Hitting the Mark

Ichiro Suzuki originally composed this essay in 2013, which was adapted for the book Baseball Memories & Dreams: Reflections on the National Pastime from the Baseball Hall of Fame. His thoughts were translated by Brad Lefton, a St. Louis-based, bilingual journalist who covers baseball in America and Japan.

Last November, I visited Cooperstown for the fifth time since coming to play baseball in America in 2001.

Even though it was a cold and drizzly day, my Cooperstown experience is never complete without walking to Doubleday Field and stepping on that sacred soil. I realize it’s now widely accepted that Doubleday Field serves merely as the symbolic birthplace of baseball, but that doesn’t diminish its aura for me. Its symbolism is powerful, and as a baseball player, it’s still the Promised Land.

A visit to Cooperstown has a purifying effect. It inspires introspection and contemplation. Without a place like this, baseball might not have entered my life. And even if it did, it might not have brought me to America. It’s not just me, but all my contemporaries should be thankful for the opportunity Cooperstown has created for them.

Living in this era where money is disproportionately emphasized, there’s a real danger of losing the purity that originally attracted us to baseball. You’d expect our affection to grow as we live out our dreams on the field; instead, we’re pushed to focus on the occupational aspects.

Cooperstown, though, has a way of cleansing your heart, and that’s what makes me want to return over and over.

On my first visit, I got to hold Shoeless Joe Jackson’s legendary bat, Black Betsy (with my hands slipped inside white protective gloves, of course). I was overwhelmed by the high-pitch sound that resonated from that nearly 100-year-old instrument. I was astonished a bat could even produce such a beautiful sound. It was as if it were made of solid gold or silver, not wood.

On my most recent visit, the staff emphasized their Yankees collection by preparing several cherished items from the franchise’s rich history. I held Babe Ruth’s jersey, bringing his woolen pinstripes so close to my face that I felt I could actually smell the Babe. I turned it over and saw something I’ve never seen before, the number ‘3’ on a Yankees uniform. Then, I got to hold the glove he used in the 1926 World Series against the Cardinals.

For me, this is one of the most enchanting aspects of Cooperstown. Feeling the equipment of yesteryear’s legends brings to life a bygone era that, until that moment, I only knew as hearsay. When I can actually grip Joe Jackson’s bat or feel the heaviness of Babe Ruth’s jersey or handle his mitt, I feel a deep and tangible connection that’s indescribable.

When I first started going to Cooperstown, I probably was on a specific mission to learn or feel something. Now I just enjoy going for the pure pleasure of stepping into that sacred place.

I also like the fact that at 225 miles northwest of Manhattan and mostly accessible only by car, there’s an effort required to get there. That effort ultimately makes the journey even more satisfying. If it was right there within reach, there would be no exhilaration in the journey. There’s a beauty in that quality.

It’s like the cherry blossoms in Japan. They bloom for only a week or so a year, so there’s an aura attached to them. Their impressiveness would be diminished if they stayed in bloom for the entire year.

By virtue of its location, Cooperstown has the same aura; just far enough away that you appreciate the trip, yet not too distant to be burdened by it. For me, that’s an important part of its charm and makes visiting there so invigorating.