Dear Ichiro

The Seattle Mariners have asked fans to submit letters to Ichiro Suzuki ahead of his induction to the National Baseball Hall of Fame. These letters can be mailed or submitted online and will be given to Ichiro. This is my submission.

Dear Ichiro,

Seattle sports fandom is a culture. We have our icons. We have our cult followings. We have those things, moments, places, and people that make it uniquely ours.

The Mariners have had no shortage of those things. The M’s are quite possibly the weirdest franchise in sports. Born out of a lawsuit in which the league was sued for operating in bad faith for pushing the debut of the Seattle Pilots up two years to 1969, when their venue, Sicks Stadium, wasn’t ready for the Majors. To the Kingdome kitten. Or the Kingdome itself, with its drab atmosphere and falling tiles. Or the tugboat that used to deliver relievers to the pitcher’s mound. Not to mention “Refuse to Lose” and The Double. All of it has added up to a weird and quirky history that I believe embodies Seattle and the region itself.

We don’t get to see a lot of Japanese baseball here in the States, which is a shame because it’s a fun product. To this day, I’m not entirely sure where the Orix Blue Wave played. But I remember the buzz around you. How the fandom around you in Japan was like that of Elvis or The Beatles here Stateside. I heard you could hit and throw like no other. I had heard that before, having seen Vladimir Guerrero, Andruw Jones, and Barry Bonds. We were infatuated with the long ball back then, having seen the PED era. But yet, we got the cleanest version of that era having been spoiled by the mastery of Ken Griffey Jr. So, I admit I was a little skeptical of how good you were when you came over.

Then, I saw you. I have never seen someone put a bat to a ball like that. Someone who could essentially use a bat like a wand and cast the ball to wherever in the field of play they wanted to. I had never seen someone who would make routine grounders to second anything but routine. To this day, I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone faster. And man, could you field with an arm that was “something out of Star Wars” as Dave Niehaus would say. You barely hit a single home run, though rumor has it you could if you wanted to, but you were the most exciting player in the stadium on a given day.

Most of the games I saw you play in person were at Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City, the closest stadium to where I live. I like getting seats in the upper deck, not only because they’re affordable, but also because I can see everything from up there. I didn’t have to be up close to be in awe of you. The number of times I’d see runners run from second to third and not even attempt trying at home because of the arm in right field was crazy to me. Even my mom, who’s not the most sports savvy, caught on. To her, you were the “man with the really fast ball”. She knew who on the field to watch for.

You were fiercely loyal to Seattle. I’m convinced you may have never left had you not been traded. I know the M’s saw an opportunity to send you to a contender, and I respected that. Did it have to be the Yankees though? I know that’s not your fault. After a few years, you came back. Your final exit felt like one of the more perfect ones I can remember. I thank you for loving us back, for never forgetting us. Just wish you would have gotten that ring.

I admire your attention to detail. You saw the game differently. You made the complex look simple. Put the ball to bat and run hard, every time. You made the bat a part of you. You cared for them intricately. I could only imagine the kind of world we would have if everyone cared about detail the way you did. The game felt like art with you in it.

So, thank you, for everything. For being you always. For being part of our weird and quirky history. For showing us you can take things so seriously while still having fun. For loving us back. Thank you.

– S.L.