The Meaning of Ichiro (39 page)

In fact, after Hori made Player of the Month, Eto singled him out for a special pregame “Hell Week,” making him field 150
balls a day to preclude the possibility of his developing a big head, before Valentine discovered what was going on and put
a stop to it. (He was convinced they were punishing Hori for his success.)

After the first couple of months, Valentine had eased off his safety bunt strategy somewhat because it had become clear to
him there were only two players on the team adept at executing the play. He gave both men the option of attempting to bunt
for a hit or sacrificing depending on how they felt at the time. Here again, however, Hir
ka’s supporters gave credit for the change in policy to Ejiri, who had been instructed by the GM’s disdain for that recondite
tactic. In behind-the-scenes maneuvering, Ejiri had apprised the players of the possibility of their being swept under the
Lotte
tatami
if they did not follow his instructions. Ejiri had also reportedly used similar tactics to rein in Valentine’s so-called
“green light” strategy.

Ejiri had been put on the team to serve as a buffer to ease the tension between Valentine and the other coaches, and, truth
be told, Valentine genuinely liked the easy-going Hir
ka ally. But it wasn’t long before animosity developed between these two men as well. In addition to the usual objections
to Valentine’s strategy, Ejiri began protesting his manager’s practice of making out the starting lineup without consulting
him and the other coaches.

“We have input to give too,” he said.

The rift became visible one time after Ejiri had gone into the manager’s office to discuss strategy for the game that day.
He sat down in a chair across from Valentine and the laid-back American, as was his habit, had leaned back and put his feet
up on his desk, resting them next to his bank of phones and his Compaq computer, obscuring Ejiri’s line of vision in the process.
Ejiri found himself talking to the soles of Valentine’s feet, and it offended his sense of decorum.

The next day, when he went in for the pregame discussion, he stood while he spoke.

“Suwatte
[Sit down],” Valentine had said, clumsily, in Japanese.

“No thanks. I came to talk to your face, not your feet.”

Valentine later wondered if his failure to use the polite form
suwatte kudasai
(please sit down) had somehow offended Ejiri’s finer sensibilities.

Then there was the time Ejiri lost his temper during a pregame meeting in August, when he noticed Pete Incaviglia listening
to a Walkman, talking and laughing with Valentine in the back of the room.

After the meeting, he cornered Valentine privately and launched into an angry diatribe:

“I respect Major League Baseball,” he said, “I respect major league managers. In a major league meeting, when a coach is talking
and trying to help the team win, does the manager talk and laugh like that? Is that the major league way? If that is the major
league way, I don’t want any part of it.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” said Valentine, “I was just trying to explain to Incaviglia that he should listen to what you were
saying.”

“There wasn’t anything funny about my remarks,” Ejiri retorted.

“I felt bad about those incidents,” said Valentine later. “I always sit with my feet up on the desk. And, in the latter case,
I was trying to get Incaviglia to pay attention. I apologized to him afterward on both occasions. I wish they hadn’t happened.”

Amidst this imbroglio and the sauna bath heat of the Japanese summer, the Marines somehow kept on winning. In the month of
August, they were downright torrid, winning 13 games, losing five and tying one. By August 29, they had moved into second
place ahead of the Seibu Lions, a dozen games behind Orix, an impressive young team led by Ichiro Suzuki. Valentine was being
lionized in the media for his rational use of pitchers and other game-winning strategies, like the delayed steal.

Up in Hir
ka’s stadium office, in postgame meetings that did not include Valentine, the GM was giving credit to his coaching staff,
who apparently continued to insist that the team was winning in spite of Bobby-ball, not because of it. There has been speculation
that the decision to give Valentine his walking papers had already been taken.

“I brought Valentine over,” Hir
ka was later reported as saying, “and I’m not going to shame him. I’ll take care of things when the season is over.”

In September, tensions between the two factions erupted yet again in a memorable, and for Valentine at least, highly embarrassing
incident.

After a victorious game against the Lions on September 10, Valentine had canceled a full-squad workout that had been scheduled
for the following day, an off-day, ordering instead a special “pick-up” session for selected players whom he felt needed the
work. His Japanese coaches were, once again, incredulous.

“How could he do that?” asked Ejiri. “Sure, we beat the Lions, but we also made three errors.”

The Marines could not afford any more losses down the stretch. The team had six straight games starting on the 12th, three
with the Daiei Hawks and then three with the first-place BlueWave, whose magic number for clinching the pennant stood at five,
with 14 games left. It was imperative, the coaches believed, that
everyone
on the Marines practice—to be as perfect as possible the rest of the way. They regarded it as a point of honor, to hang on
as long as possible even if mathematical elimination seemed inevitable.

Ejiri confronted Valentine and demanded a workout for the full squad. The American bristled. “The temperature is still in
the 90s,” he said. “It is incredibly muggy. Our players are tired. That’s why they are making errors. What they need, in my
opinion, is a breather.”

Ejiri persisted. Valentine simply had to call a practice.

“If we have a full team workout tomorrow,” Valentine replied, “can you guarantee me that we will have the same winning percentage
the rest of the way? And will you put it in writing? Because if you’re wrong about this, then I’ll fire you.”

Now it was Ejiri’s turn to lose his cool.

“You’re not in charge of personnel on this team,” he cried. “We came here under a contract with Lotte to help strengthen this
club. You don’t have the authority to fire us.”

The argument went on for about 40 minutes.

“I couldn’t understand it,” said Valentine later, “how those guys could talk the way they did to me.
I
was supposed to be the manager. The tail was wagging the dog.”

Finally, the meeting ended, Valentine issuing what he thought was the last word. He was still running things and as far as
he was concerned the full squad was not going to practice.

Ejiri headed for Hir
ka’s office.

At one o’clock the next day, Valentine appeared at the ballpark in summer shorts for his daily jog and started towards the
outfield. Much to his surprise, he saw the entire squad assembled in uniform with general manager Hir
ka addressing them.

“You’re looking sloppy,” Hir
ka was telling them. “You’re only about 70 percent of your best. In order to win more the rest of this year and challenge
for the pennant next year, you have got to practice harder. You’ve got to gain that extra 30 percent.”

And thus began an intense sweat-soaked four-hour workout. It was an awkward situation, but one that Valentine—other than to
submit his resignation—had no choice but to accept and pretend not to notice as he went through his run and other ablutions.