SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. -- You have seen him, on X and Instagram and TikTok and YouTube and every other platform capable of taking whole people and shrinking them to 10-second clips. In these snippets, Jefry Yan is always celebrating a strikeout by jumping, his knees rising to his chest, until he lands and punctuates the revelry with a fist pump, a pantomimed strike-three call, a pelvic thrust, a twirl or a dozen other spasmodic movements, depending on what has inspired him at that particular moment.

Yan, a 28-year-old left-handed reliever with the Colorado Rockies, is a baseball Rorschach test -- to some a burst of color in a monochromatic sport, to others an affront to the game's unspoken code of decorum. Either way, Yan possesses a quality shared by few others in baseball: In an instant, he makes you feel something.

Few players elicit emotions at the level of Yan, which is saying something, particularly because he has not played in a major league game. And beyond those 10 seconds of social media stardom is where the real story of Yan exists. In the decision that left him out of professional baseball for six years, and in the long, long days that guided him back to it, and in the opportunity that now presents itself as Yan finds himself on the cusp of the big leagues.

"They are already expecting the same thing from me: celebrating and doing my show," he said. "As I told [batters]: When you hit your home run, enjoy it, do what you want. For me, there is no problem.

"Now, when my moment comes, I am going to enjoy it, too."

Day after day, Yan woke up at 5 a.m., worked out, slogged through a 10-hour shift as a roofer in the unforgiving Arizona sun, returned home to shower and rinse off the dirt and sweat, grabbed a quick bite to eat, hopped back in the car and drove 45 minutes from Surprise to Phoenix, where he would spend two hours on a dusty field chasing the impossible. No matter how many people scoffed or laughed or doubted him, he would play Major League Baseball.

"I know I'm going to make it someday," Yan liked to say.

The first time Maria Torres heard Yan utter his mantra, she was among the skeptics. They met at a club in downtown Phoenix in 2017, his incandescent smile and effortless dancing -- he does a spot-on Michael Jackson impersonation, moonwalking in every direction -- leaving her smitten. Yan didn't mention that he played baseball when they met, but it soon became apparent when he would disappear in the early evening or spend Sundays playing beer league ball. Torres was practical, a healthcare administrator and Realtor with an MBA, and as much as her instincts left her wondering whether her boyfriend was really that good or just another Uncle Rico, she became a believer.

"No one does this just for fun," Maria said. "His passion and dedication -- I had to support it."

Long before he debuted his kinetic strikeout celebration, Yan was a hard-throwing kid from the southeast corner of the Dominican Republic whose projectible 6-foot-3 frame intrigued the Los Angeles Angels enough to sign him at 16 in 2013. Yan struggled in his first Dominican Summer League season the next year but followed with a breakout 2015 before blowing out his elbow. He spent 2016 and 2017 at the Angels' Arizona complex rehabilitating. When the Angels told Yan they planned to send him back to the DSL, he refused, didn't report and was put on the restricted list.

Unable to play professional baseball until the Angels removed him from the list, Yan joined a Phoenix-area semi-pro team called the Expendables, comprising mostly players previously in affiliated ball. Yan told friends on the team he was looking for a job, and he began to tag along with a group of players from Mexico who worked in landscaping. Through the Expendables, he met Victor Silverio, a former Angels minor leaguer. Yan asked Silverio to train him. Silverio wanted his high school-aged son, Joseph, to face higher-level competition in weekend games, and every day at 5 p.m., the three met at Cielito Park in Phoenix.

"He's consistent, he's hardworking, he's a nice man," Silverio said. "He always takes care of whatever he has to take care of. Responsibility is the No. 1 thing in baseball."

Sometimes, Yan would sleep at the Silverios' home. He ached for another opportunity. Yan would call the Angels almost daily asking for his release, knowing he'd burned that bridge but hopeful he could build another. Finally in 2019, four years after he'd thrown his final in-game pitch for the organization, the Angels granted Yan his request. By then, he was long forgotten, even with that electric fastball. He sent video to every scout he knew. None offered Yan a shot. He married Maria in 2019 and kept training, still convinced he would make it someday.

Finally, before the 2021 season, Yan got his break. His fastball -- now consistently registering in the high 90s -- was too good to ignore. The New York Yankees showed interest, prompting the Miami Marlins to move quickly and offer Yan a minor league contract. Little did Miami realize at the time the sensation that later would blossom.

