Ma-kun & the Numbers

Across the Pacific, a phenomenal pitching talent put together a jaw dropping historic run. For thirty consecutive decisions, it was automatic. Masahiro Tanaka was inked on the lineup card, took the hill, and delivered a win.

Around Nippon Professional Baseball, fans of opposing clubs both dreaded and looked forward to his starts. Although it meant a likely loss, as the game unfolded, it became easier and easier to root for Ma-kun. A natural reaction to baseball excellence seemed like betrayal in the moment, but it could not be helped.

When the last out of the 2013 regular season was recorded, the Tohoku Rakuten Golden Eagles were atop the Pacific League. Masahiro Tanaka had a 24-0 record with 8 complete games and a save tossed in at the end for good measure.

Major League scouts saw a lot to like during the campaign. What began as idle speculation in 2012 had developed into a story during the World Baseball Classic. As the calendar flew through summer, there was solid interest from teams in the United States. By the end, speculation about the eventual stateside destination of Tanaka had reached a rolling boil.

Even though a new posting agreement between NPB and MLB had not been finalized, nor had the Rakuten Eagles made a definite statement that Tanaka would be posted, it quickly became a foregone conclusion that he would play in North America. Lists of free agents were assembled and Tanaka was discussed without many caveats.

While the Climax Series unfolded, the tangled complications that have held up negotiations between leagues were all but forgotten. The current contract Tanaka has with the Eagles wasn't even a footnote for a lot of fans in their haste to imagine him delivering baseballs for their hometown nine. 

By the time a Japan Series crown was won in Miyagi Stadium, followers of clubs mentioned in rumors were largely convinced he was already on his way. Even MLB treated his posting and availability like a done deal. It may be why you are reading this very moment.

Full stop.

There are some things Major League Baseball fans ought to know.

All over Japan, and especially in the Tohoku region, the amazing run of Tanaka and the Eagles has meant a whole lot more than just the satisfaction of a first Pacific League crown and Nippon Series championship. It still does.

Skipper Senichi Hoshino knew how important the team was to millions of people at such a difficult time in history. He expressed those thoughts after the Rakuten Eagles triumphed with an exciting game seven shutout of the defending champion Yomiuri Giants:

"When I became manager there was the Tohoku Earthquake and when I saw all the survivors and hardships they were experiencing, I wanted to provide some comfort by winning a Nippon Series.  I felt that was the only thing I could do, and for three years I fought with that in my mind.  There are still many people still struggling.  I hope this can provide some of those people with comfort, if even to the smallest degree."

On October 10, 2013 new figures from Tasukeai Japan showed the current number of displaced people standing at 282,111. In American terms, that means roughly the population of Toledo, Ohio are still living in temporary accommodations. Toledo has a baseball team.

On that same day last month, the National Police Agency of Japan released an updated list of victims. If those who perished, are still missing, were injured, and children who lost one or both parents in the disaster are included, the sad total climbs to 308,375. That is a few thousand more than the number of people who live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Pittsburgh has a baseball team.

At the peak of evacuations, an estimated 475,000 people were without homes in the wake of the earthquake, tsunami and radiation. Or, approximately the same number of folks with a place to call their own in Sacramento, California. Sacramento has a baseball team.

Take a quick glance at this list of a dozen cities that hosted a Major League Baseball team in 2013. 8 of these clubs had a playoff chance with a 162 game schedule in the books. A pair met in game number 163. The remaining 7 teams were part of an exciting postseason.

• Kansas City, Missouri
• Atlanta, Georgia
• Miami, Florida
• Oakland, California
• Minneapolis, Minnesota
• Cleveland, Ohio
• Arlington, Texas
• Anaheim, California
• St. Louis, Missouri
• Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
• Cincinnati, Ohio
• St. Petersburg, Florida

Now, read it again with the knowledge that the list is made up of cities with populations that are progressively smaller than the reported number of people whose lives were directly impacted in almost incomprehensible ways on March 11, 2011.

Beyond the documented suffering, there are untold thousands more who lost loved ones, friends, neighbors, classmates, colleagues, home towns, earthly possessions and their livelihoods. For those who survived that fateful day, and those who continue to live in fear of what is happening down the coast in Fukushima, the Rakuten Eagles have been a steady source of both pride and comfort.

Jim Allen covered the Eagles return to Miyagi Stadium on April 29, 2011. Masahiro Tanaka threw a complete game and won an emotional homecoming. On Japan Baseball Weekly, Jim spoke with colleague John E. Gibson about a baseball game being anti-climactic after spending time with local survivors. He distilled the moments into The Hot Corner column published on May 5, 2011. After sharing the thoughts and stories of strong willed people who were carrying on in spite of it all, he wrote:

"Baseball people are fond of saying their season is not a sprint but a marathon. Yet, when the Eagles' marathon ends, so many of those struggling to rebuild lives will still be closer to the start than the finish. A ball club can only help so much, provide a rallying point, a beacon in dark times. But there are times when people need all the help they can get."

