Baseballhead:
All Your Base Are Belong to Us

Michael Cox

Greetings, fellow Earthlings! Behold the new Baseballhead, where we're really bummed about Vance Degeneres leaving The Daily Show.

I knew last week that when I tipped you off to the subject of this week's column, it could very well cause an opportunistic competitor to rush to press first. Indeed, that was the case, as the folks at Sports Illustrated saw fit to put this week's Baseballhead subject on their cover.

That's what I get for taking my sweet time getting around to the curious case of Ichiro Suzuki -- Japanese legend; American sensation.

The media has gone ga-ga over The Man They Call Ichiro. One local Seattle sports-talk radio station has even taken to nicknaming him "Godzilla," blissfully ignorant of the fact that the nickname (or rather, the Japanese "Gojira") has been previously claimed by Yomiuri Giants slugger Hideki Matsui. Of course, this only goes to show that even Ichiro's presence in America can't convince anyone here to cover Nippon Professional Baseball any better than they covered the XFL.

In fact, the reverse problem has been that in Ichiro's absence, attendance for NPB's Pacific League games has plummeted like Mir. (Ichiro's former club, the Orix Blue Wave, was a PL team. The prestigious, fan-magnet Giants play in the Central League.) For the first time, MLB baseball appears on Japanese television on a daily basis (and in HDTV), and 20 million in that country watched Ichiro face the Red Sox' Hideo Nomo.

But I know what you're asking. "So, is he worth the hype? I heard he's no better than the average major-leaguer -- a Japanese Garrett Anderson."

Geez. Take it easy on poor Garrett, okay?

Assessing Ichiro is a tad more complex than it might have been even a few weeks ago. When he began playing regular-season ball in the American League, he was hitting singles for high average, neither walking nor striking out much, and had shown neither power nor basepath speed. Pure Tony Gwynn, circa 1995.

But what a difference a few weeks make. Strictly numerically, he's brought himself up into the 95th percentile with an .881 OPS, which even ESPN has finally figured out is a great rough measurement of value. (My new slogan: "Peter Gammons -- the Paul Harvey of baseball!")

It gets better. In the more complex Runs Created stat, which takes into account sacrifices and stolen bases, Ichiro is seventh. He's fourth in Total Bases (104), and his 76 hits are not only the most in MLB, but are also on pace to smash the single-season record to little tiny fragments. (To this observation, one sportscaster sarcastically added, "Vanilla Ice was once on pace to win a Grammy Award." Vanilla Ice was never on pace to win a bottle of Mr. Pibb.)

In the field, he appears to be the real deal as well, getting good jumps on fly balls and making "laser"-like throws. His power has increased via doubles and triples, and he didn't start feeling comfortable on the basepaths until late April. He's second in Runs Scored (42), meaning he's doing the leadoff hitter's job in spades.

There are some things Ichiro may never do, mind you. He's not a home run hitter, what with his Pee Wee Herman-like build and almost insane 2.98/1 grounder/fly ball ratio. And you try driving in any runs when Dan Wilson, David Bell and Carlos Guillen bat ahead of you.

But primarily, statheads wring their hands over his inability to work a base on balls. Mind you, a .386 OBP is pretty decent even if he never walks, but let's humor the concept. Just why he doesn't walk may surprise you.

In case you haven't watched Ichiro in action, his eye is one of the best since Ted Williams, possibly better. (The other eye isn't bad, either. Thank you. I'll be here all week.) He not only succeeds in making good contact on a regular basis, he regularly places the ball with a precision reserved for jewelers and cellist Yo-Yo Ma. Leave a gap in the infield and he'll hit the ball there. I've personally called his shots on more than one occasion. It's scary.

And his command of the strike zone is just as incredible, and therein lies the problem: imagine that when a pitcher throws you a strike, you have the ability to not only make contact, but much of the time to also direct that ball to a part of the diamond where it is most likely to be a base hit. Then realize that you have no idea what the pitcher will throw next if you don't swing at this ball. You would naturally swing at that ball, wouldn't you?

Of course you would.

Unfortunately, Ichiro's bionic eye leaves him with two other problems. First, even aiming a ground ball into the biggest hole in the infield will often result in an out, especially against a top middle infielder or Rey Ordonez. Second, percentage-wise, in some situations a hitter may be better off not swinging at a strike if it looks like the pitcher's control is suspect, or if he might get a better pitch later in the at-bat.

So, does Ichiro sacrifice some "purity" for a higher on-base percentage? Does he admit his eye is just too good to allow him to excel without additional power, and start borrowing andro from Dante Bichette?

If it's the power he seeks to add, one thing he might do is turn to teammate and potential Hall-of-Famer Edgar Martinez, who broke into the Mariner farm system as a man in dire need of Joe Weider products and a good meal, then pumped himself up into wall-banging doubledom.

Really, though, the problem so far is theoretical, so give it time. Ichiro is just now adding extra-base hits and steals, and if he's already improved over and above the "just average" nametag they stuck on him in April, who knows where he'll be by September?

Or better still, get four other guys to come over, and when they touch fists they'll turn into a giant robot ballplayer. I understand that's the origin of Mark McGwire...

about the author

Michael Cox has been told he has a scary eye of his own. Explain that it's a completely different definition of the word "scary" at mc@strikethree.com.