Papi's fans go to bat

Which she was, sort of, because Rubby Pérez was pumping from the stereo.

Juan Fernandez is an artist, as skilled as any stylist on Newbury Street, though you would never confuse the Fernandez Barber Shop on Centre Street in JP with the salons of the Back Bay.

The Fernandez Barber Shop - 13 chairs, no waiting - takes up the first floor of a sprawling, three-story house in a neighborhood where nobody is rich. It is a Dominican barber shop, so baseball is as much a fixture as the scissors and combs, as the merengue and bachata.

If Juan Fernandez bears more than a passing resemblance to Jorge Posada, the Yankees catcher, one of the other barbers, Jose Antonio Jiminez, is a dead ringer for Mariano Rivera, the Yankees closer. But even if the occasional Yankees fan is tolerated, the Fernandez Barber Shop is an offshore island of Red Sox Nation.

When David Ortiz came to bat against the Atlanta Braves on Saturday afternoon, eyes drifted toward one of the flat-screen TVs. Barbers paused in mid-snip. Customers craned necks.

When Ortiz struck out, no one said anything and all you could hear was Eddy Herrera on the stereo.

“Big Papi’s fine,’’ Juan Fernandez said, using a razor blade to carve a pencil-thin sideburn on the 10-year-old cheek of Joshua Polanco. “He’s back.’’

Juan Fernandez should know. He cuts Ortiz’s hair. It’s a Dominican thing.

While many people who get paid big money to analyze such things spent much time declaring that David Ortiz’s career was over, that he couldn’t get around on an inside fastball anymore, that he couldn’t go the other way anymore, that he couldn’t do much of anything anymore, it is impossible to find anyone who frequents the Fernandez Barber Shop who believed, or allowed themselves to believe, that Big Papi was all washed up

Along Centre Street, there is a consensus on what was bugging Ortiz, and it had nothing to do with poor weight-shifting, failing eyesight, or fastballs in on his hands. It was family.

“His father’s sick,’’ Juan Fernandez said, shrugging. He nodded toward his own father, Luis Fernandez, sitting in the corner. “If he was sick, I wouldn’t be able to do my job well, either,’’ Juan Fernandez said. It’s a Dominican thing. Family is everything.

Losing Big Papi is something Dominicans don’t like to ponder. The Red Sox used to sport three of the biggest Dominicans in the game. But Pedro Martínez wasn’t re-signed after the 2004 World Series win, and Manny Ramirez was traded last year. As Ortiz struggled through April and May, it seemed like a fukú, a Dominican curse.

But as it rained throughout June, Big Papi started raining home runs. He isn’t hitting his weight yet, but he’s feared again. He’s Big Papi again.

When Ortiz was intentionally walked in the ninth inning, for only the second time this season, everybody in the Fernandez Barber Shop exchanged knowing glances.

Papi’s back.

Joshua Polanco, who plays shortstop for the Mission Hill Pirates, never wavered in his belief in Big Papi. But he didn’t believe that the guy who was cutting his hair also cuts Big Papi’s.

“You don’t believe me?’’ Juan Fernandez asked, stepping away, looking into the mirror, in mock incredulity. Joshua Polanco smirked and shook his head.

Fernandez put the razor down and went from cabinet to cabinet, pulling drawers open. He came back and held a snapshot in front of the boy’s face.

“Who is that?’’ Fernandez asked.

“David Ortiz,’’ Joshua said.

“And who is cutting his hair?’’

“You,’’ Joshua said.

Joshua Polanco said nothing more. But he smiled the rest of his time in the chair.

Kevin Cullen is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at cullen@globe.com.