WASHINGTON — Like a lot of kids growing up, I was a baseball fan first and a fan of my own team — the Oakland A’s — second. It took me a while to develop the die-hard allegiance to my one hometown team, but as a child, I was in awe and wonder of every great player in the way that you only really can be before the world of rivalries and regionalism consume your sports fandom.
That’s why, even as I grew up 20 minutes north of Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum, there was only one poster of a baseball player on my bedroom wall, the one that instilled the most joy and wonder for a 6 year old just starting Little League: Ken Griffey Jr. I rooted for the division-rival Mariners against the Yankees in the 1995 ALDS (I mean, it was still the Yankees), leaping for joy as Griffey slid in ahead of the tag, his face the epitome of ecstasy at the bottom of the dog pile at home plate.
If I had been 10 or 15 years younger, that player might have been Ichiro for me. He captured hearts and imaginations in a different way, but with his own flair. The high socks, instead of the backward hat. The behind-the-back catches on batting practice fly balls.
As much as his smile, people remember Griffey’s swing. The majestic arc, tracing its way skyward like no other, one that looked built to hit home runs and surprised when it didn’t.
Ichiro’s swing is perhaps less aesthetically pleasing, but just as ruthless in its own right. It wasn’t supposed to work in the States, was supposed to be a gimmick that only succeeded in Japan. Falling out of the batter’s box up the first base line before even making contact, some thought it would quickly be deciphered and beaten.
Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Despite starting his major league career eight years later than Griffey, at age 27, Ichiro has amassed more than 200 more hits, sitting on the brink of 3,000. And while Pete Rose may scoff at Ichiro’s combined hit total from his time in Japan and the majors surpassing Rose’s mark of 4,256, what he’s accomplished since his arrival at age 27 is arguably more impressive.
Ichiro ranks second only to Miguel Cabrera in active batting average leaders (min. 3000 plate appearances), better than Mike Trout, Robinson Cano, Buster Posey and Joey Votto. He’s amassed a higher WAR than Hall of Famers Kirby Puckett (50.9), Orlando Cepeda (50.3) or Lou Brock (45.2). And his 10 Gold Gloves are a testament to his excellent defense and cannon of an arm, boasts Rose could never make.
But Ichiro is mostly known for two things — his hitting and his speed. And in those regards, he stands as one of the best ever. With four more hits, he will be the sixth member to join the exclusive club of those with 3,000 career hits and 500 stolen bases. Only five players comprise that club: Lou Brock, Ty Cobb, Eddie Collins, Rickey Henderson and Paul Molitor. Of those five, only Brock (19) played fewer than 21 MLB seasons. Ichiro is in just his 16th season in the majors.
It’s a testament to his work ethic that today, at age 42, reduced to a backup role on a Miami Marlins team with three good, young outfielders, he is batting .337. He is walking more than he strikes out, reaching base at a .413 clip.
He’s the second-oldest player in the majors, and the oldest position player. But he still has designs on playing several more years, as long as he can remain productive. And that’s where he differs from Griffey, who seemed on track to become perhaps the greatest player of all time before injuries curbed his production. He played 10 years after turning 30 in 2000, but hit 30 home runs just twice and batted .300 just once.
Ichiro led the league in hits five straight years from age 32-36. We’ll never know what numbers he may have posted had he been in the majors his entire career. But it doesn’t matter what he didn’t do — what he has accomplished already sets him apart as one of the great players.
In a season of Griffey’s Hall of Fame induction and David Ortiz’s season-long farewell tour, make some room to appreciate Ichiro, one of the quietest stars we ever had the privilege to watch. He’ll have his own day in Cooperstown, likely exactly five years after he hangs them up. Until he does, enjoy the show.
