Shohei Ohtani has a great season at the plate and on the mound. Here are some of his top 2021 highlights. (1:30)
Shohei Ohtani is an amazing artist.
My MLB career was a part of the steroid era in MLB. Its noxious cloud continues to make us question the motives of today's players, and tempts any performer to think about modern shortcuts to gain an advantage.
The greatest harm it did was in reducing our ability to be amazed -- players and fans alike.
As a Little Leaguer, I would watch the batting practice at big league games whenever we arrived early enough. Growing up in New Jersey I would go to Shea Stadium and Yankee Stadium. I was fascinated by the trajectories and the four second wait for the ball. The brilliance of the players on the field made baseballs look like planetesimals. Their orbit would take them to where? It seemed that anything was possible.
Through the required course in baseball ballistics, I was able to judge fly balls. To be able to communicate intelligently in inevitable debates, I had to be able to tell if a fielder could or should catch it. It was also possible to hold my breath when I sensed it might cross the fence. This is the ultimate crescendo in baseball's sheet music.
I was one of those players and I have never lost the ability to be amazed by amazing moments. It didn't necessarily have to come from the man with the fastest fastball or the greatest prodigious power. It could come from anyone. It was impossible to will it, it was impossible to conjure it and, even if you did, it was not possible to predict how it would be received. Although I had 200 hits in 1999, it was impossible to imagine that my 200th would be on a home run against the team I had been traded.
As I watched Vladimir Guerrero Sr.'s batting practice to see how far and hard he could hit a baseball, or Billy Wagner throwing fireballs out of his fire-hydrant frame for a test drive, I was moved when Eddie Oropesa finally reunited with his family after he fled Cuba.
The game is often called "The Show" and the power-precision displayed by Curt Schilling, Scott Rolen's home run trot and Jimmy Rollins sixth sense at the bases were all daily highlights that both my teammates and I enjoyed. It was always there, but you didn't know when. It was just like watching the ingredients move around in the bowl until they came together and the light started to shine.
I played against the best, I played with them. There are players that make you want to replay the match again, and then there is the player who makes you admire the stars. Ohtani is one of those stars, far away for his extraordinary talent, but close to us for the brilliance that he displays on the field, reinvigorating the game. He is a magician at every moment.
To give you some context, I can tell you some mechanical facts about Ohtani. I don't recall any hitter ever being able take a pitch that was too hard and still hit it for the home run to the opposing field. He transforms an emergency swing that was meant to be used for protection and caution into a weapon, and reduces top-notch pitchers down to dust. He can also defeat top-notch hitters using his arm. His scintillating splitters are capable of teleporting rocket fastballs up to 100 mph. This combination makes him the only one in the sky. It is a rare comet, and it will reduce us all to Rosetta space probes trying landing on its surface.
He refuses to be left alone and seeks to bring the game along, challenging us all to see how it can be followed.
Masanori Murakami was the first Japanese player to ever play in the major leagues, for the San Francisco Giants, many years ago. In the midst of social revolution in America, he came to America in mid-'60s. He was a teammate with Gaylord Perry, Willie Mays and Orlando Cepeda. I asked him about the player from Japan that he was most excited for at the time. He did not hesitate to answer.
"Shohei Ohtani."
At the time, a teenager.
I was amazed at Ohtani's power and arm. But it takes more to be a change agent. Although talent can be bought and even shot into your arm with ease, Ohtani was a true genius. He defied all labels and lived in the unknown between the mound and the batter's box. It was a wonder if Ohtani could pitch by himself.
In all my years of sports, I've seen teams rally behind their teammates when they lost their sister in Dominican Republic. This was also the power of unity when we traveled after 9/11 when players from all around the globe supported one another.
It was a reminder of how someone can hold your hand, understand you and change your heart without saying a word. The game is largely nonverbal. A hand on your shoulder, a pat of the back, and the look in your eyes.
Baseball is a game where there is little to no communication until the timer has finished its job. In the present moment, we sign, gasp and signal. What pitch is coming? Who should I play when the hitter has two strikes?
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We all learn to speak the same universal language. Many expectations are unwritten and include a range regarding respect, honor, retaliation, celebration. It changes without the need to write a single sentence, and is edited by tradition, time and tradition. It urges us to not get too attached to deciding who is the editor.
It is the most hopeful game when it acknowledges that its art transcends the limitations of our own constructs. That our uniform, our city and our team have enough strong bonds to keep ego at bay, even when larger societies might remind us of our social batting order. An order that doesn't win baseballgames.
I've seen balls hit miles that were beyond what I had expected. My suspension of disbelief didn't stay suspended once I realized the extent to which performance enhancement was a problem in the game. It was like discovering the secret to a magic trick. We all want to be able to wear our Little League uniforms forever and have the joy of blind faith. While magic is important for major leaguers as well, integrity is even more important.
Ohtani has restored that sense of wonder -- a chance for me to feel awed again -- pulling at the childhood memories of both season-ticket holders and perennial All-Stars. I am taken back to the 9-year-old me who hit my first over-the fence home run in Little League. Mike Wilkins, a tall, blonde-haired Goliath about 10 feet high, was my friend. I was in a fog running around the bases, amazed by the amount of power I had, and then feeling the unfathomable. Ohtani gives you the chance to be amazed by how much an opponent or teammate can do for you. It allows us to redraw our imaginations. He reminds us how important it is for us to be open to the world around us.
Ohtani has helped me to recover what I lost from the steroid era. He has also restored my ability recognize what is truly great. It was unfortunate to discover that my magicians cared more about themselves than they did about how you get there. Or, my mom would say, "They want it all without going."
It is fitting that Ohtani, the Little League World Series' home field manager, will be on the Williamsport field this week. Ohtani can make it appear like he's hitting at a major league park, even though it's only 225 feet away from all the walls. He also has the ability turn All-Star teammates and opponents 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 progress. To see ourselves in others and to strive to be better.
