Sunday, September 22, 2013

(Editors note: It was only three weeks ago that 31-year-old infielder Joji Takeuchi was suddenly promoted from the bowels of the LRS to become the starting first baseman for the lowly Ghosts.  And then, just as suddenly, he broke his arm in a game and his Cinderella season was over.  The Niihama Chronicle sat down for a chat with Joji about having this dream handed to him and just as suddenly taken away.)

NC: You were injured on September 12 against Kure after manager Hisashi Fujii switched you to second base, a position you have played only sporadically.  You collided with Kure SS Naoaki Kichida, who was advancing to second.  What happened?

JT: It was a fielder’s choice.  I didn’t cover second quickly enough, slipped and he plowed into my arm.  My fault entirely.

NC: Some fault Kichida for his hard slide; some fault Fujii for putting you at second.

JT: No, no, no.  My fault.  Entirely.  Please move on.

NC: You had quite a sudden promotion from the Single-A Gakidou Onryou on August 25.  Then the team honored you with your own baseball card on September 1.  Now you’re done, out for the season.  It’s unclear where you’ll be in the spring.  Many fans assume you’re bitter.

JT: No.  Not at all.

NC: Not at all?

JT: No, thank you for your concern.  I’m fine.

NC: How can you not be bitter?

JT: Asked and answered.

NC: You’re a man of few words.

JT: Do you have another question?

NC: Joji, you’re 31 years old.  You started out in the PEBA, in the Coal Sox organization, six long years ago, bounced around since then, and most teams had given up on you.  Then suddenly the Ghosts hand you the starting first baseman job and you start tearing the cover off the ball.  How can you not be angry that it ended just as quickly?

JT: Because…

NC: Yes?

JT: Because I got there!  That is enough.  You may find it hard to believe, but it truly is enough.  I saw my name penciled into the lineup.  I put on the uniform.  I got there.  I stood on the stripe during the national anthem and I signed autographs onto my baseball card.  My baseball card.  I took batting practice and I slapped palms when I crossed the plate.  I heard the cheers.  I felt the grass.  I got there.

How many never get there?  Thousands?  Tens of thousands?  Millions?  How many times did you dream of getting there?  And if the Fates conspired against me, shortening my stay, so what of it?  Does it take anything away from my getting there?  It is a beautiful and cruel game, you know.  Both at once.  You can’t have one without the other and I accept that.  Beautiful and cruel.

That Canadian writer, W.P. Kinsella – you’ve heard of him, I’m sure? – he knew this.  He wrote – I tried to memorize it – “Within the baselines anything can happen.  Tides can reverse; oceans can open.  Colors can change, lives can alter, anything is possible in this gentle, flawless, loving game.”

That says it all.  It is a loving game, and flawless, and I am honored to have been part of it.  And if the game chose to give me, as they say, only the smallest cup of coffee, I can still come away having savored it.  When I wake in the morning, I wake in peace.

NC: Very well.  Thank you.

JT: My pleasure.