swiftest in the major leagues. In fact, he was so quick out of the box that it looked
to most observers as though he was running even before he had hit the ball. Opposing teams radically revised their infield
defenses to cope, moving in only to leave larger holes through which Ichiro punched one-hoppers to the outfield.
This was, it should be pointed out, not exactly the Ichiro that Japanese fans were used to seeing. In the major leagues, Ichiro
had half again as many infield hits as he had ever had in Japan, where he was rather more noted for whipping line drives over
the infielders and for occasional bursts of power. The change was largely due to Piniella, who, when not showering his new
star with affection, was ordering him to eschew the fly ball and chop pitches into the dirt, the better to take advantage
of his blinding speed and force errant throws.
Seattle, a team that had heretofore relied primarily on home run power from its former slugging stars Ken Griffey Jr. and
Alex Rodriguez, was now transformed into a gang of scrappers, scoring runs on infield hits, stolen bases and sacrifice flies,
thanks to the spark plug from the Orient. In fact, the Mariners frequently scored a first-inning run before their cleanup
hitters even had a chance to bat. Their offense was so diabolically effective that by mid-June, they found themselves leading
the American League West by more than 22 games and were on pace to match the all-time single-season win record.
The new guy on the team also turned out to have one of the best throwing arms on the planet. In one frigid night game in Oakland,
he launched a 200-foot missile that nailed Oakland baserunner Terence Long attempting to go from first to third on a single
to right field. Long, who had expected to make the trip easily, was so astonished to be thrown out that he turned, faced right
field and tipped his cap.
“I’m not the fastest guy in the world,” he said later. “But that has to be the best throw I’ve ever seen.” ESPN agreed. “The
Throw,” as it came to be known in Seattle baseball lore, quickly won a spot on the sports channel’s highlight clips.
By the midseason break, the verdict was in. A survey of baseball managers, conducted by
Baseball America,
voted Ichiro the best base-runner in the American League, its second-best hitter and its third-best defensive outfielder.
Catching great Ivan Rodriguez declared flatly, “Ichiro is the best player in the game.”
In the voting for the All-Star Game, held fortuitously enough in Seattle, Ichiro garnered 3,373,000 votes—an all-time record,
as was the 800,000-vote margin he boasted over his nearest rival. Although he had benefited from newly instituted Internet
polling as well as convenience store voting in Japan, where zealous fans were notoriously un-shy about voting multiple times,
he had also dominated the hard ballots filled out at stadiums across North America.
Piniella, sitting atop the baseball world, couldn’t believe his good fortune. “This guy Suzuki, he hits, bunts and steals,”
he said. “He scores before you know it. He sets the tone for the team. He’s phenomenal… . I’ll bet if you ask the managers
today what they really want, it’s a leadoff man like him. And of course Ichiro is the best in the game.” Said Mariners veteran
first baseman John Olerud to a Japanese reporter, “He’s without question the driving force on this team. He’s the one who
makes it go.”
The effect that Ichiro’s presence had on the city of Seattle and the entire Northwest was electric. Attendance at Mariners
games surged, on its way to a new single-season record. Ichiro posters, T-shirts and jerseys flew off the shelves. Autographed
Ichiro baseballs went for $500. An Ichiro bobblehead doll, a Mariners promotional giveaway in July, caused a 30 percent jump
in ticket sales. One man drove all the way from Boise, Idaho, just to get one of them, purportedly for
to most observers as though he was running even before he had hit the ball. Opposing teams radically revised their infield
defenses to cope, moving in only to leave larger holes through which Ichiro punched one-hoppers to the outfield.
This was, it should be pointed out, not exactly the Ichiro that Japanese fans were used to seeing. In the major leagues, Ichiro
had half again as many infield hits as he had ever had in Japan, where he was rather more noted for whipping line drives over
the infielders and for occasional bursts of power. The change was largely due to Piniella, who, when not showering his new
star with affection, was ordering him to eschew the fly ball and chop pitches into the dirt, the better to take advantage
of his blinding speed and force errant throws.
Seattle, a team that had heretofore relied primarily on home run power from its former slugging stars Ken Griffey Jr. and
Alex Rodriguez, was now transformed into a gang of scrappers, scoring runs on infield hits, stolen bases and sacrifice flies,
thanks to the spark plug from the Orient. In fact, the Mariners frequently scored a first-inning run before their cleanup
hitters even had a chance to bat. Their offense was so diabolically effective that by mid-June, they found themselves leading
the American League West by more than 22 games and were on pace to match the all-time single-season win record.
The new guy on the team also turned out to have one of the best throwing arms on the planet. In one frigid night game in Oakland,
he launched a 200-foot missile that nailed Oakland baserunner Terence Long attempting to go from first to third on a single
to right field. Long, who had expected to make the trip easily, was so astonished to be thrown out that he turned, faced right
field and tipped his cap.
“I’m not the fastest guy in the world,” he said later. “But that has to be the best throw I’ve ever seen.” ESPN agreed. “The
Throw,” as it came to be known in Seattle baseball lore, quickly won a spot on the sports channel’s highlight clips.
By the midseason break, the verdict was in. A survey of baseball managers, conducted by
Baseball America,
voted Ichiro the best base-runner in the American League, its second-best hitter and its third-best defensive outfielder.
Catching great Ivan Rodriguez declared flatly, “Ichiro is the best player in the game.”
In the voting for the All-Star Game, held fortuitously enough in Seattle, Ichiro garnered 3,373,000 votes—an all-time record,
as was the 800,000-vote margin he boasted over his nearest rival. Although he had benefited from newly instituted Internet
polling as well as convenience store voting in Japan, where zealous fans were notoriously un-shy about voting multiple times,
he had also dominated the hard ballots filled out at stadiums across North America.
Piniella, sitting atop the baseball world, couldn’t believe his good fortune. “This guy Suzuki, he hits, bunts and steals,”
he said. “He scores before you know it. He sets the tone for the team. He’s phenomenal… . I’ll bet if you ask the managers
today what they really want, it’s a leadoff man like him. And of course Ichiro is the best in the game.” Said Mariners veteran
first baseman John Olerud to a Japanese reporter, “He’s without question the driving force on this team. He’s the one who
makes it go.”
The effect that Ichiro’s presence had on the city of Seattle and the entire Northwest was electric. Attendance at Mariners
games surged, on its way to a new single-season record. Ichiro posters, T-shirts and jerseys flew off the shelves. Autographed
Ichiro baseballs went for $500. An Ichiro bobblehead doll, a Mariners promotional giveaway in July, caused a 30 percent jump
in ticket sales. One man drove all the way from Boise, Idaho, just to get one of them, purportedly for
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