Shohei OhtaniThis is amazing.
My MLB career was a part of the peak of the baseball steroid era. The steroid’s poisonous cloud continues to make us wonder about today’s players, their motivations, and tempts performers to think of modern shortcuts to get an edge.
The greatest harm it caused was in depriving us all of the ability to feel awed, players and fans alike.
A young Little Leaguer who played for businesses in my hometown, Joey’s Children’s Wear, and Carratura Construction, I used to watch batting practice at big-league ballgames whenever it was possible. New Jersey was home to Yankee Stadium and Shea. The four-second waiting for the ball’s descent was something I watched. The brilliance and talent of baseballs made them look like planetesimals. What would the future hold for them? It seemed that anything was possible.
By taking the mandatory course in ballistics for baseball, I was taught how to spot fly balls. To be able to communicate intelligently during inevitable arguments, I had to understand if the fielder would catch it or not. After sensing that it could go over, I was able to keep my breath. This is the ultimate crescendo in baseball’s music sheet.
I am one of those players and I still find it amazing to witness the extraordinary moments. You didn’t need to be the fastest or most powerful player in the league. It could happen from any person, anywhere. It was impossible to will it or make it happen, and you would never know how you’d be treated. Although I had 200 hits for the season in 1999, it was impossible to imagine that 200 would be on my 200th hit against the team I had been traded.
The batting practice by Vladimir Guerrero Sr. was amazing. I also saw Billy Wagner throwing fireballs out of his fire-hydrant frame. I was more touched when Eddie Oropesa returned to his family. He had been missing for many years since he defected from Cuba.
The game has been called “The Show” and it is a constant amazement to my team and to my opponents. From Curt Schilling’s power and precision to Scott Rolen’s home runs to Jimmy Rollins sixth sense at the bases, to Curt Schilling’s home runs trots to Curt Schilling, the game was known as “The Show.” It was always there, but you didn’t know when. The ingredients were just moving around until it was the perfect combination and then the glow began.
I played with some of the most skilled players, but I also played alongside the top. Some players make it difficult to watch replays, while others make you admire the best. Ohtani is one of those stars, distant because of his incredible talent and yet close to us for the brilliantness he brings to the field. This has helped our team bring back their game. He is a magician at every moment.
You can find some context for Ohtani’s mechanical realities. To my knowledge, I don’t remember a hitter ever being able take every pitch that was thrown at him and still hitting it for the home run. An emergency swing that was meant to be used for protection and caution is turned into something he can use and reduce top-tier pitchers to dust. He can also defeat top-notch pitchers using his arm. His scintillating splitters are capable of teleporting rocket fastballs up to 100 mph. This combination makes him the only one in space, making him a rare and valuable comet.
He refuses to go it alone and instead seeks to take the game along with him. This challenges us all to believe that we can also bring the game.
Masanori Morakami was the Japanese first player to enter the major leagues. This interview took place years before Ohtani came to the States. San Francisco GiantsIt is. In the midst of social revolution in America, he came to America during the middle of 1960s. He was a teammate with Willie McCovey and Willie Mays. When I asked him about his favorite player from Japan, he said that he had no idea. Without hesitation, he answered.
“Shohei Ohtani.”
It was a teenage boy at that time.
Online, I was able to see Ohtani’s power and arm. But it takes much more to make a difference. Although talent can be purchased or shot in your arm, Ohtani was a person of soul. He defied labels and lived in an unknown place between the plate and the mound. It was a wonder if Ohtani could pitch by himself.
Through my many years working in sports, I’ve seen how teammates rallied behind one another after he had lost his sister in Dominican Republic. This was also evident in our travels following 9/11. Players from around the world came together to support each other.
It was about how someone can hold your hand, understand your feelings, and change your mind without you saying a word. Much of the game can be played nonverbally. The hand on your shoulder, the pat on the back and the gaze in your eyes.
In baseball, the game is played in an orderly fashion. We sign, we gasp and we talk without talking during the game. What pitch will be coming? Who should I play when the batter gets two strikes?
We all learn to speak the same universal language. There is much that remains unwritten. It outlines a wide range of expectations about respect, honor and celebration. Without a single sentence, it changes and evolves, being edited by tradition, time and traditions. It urges us to not obsess over who will be editor.
When the game recognizes its own limitations, it is more hopeful. It acknowledges that the city, the team and its uniform can be strong enough bonds to protect ego, even in larger societies. A system that doesn’t win baseball games.
It was amazing to see balls reach a distance that is beyond my expectations. My suspension of disbelief didn’t stay in place when I discovered the magnitude of the performance enhancement. This was almost like discovering the secrets to a magical trick. A part of us longs to remain in our Little League uniforms and enjoy the innocence of infancy. Integrity is far more important than magic, even for the major leaguers.
Ohtani is reviving that feeling of awe, a chance to experience the same childhood as all-stars and season-ticket holder. As a nine-year-old, he takes me back in time to my first ever over-the fence home run in Little League. Mike Wilkins was a tall, blonde-haired Goliath about 10 feet. I met him. In a fog I ran the bases, feeling the impossible. Ohtani allows you to marvel at how the opponent can surprise and expand your imagination. His encouragement reminds us how vital it is for us to be open to the world around us.
Ohtani is a man I’m grateful for. It has brought back what the steroid era has taken from me. A doubt that took my knowledge of authentically great. Unfortunately, the magicians in my game were more concerned with themselves than about anything else. They ignored the importance of getting there. My mom used to say that they wanted to go there, but not get there.
It is only fitting that Ohtani, the Little League World Series’ home field manager, will be on the Williamsport pitch this week. At a major league baseball park, he can create the illusion that he is at the wall. However, he has also the ability to convert All-Star players and their teammates into their 10-year-old selves.
It all comes down to the path you choose. Shohei Ohtani reminds us that wonder is an essential aspect of progression. It is important to see ourselves in others and to strive to be better.