Rob Ruck always has been more interested in the people who play the games than the games themselves.

So in telling the story of "The Republic of Baseball,'' a documentary on the players of the Dominican Republic that airs at 10 p.m. Friday on WQED, arguments in the clubhouse are as important as battles on the diamond.

The film, shaved by more than a third to 53 minutes to fit the time slot, shows how the Dominican pioneers of major league baseball, most notably the three Alou brothers, made their way.

Watching the regal Felipe Alou recount how San Francisco Giants manager Alvin Dark tried to keep him from talking to his own brother in Spanish, I was reminded of the story of the Pirates beat writer who called his editor at The Pittsburgh Press in the early 1960s to ask how to handle a rookie, Jesus Alou.

"This guy's name is Jesus,'' the writer said, pronouncing his name in English rather than the Spanish, Hey-SOOS. "What am I gonna call him?"

"I'll tell you this,'' answered the editor. "Nobody whose first name is Jesus gets his name in this paper unless his last name is Christ.''

Thus did Jesus Alou become J. Alou for years thereafter, both in newspapers and on broadcasts. Despite these less than hearty welcomes, Felipe, Matty and Jesus Alou combined for 5,094 hits in the big leagues, with the math working out the same in both languages.

Baseball has a way of spearheading changes in American culture. In the 50 years since the first Dominican, Ozzie Virgil, went to bat for the Giants, and the 40 years since Matty Alou of the Pirates became the first Dominican to win a batting title, their countrymen have come to dominate the game.

The nation of only 9 million people now accounts for more than a tenth of all major leaguers, about a third of minor leaguers, and about half the All-Stars. As American boys have turned to video games, Dominican boys have kept their eye on the little white ball, even when they don't own one.

One of this film's early scenes shows a pair of Dominican boys, one tossing small pebbles toward his friend, who swats them with a weathered bat.

A game down there may be a sweaty way to spend a summer day, but when you compare a Dominican baseball academy to work in the surrounding sugar fields, where a ton of cane stacked and cut gets you 50 cents, "baseball seems a cushy job, like you and I have, in comparison'' Ruck said.

A senior lecturer in history at the University of Pittsburgh, Ruck is not a filmmaker. But Daniel Manatt, son of a former U.S. ambassador to the Caribbean island, approached Ruck after reading his 1999 book, "The Tropic of Baseball.''

More than a dozen years ago, Ruck co-produced a documentary on the Negro Leagues and Pittsburgh's dominance of the same, "Kings of the Hill.'' So he knew how daunting a historic documentary would be. But the Alous, Juan Marichal, Manny Mota and their Puerto Rican teammate on the Giants, Orlando Cepeda, all went on camera to tell their story.

Current stars such as Pedro Martinez, Alex Rodriguez and Alfonso Soriano make quick appearances only to talk about the pioneers. As one Dominican fan says of the old men, "People talk about them as if they were still playing.''

I remember waiting for a friend outside PNC Park before the All-Star game last summer, and watching as a handful of Latino New Yorkers wearing Yankees gear reverently approached the Roberto Clemente statue and snapped photos.

Clemente, a Puerto Rican, is revered by ballplayers throughout the Caribbean, but Ruck says the more outspoken Felipe Alou was the voice for many Spanish-speaking ballplayers. He began his life on an island ruled by a murderous dictator whose playboy son drafted players into the Air Force just to improve the military team, yet it was the segregated American South of the 1950s that hardened Alou. He'd become a manager whose teams won more than 1,000 games.

It's too bad "The Republic of Baseball's'' choppiness betrays cuts for time, giving viewers little more than a taste of the horsehide link between two countries.