Ichiro and the Hall of Fame, where he belongs
For Ichiro, it’s always been Cooperstown. And this summer, Cooperstown will be his.
When Ichiro arrives in Cooperstown for the first time as a Hall of Famer, there may still be snow on the ground. Many storefronts will be closed for the season, and Main Street will be scattered with snowman-bedecked “Winter Wonderful” signs, which mean nothing until you blink one late spring day and see they’ve been replaced with two hour paid parking signs. He’ll skip the wide, main entrance to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum and walk up three narrow stone steps to the administrative entrance, stepping inside and wiping his shoes on the carpeted logo in the entry before climbing two marble steps to the executive offices.
He’ll push open the sleek gold handles of the glass double doors and be greeted by some of (inside) baseball’s finest - many of whom have anticipated this visit for decades. At some point, Ichiro, an MLB Network video crew, and whomever else he may have brought with him, will gather together on the first floor of the Museum, just past the ticket booths and within sight of Buck O’Neil’s watchful eye. It will be early in the opening hours and the quiet sanctity of that place, that moment, will settle around the group like a down comforter. Then, the tour begins.
Ichiro will walk in front, alongside one of the curators (there are a number of them at the Hall and, obviously, they are the best) who has been tasked/chosen/blessed with creating a tour for a man who is, perhaps, more intimately familiar with the Museum than any other previously-unaffiliated player. In a story from 2016, they noted he had visited the Hall six times already, and he told Ken Rosenthal last year that “Out of anywhere in the world, besides the places I’ve lived, Cooperstown is the place I’ve visited the most.” He could surely lead this tour on his own, but the magic of baseball - and something the Museum imbues beautifully - is that there is always more to be learned, some new pocket of history to tunnel into.
Moving like an assemblage of moons orbiting their planet, the group will funnel up the grand atrium, first through the second floor and then up to the third. On this upper landing, one of the entrances will be politely blocked off with a single stanchion, perhaps accompanied by a small sign reading “Pardon our diamond dust, exhibit coming soon.” Maybe, because he is Ichiro, and because this upcoming exhibit was precisely, carefully timed to open the weekend that thousands of baseball fans - including unprecedented numbers making the pilgrimage from Japan - will descend upon Cooperstown, he will be granted a peek of what is to come.
Eventually, the group will move down to the first floor and to a back staircase where the carpet is replaced with linoleum, the recessed lighting for softly buzzing fluorescents. Down an unassuming, unadorned hallway, the curator will stop in front of an unremarkable door, scan their badge and usher everyone into the archives. A small basket of white gloves sits to the left and all members of the group will don them, fingertips pressing against clunky seams, gusts of climate-controlled air pushing into the gaping openings at the wrists. There will be a long plastic table, covered in cloth, upon which centuries of history will have been laid out in anticipation of Ichiro’s arrival.
Every player is different when they reach the archival portion of their visit. Edgar Martinez guessed the weight of each displayed bat (correctly) down to the ounce; Larry Walker wanted to take a swing with each one; Adrian Beltre gaped at the size of the early 20th century mitts; Richie Sexson could scarcely get the white cotton gloves onto his massive hands. The archives are particularly familiar territory to Ichiro, whose name can be found printed neatly along numerous boxes stored in the stacks. According to one article, he has promised to donate the rest of his collection upon his death. On his previous visits, Ichiro has taken to tapping each bat, holding it up to his ear to listen to its resonance. This time, some of his own equipment will surely be on display.
Soon, Ichiro will weave back through the labyrinth of the basement, perhaps greeting or smiling at those at their desks. It is, ostensibly, just another work day, but his name and his presence beat audibly throughout the building, the thrumming pulse a welcome disruption to upstate New York’s winter mundanity. The group will ascend a set of stairs and re-emerge on the first floor, perhaps stopping to take a moment with O’Neil’s statue. Ichiro befriended the baseball legend and former chairman of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum early in his stateside career during visits to Kansas City. With an eye on the clock, the group will be guided through a small anterior room and down a gently sloping ramp into the Plaque Gallery.
Despite more than half a dozen visits, this will be the first time Ichiro has stepped across the Gallery’s tawny speckled marble, striped with thick columns of black, as a Hall of Famer; an equal with the bronze legends who flank its walls. There might be a pause, a breath, a moment to honor the lifetime of work that brought this man to this place. Then, the show must go on. The curator will bring Ichiro to a few select plaques, or Ichiro himself will traverse the Gallery to visit some standouts. Maybe he’ll stop by George Sisler’s plaque, to once again pay respects to the fellow Hall of Famer whose single-season hits record he broke in 2004; or perhaps he’ll visit Roberto Clemente or Charles “Chief” Bender, both of whom were “firsts” in the Hall as Ichiro is too. They’ll certainly take a moment at Junior’s plaque, where Ichiro might crack a joke about the depicted visage of his old friend. Eventually, the group will make their way to the rotunda at the end of the Gallery, where the first class is displayed front and center. Cobb, Johnson, Mathewson, Ruth, Wagner. Ichiro will be guided to one of the walls that makes up the side of the rotunda, where there will be at least four grayish white plaque backings hanging empty. Depending on the schedule of visits, some may already feature a few messy scrawls. Someone in the group will produce a Sharpie, and Ichiro will make his mark - as he has on the game for so many years.