COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. — There he was, in the flesh, at the Otesaga Resort Hotel on the eve of his induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame: Ichiro Suzuki himself.
So strong is Ichiro’s aura that even two of the game’s all-time greats — Mike Schmidt and Carlton Fisk — sheepishly debated whether they should approach him and say hello. (Don’t worry, they did, and of course Ichiro knew exactly who they were.)
What does it say about Ichiro that he can leave even his fellow Hall of Famers in awe? And what does it say about his global impact that tons of Mariners fans and Japanese visitors flocked to this tiny, remote village and that Main Street even had a temporary store devoted entirely to Ichiro merchandise?
The National Baseball Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony in Cooperstown on Sunday featured a diverse and talented Class of 2025. But there was no question that the man with whom we are all on a first-name basis was the headliner. One of the greatest leadoff hitters in baseball history batted last in the order of speeches, and this time he made contact by showing his command both of the moment and of the English language.
“Going into the Baseball Hall of Fame was not my goal,” Ichiro said. “I didn’t even know there was one until I visited Cooperstown for the first time in 2001. But being here today is like a fantastic dream.”
In a speech that was equal parts playful and poignant, Ichiro pointed out that there is a difference between a “dream” and a “goal,” reflecting on an essay he wrote as a boy in which he described playing baseball professionally as his “dream.”
“If I could rewrite that essay today with what I know now, I would have used the word goal instead of dream,” Ichiro said. “Dreams are not always realistic, but goals can be possible if you think deeply about how to reach them. Dreaming is fun, but goals are difficult and challenging. It’s not enough to say I want to do something. If you are serious about it, you must think clearly about what is necessary to achieve it.”
This is why Ichiro was so meticulous about his preparation — in the on-deck circle, in the workout room, in the clubhouse where he would clean his cleats and put his bats in special cases and ensure his glove was always free of faults.
“If you consistently do the little things, there is no limit to what you can achieve,” he said. “Look at me, I’m 5’11” and 170 pounds. When I came to America, many people said I was too skinny to compete with bigger Major Leaguers. The first time I ran out on the field, I was in awe of the competition. But I knew if I stuck to my beliefs about preparation, I could overcome the doubts. Even my own.”
Ichiro acknowledged the doubts that pervaded his transition to MLB with the Mariners in 2001.
“But it was more than just that,” he said. “There was criticism and negativity. Someone even said to me, ‘Don’t embarrass the nation.’ The person who supported me the most was my wife, Yumiko.
“It would only be natural if she had doubts too. But she never made me feel them. All of her energy was focused on supporting and encouraging me. For 19 seasons in Seattle, New York and Miami, she made sure that our home was always happy and positive. I tried to be consistent as a player. But she’s the most consistent teammate I’ve ever had.”
Ichiro said that after he retired in 2019, he and his wife had a date night … at a Minor League game.
“We did it the American way by eating hot dogs,” he said. “Of all the experiences baseball has given me, enjoying a hot dog at a game with the person most responsible for helping me reach this moment was the most special.”
Ichiro’s achievements in MLB rewrote what is possible for Japanese players. The just-opened exhibit at the Hall called “Yakyu | Baseball: The Transpacific Exchange of the Game” explores the longstanding exchange of teams and players in the more than 150 years since baseball was introduced to Japan. Ichiro’s role in strengthening that bridge across the Pacific — paving the way for two-way superstar Shohei Ohtani and so many others — cannot be overstated.
And for Ichiro himself, Hideo Nomo’s arrival to the Dodgers in 1995 changed everything.
“Thanks to him, MLB was always in the news in Japan,” Ichiro said. “And MLB games were broadcast on TV. Because of Hideo’s courage, my eyes opened to the idea of challenging myself by going somewhere I never imagined.”
Suzuki enters the Hall as one of the sport’s most transcendent figures. But for many years, he was also one of the sport’s most secretive figures. His Hall speech peeled back the layers, revealing the mindset behind the remarkable consistency and the wicked sense of humor, too.
“As I look over here now and see men like Rod Carew, George Brett and Tony La Russa, I realize I am a rookie again,” he said. “Thank you for welcoming me so warmly into your great team. I hope I can hold the values of the Hall of Fame. But please, I am 51 years old now. So easy on the hazing!”