When it comes to Masahiro Tanaka, one should not consider the individual numbers without taking the numbers of individuals into account. Along with Hisashi Iwakuma and other Eagles teammates over the last three seasons, his performance on the field had an impact that can't be measured in baseball terms, but can be seen on the faces of thousands of children at the ballpark.

Marty Kuehnert is Senior Advisor to the Eagles and has been involved with the team since their inception. A few days ago, Marty was interviewed by John E. Gibson for the latest Japan Baseball Weekly. They discussed the bonds that developed between the ballclub and the people of the Tohoku region in the wake of catastrophe. The entire podcast is essential listening. Here are a few things he shared:

"Our players spent a lot of time visiting evacuation centers and giving out food and needed supplies.... We've continued to do things with people from the most affected areas... We're the Tohoku Rakuten Golden Eagles, not the Miyagi or Sendai... the adjoining prefectures have pretty much adopted the ballclub and we've adopted them."

This past week, the Japan Times ran a piece by Kaz Nagatsuka (with an assist from Jason Coskrey) that gives great insight into the relationship between the Eagles and their fans. Go read it if you haven't yet. The following quote from a former MLB arm was included in the article.

When Sendai native Takashi Saito started his NPB career in 1992, there was no team in the area. He played down in Yokohama and stayed with the BayStars through 2005. He spent seven campaigns stateside with the Dodgers, Red Sox, Braves, Brewers and Diamondbacks, before coming home this year to pitch for the Eagles. After the final victory for Tohoku, Saito spoke to NHK:

"Those people suffering have been praised for their persistence from all over the world, not just from inside Japan, even before we became the Japan Series champions. Maybe we could say this is their second championship. Without them, we couldn’t have become the champions."

Without comparing the relative impacts of intensely tragic events, fans in North America should be able to understand the range of powerful emotions that still linger in the raw fall wind that blows through Miyagi Baseball Stadium in Sendai.

After a horrific attack on marathon competitors and fans in the streets not far from Fenway Park, "Boston Strong" became a rallying cry the Red Sox carried through a World Series championship.

Trophies were held high when saves from Koji Uehara and Masahiro Tanaka ended the final games. Smiles spread across millions of faces. Baseball had bound communities together. It left a trace of magic in the air where there once was choking dread and sorrow.

In November, the Tohoku Rakuten Golden Eagles will be competing in the Asia Series from the 15th to 20th. Fan Appreciation Day is scheduled for the 23rd. A victory parade will be held on the 24th. It would be nice for millions of fans all over Japan to be able to savor those days before MLB teams swooped in on their ace.

If circumstances dictate that Ma-kun stays on the Eagles roster and defends the NPB championship in 2014, folks on this side of the pond will just have to hold their horses. After all, if he were one of your hometown heroes, that is exactly the outcome you would fervently wish for, right?

Perhaps the breathless faithful in the United States will channel some of that eagerness into a list of nice things to do for the many people still suffering in Japan who found beauty and a bit of solace watching Masahiro Tanaka win ballgames.

For now at least, everyone in baseball should let the Eagles and their fans enjoy this moment at the top. It was earned in ways that can't be fully explained with numbers, or words for that matter.

[Updated 11/11 to include thoughts of Marty Kuehnert in JBW interview. Gratitude to Gen Sueyoshi, Jim Allen, John E. Gibson, Kaz Nagatsuka and Jason Coskrey.]

Flying Past Fenway

Freeways in Boston could be beautiful at night. My brother and I discovered the lights of Fenway from the friendly confines of our car seats. The world outside the Volkswagen wasn't always easy to understand, but it was well worth the effort. Dad being Dad, we drove past the park pretty often during ballgames. I remember the surreal way that the Citgo sign raced toward us like an eager young lighthouse keeper with a lantern running out to meet a vessel. It stood perfectly still as we sped past, then became smaller and smaller in the back window until it was lost. The aura of the stadium lights lasted a few seconds longer before being swallowed up in the sea of headlights behind us.

Early memories of Fenway include another landmark too. It's still difficult to describe the catharsis that came with deciphering the fourteen letters that stood proud and tall on a nearby rooftop. In the realm of childhood achievements, piecing together "BUCK PRINTING CO" was an immeasurable triumph. After the meaning of glass doors with "TIXE YCNEGREME" had eluded me for a few frustrating weeks, I finally had to ask someone what the words said. As a developing young reader, solving this latest riddle on my own felt like a personal breakthrough of mammoth proportions.

Seeing the game played professionally for the first time was an eye-opening experience too. Crowded into a living room of restless relatives, a few cousins and I shared a small island of rag rug in front of the television. As the game progressed, adults that I'd known my entire life were expressing levels of emotion that weren't often seen outside of a four alarm crisis. There was whooping, hollering, begging, imploring, arguing and passion that seemed to get more intense throughout the course of the game. The vibe in the air was a little scary. It wasn't the result of demon possession, or palatable potions in translucent Tupperware. It was the agony and ecstasy of baseball.

