiliates. Events from Magic City and other Miami casinos appear on the Jai-Alai YouTube channel, and Magic City in August will launch a live-streaming channel that will be available on Amazon, Hulu and iTunes.

"We're just wholeheartedly committed to doing whatever it takes to try to give this sport the best shot at full-scale national exposure," Savin said. "Slowly but surely, we can build this, and we're not afraid to put money behind it. We're not getting our money back, but we're like any fledgling sports league. You've got to put the time and the money and the effort in before you're going to see profitability.

"We're committed to many years of trying to do whatever we can to promote this. We're waiting for that big break."

Davis, who plays as Jeden, his son's name, calls jai alai "the best-kept secret."

"I'm from Coconut Grove, the hood. We didn't play that kind of sport. We played basketball, we played football, we ran track and that's it," he said. "Being able to come out here and play this sport, and using all the mechanics of a professional athlete -- jump, run, fast, power, strength -- it's really one of those sports that if the right viewership gets it, it can blow up."

AT 44, ROQUE is the "grandpa" of Magic City jai alai, three months older than Dalton. But when Roque plays, he feels like he's still 19.

"I want the guys to throw the ball harder to me," he said.

Roque has transitioned from being a full-time high school teacher to a substitute, which allows him to retain his credentials. He views jai alai as a "full-time profession." Dalton still drives for Uber, especially during breaks in the schedule, but will sacrifice drive time for practice time in the fronton.

Davis splits his time between Miami and Georgia, where he has worked as a police officer in Gwinnett County. Although he occasionally works security at grocery and convenience stores, jai alai is his primary source of income.

"The past two years, we're getting more assurance that this isn't a temporary job," Davis said. "This is something with longevity."

Last year, Magic City jai alai players earned between $42,000 and $105,000, with an average of $60,000, Savin said. There's also the prize pool, which this year increased to $500,000. Players are on one-year contracts with benefits. When they underperform, the casino will ask if they want to continue, or offer shorter-term deals. But Savin said the intent is not to cut any current player who wants to continue and believes they're physically capable.

About half the players carry second jobs, but their dedication to the sport is strong.

"It's Second Chance U," Savin said. "This is what they wanted to be: professional athletes. Some of them tasted it. Some of them never got above minor league level. Some of them never did anything after college. But it's what they want to do, and their drive and determination is second to none, which is why I always thought this would work."

Magic City's roster changes every year, and includes some who grew up with jai alai, such as Goitlandia and Ronald Madrigal, a native of the Philippines. Kelly isn't playing this season as he recovers from unrelated wrist surgery, but he has been officiating games and doesn't rule out a return to the fronton.

"It means a lot, just giving us an opportunity to compete again and to be in a locker room again," he said. "You miss the game and some of the things that go on, the traveling, but we really miss the camaraderie of the teammates. We're playing cards, dominos, we're hanging out, just as a family, as a group, even though we're competing against each other."

Most jai alai players retire by their mid-40s, but Roque hopes to play until 50. Dalton, who has an adult daughter, joked that some of the other Magic City players could be his children.

But El Barba, 43, isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"It's been everything to be able to play professionally competitive at this age," he said. "I've been really blessed, as opposed to having to go down to the YMCA and play pickup games with old, fat guys.

"I want to keep on doing this as long as I can."