Aug 19, 2018: Kyoto
By Saruwatari Tsuyoshi, Kyoto Shimbun News

The vermouth was fragrant and strong, but it couldn’t mask the pain completely. It was a long time ago. An unforgettable time measured in moments and fragile heartbeats. The explosion itself left no strong memories. The wound made up the difference. It didn’t stop the tourists; they came back. The Bodeguita del Medio still stands. The mojitos carry them away on the fragrant Cuban sea breezes. They’ve come to forget their troubles. I left to forget mine.

For years I wandered. The Kyoto Shimbun News provides a refuge where I could pursue my love. Baseball. They played it in Cuba. The Cuban game was rough and savage. The Japanese version was pure, authentic. Perfectly choreographed, raw like a force of nature. It hits you like a big wave. A gentle arcing giant, soft as a flower and with the force of a bull. If you watched closely and were fortunate you could, rarely, see a player of rare ability exhibit this same primal force.

The younger fans don’t understand. The are a lost generation. If they were there in 2008 they would understand. 72 times he displayed that force of spirit. 72 home runs. The sound of those impacts etched in my mind. It’s different, unlike the others. It filled the universe.

Then suddenly it stopped, and I filled the void with vermouth. It could never mask the void but it helped distract the mind. Writing about the game was impossible. It had become a pale and ghastly reflection of my former love. The pain returned in new form.

Now it’s back. Morihiro Nakamura,’Homu Ran,’ is back in Edo. His homeric frame will grace left field on those cool nights under the glare of stadium lights, beneath the starry skies. That big kid smile will shine under the summer sun, as it does when he strides to the plate like a matador. Back in the ‘October Orange’ uniform he made famous.

They say he’s a bit beaten down. They say he’s lost his power; he’s struggling to hit. But his real power isn’t in those arcing strikes he’d send out of the park. The power is in his presence. He fills the stadium. You see it in the younger players when he takes the field. They stop and watch. You can see it in their faces as they watch. “He did it, maybe I can too.” You feel it when his heroics incite the fans and their roar fills your being.

When he was injured last year we wondered if that was the last we’d see of him. The headlines read “Sunset or an Eclipse?” As it turns out that was irrelevant. The sun also rises.