The Yankees were playing somebody pretty damn good. Since green jerseys are etched in memory, I'm guessing it must have been the A's. The camera angles made me flinch for the first frame or two until my Grandpa asked why I was twitching with every pitch. Everyone had a good laugh when I explained that the mound was dangerously close to the batter and the catcher was bound to get his brains bashed in. The sport was just an abstract at that point. My experience was an ever-growing number of days playing catch, a collection of scattered concepts gleaned from conversations, and of course, those wonderful drives back home hearing an impassioned Ned Martin and his partners on the radio. Most of the time, it seemed like they were speaking in a foreign language.

It was no different for me in front of the television except that it was my relatives carrying on about the game and the discussions were framed with familiar gestures and rising tones. The true value of my new found silence became apparent as the game wound down to the final outs. As the room quickly hushed, everyone was staring at the screen with both the ashen certainty of a doomed submarine crew and the optimistic intensity of a bomb squad. After a few anguished moments, it was all over. My Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Skip and the other men headed out to the backyard to discuss the outcome. I tagged along to see what might be learned from the debriefing. In order to communicate with my elders during ballgames in the future, I would figure out how to understand grunts. I also learned that baseball at my Grandparents' house in upstate New York usually involved the Yankees playing somebody pretty damn good.

In the fall of 1975, my family moved from Boston, Massachusetts to Portland, Oregon. Thanks to the merciful winds of fate, I wasn't raised in the heart of Red Sox Nation with relatives that followed the rival New York Yankees. Weeks after we headed west, Boston lost an epic seven game battle with the Big Red Machine. After settling into our new hometown, my brother and I discovered the lights of Civic Stadium. Dad still went out of his way to drive us past the historic ballpark, but we were often heading to a secret parking space in Goose Hollow. Membership in the Knothole Club was affordable, so we nursed our critical cases of Beaver Fever with season tickets in the bleachers.

Our home at the park was the sovereign territory of wise old timers weighed down with patches and pins, unrepentant loudmouths with swimming pool sized beers, little kids with doting thoughtful parents, and the occasional drunk who lunged for a home run ball before succumbing to gravity. I would learn a whole lot about live baseball in a rising cloud of cigar smoke overhearing blasts of commentary that were often every bit as blue. One night a game-ending call at the plate was so bad that everyone in attendance chanted a euphemism for cattle feces at the top of their lungs for ten straight minutes. It was a positively glorious thing to behold. It would happen again with equal vigor a couple years later at a contest with the Dukes. That night Lucky was ejected for swapping out the visitors city on the scoreboard with a replacement that read, "Albuturkey."

Baseball might have been on television once in a long while, but it was on the radio every day. The pair of transistor sets we got for Christmas were keys to another universe. In the magical spring and summer of 1977, Trailblazers basketball was the biggest story in town. As fantastic as the run was that year, Bill Schonely could only call 'em one at a time and they didn't pound the hardwood every night. Coincidentally, The Schonz was the play by play voice of the Seattle Pilots in 1969. He came to Rip City in 1970 to start over with another expansion franchise. The debut of the Seattle Mariners made that spring and summer just that much more amazing and succinct. Even though it would be a long time before the excitement of that glorious year was matched, both Dave Niehaus and Bill Schonely would be radio mentors to young sports fans all over the Northwest for generations.

Following the Beavers on the road became part of our routine in the summertime. From the debut of the Mariners in 1977, I was enchanted by the sounds of the Kingdome too. In time, Dave Niehaus grew into a surrogate Grandpa. It didn't take long to discover outlets in San Francisco, Oakland, Los Angeles and San Diego. Vin Scully, Lon Simmons and others became great-uncles. Minor league affiliates in places like Vancouver, Calgary, Tacoma, Salem, Boise and Eugene could be heard sometimes too. Between live play by play and midnight baseball rebroadcasts, games could potentially be enjoyed from the moment I got home from school into the wee small hours of the morning.

Once school was out for the summer, my brother and I would go outside and play marathon games of Wiffle Ball. On a good day, there would be an afternoon game to keep us company and an evening matchup to make sure we were exhausted. Sometimes we would try to re-enact the game as it happened. Other times we would try to play and keep an ear on the broadcast. These attempts to multitask would often result in a resounding thwack on the siding of the neighbor's house. As right handed batters, one lapse in concentration led us to naturally hit toward left field. We may have left Boston, but we kept the monster. Our monster was grouchy.

After the sun went down, it was time for dinner and more baseball. Long nights after full days became a routine ritual during the summer. Even after coming home from a double-header downtown. Looking back it seems like a great many childhood things led me from Yawkey Way to Puro Yakyu. The late night drives, the slow frustrating process of learning a new language, the hometown heroes playing in historic parks, the rhythmic chanting in the bleachers, and the transistor radio hidden in my pillow. Portland Beavers road games against the Hawai'i Islanders prepared me for the start times of NPB day games. Midnight baseball rebroadcasts of contests that went late would usually get started right around the same time as night contests do in Japan. Insomnia is no curse. It is a blessing. Four decades later, baseball remains a puzzle to be put together one brief glimpse at a time. It isn't always easy to see them play across the ocean in the wee hours, but well worth the effort. The game can be beautiful. Especially at night. Baseball is a gift from Japan to an owl on the internet.