Yan memorialized strikeouts with flair, sure, but more in the mode of former Montreal Expos left-hander Carlos Pérez, who in the 1990s gussied up each of his punchouts with a 360-degree spin off the mound -- and infuriated hitters along the way. Now was a different time, the Let The Kids Play era of baseball, in which bat flips were encouraged and on-field celebrations caused a fraction of the consternation they had previously.

With a 2.61 ERA and 51 strikeouts over 31 innings between Single-A Jupiter and Double-A Pensacola, Yan earned an invitation to the prospect-rich Arizona Fall League. Struggles to throw strikes limited Yan's effectiveness there and the next season at Double-A, but nobody doubted the quality of his fastball, and Yan remained an intriguing prospect accordingly, starting the 2023 season in Pensacola, where he first introduced the jump.

"I thought he was going to get in trouble -- like, dude, you're going to get kicked out," Maria said. "He was like, 'Relax. It's all good. They didn't say anything.'"

Yan struck out 91 hitters in 51 innings and saved 13 games, earning an invitation to play alongside Fernando Tatis Jr., Jurickson Profar, Robinson Cano and 30 others with big league experience for the Estrellas Orientales in the Dominican Winter League. Broadcasts of the games captured Yan in full high-jump mode, and even by the standards of Dominican baseball -- known for its passion and outsize merriment -- he stood out.

Social media ate it up. Not only was Yan redefining what a pitcher could do on the field, he did so with a fastball that now touched triple digits. His agent, Gustavo Vazquez, started contacting Japanese teams in hopes of getting Yan a higher-paying gig than the $35,800 salary Triple-A players received last year. The Seibu Lions signed Yan to a minor league contract and he made their Nippon Professional Baseball team, playing at Japan's highest level and earning more in one season than he had his entire career.

Maria spent two months with Yan in Japan, where he posted a 5.58 ERA, and followed him back to the D.R., where he struck out 26 in 21 innings with a 1.71 ERA for Estrellas. With his experience in NPB and his success in the winter, Yan readied himself to return to Arizona, latch back on with a big league organization and fulfill his prophecy.

"I'm really proud of him," Maria said. "A lot of people don't realize the way him and a lot of people from his country grow up. To see that to where he's at now is incredible. He's almost there."

Finally, after the six-year wait, the minor league bus rides, the time spent halfway across the world, the doubt and the pressure and the recognition that every baseball career is an exercise in fragility, Yan's moment has come.

The Rockies were the most aggressive team in pursuing Yan this winter and signed him to a minor league contract with an invitation to spring training. He threw a scoreless inning in his first game on Feb. 22, returned three days later and sandwiched three strikeouts around a hit and walk, and followed that with a third scoreless outing. While Yan's fastball sat at 95 mph, that was plenty effective, particularly if he feathered the strike zone with his slider.

Yan ran into his first roadblock Wednesday, entering the game in the ninth inning with a 4-1 lead. He proceeded to give up a single, a walk, a single, a wild pitch and a groundout that cut Colorado's advantage to 4-3. When Rockies shortstop Aaron Schunk snagged a scorching 106 mph line drive from Mike Brosseau, Yan secured his first save of the spring for a Rockies team that just lost its closer from last season, Justin Lawrence, to a waiver claim by Pittsburgh.

Perhaps the only thing separating Yan from the Rockies' Opening Day roster is his control, with 153 walks in 204 minor league innings. For an organization always in need of swing-and-miss stuff to mitigate the altitude in Denver, though, Yan's 284 strikeouts make him an alluring option.

Whether it's on March 27 or later in the season, Yan recognizes his opportunity will come because of what he learned along the way, not his moves on the mound. He still gets up at 5 a.m., sending Vazquez videos of his predawn workouts. He ate at the Silverios' house last week, and later in the week they met him on the field after a game, hopeful to do the same in an even bigger ballpark.

They're all waiting for the day they've spent nearly a decade foretelling, when Yan gets his call to MLB. Maria and the Silverios and the Expendables will be there to toast Yan the person and not just the persona that turned him into a sensation.

"They contributed to what I am today," Yan said. "They helped me, they supported me a lot and they told me that if I was going to have a career in professional sports I had to take it seriously. I had to put a lot of effort into it to be able to succeed one day.

"And today, thank God, we are doing it."

ESPN's Juan Arturo Recio contributed to this report