By Robert Whiting (10 Oct, 1994)
The long baseball season is finally at an end. On Oct. 22, the two league champions will face each other in the first game of the annual best-of-seven fall classic to determine the professional baseball championship. Although tickets are all but sold out, millions of viewers will be able to watch on TV.
Unfortunately for Americans, I am talking about Japan — a nation with a 124-year history of baseball, where such things as player strikes happily do not occur, and citizens look askance at countries where they do. “We really can’t understand how you could let such a thing happen,” the novelist and baseball fan Masayuki Tamaki said of the collapse of 1994 season in the U.S. “Don’t the players in your country ever think they are paid too much?”
As an American living in Japan (and one who has followed major league baseball with some disgust through numerous walkouts and lockouts), I have come to appreciate ths Japanese alternative, even though the level of play may be a notch below that of the U.S.
Despite talk of a new individualism among the younger generation of Japanese — that they are unwilling to sacrifice and toil for the corporation as their fathers did — it is still a country where social responsibilities generally come before individual rights.
The baseball players’ union over the years has steadfastly declined to exercise its strongest weapon. “We will never strike,” a former player representative declared. “It wouldn’t be fair to the fans or the owners.” And there are also, incredibly enough, baseball free agents who refuse to leave their teams.
Free agency came about only last year, and not because of pressure by the players’ union but because the owners thought they needed to change the dynamics of the leagues to compete for fan support with the popular new professional soccer league, which has a free-agent provision. Players are not eligible until they serve 10 full seasons at the major league level.
Instead of the mass exodus of players we have seen in the U.S., only four of the 59 eligible players signed with new teams. The response of Manabu Kitabeppu, a veteran pitcher with the Hiroshima Carp, was typical. “I have an obligation to Hiroshima,” he said. “Japan can not simply adopt the business ways of the Americans.” The Seibu Lions pitching ace, Kimiyasu Kudo, added, “I’m too attached to this team to go anywhere else.”
Former U.S. major leaguers who play in Japan invariably argue that Japanese players are letting themselves be used by management. And in Americans terms, perhaps they are. Despite the widespread popularity of the game (annual attendance of 20 million, nightly nationwide telecasts with high ratings), the average player’s salary is only one-third that of the U.S. big leagues. Less than 10 percent of the players make over a million dollars — money which, in price-inflated Japan, does not go nearly as far as it does in America.
Moreover, Japanese players have to work a lot harder for their paychecks. They practice on travel days and off days; there is a month-long post-season autumn camp and compulsory “voluntary training” in January. They must also subject themselves to the paternalistic rule of the front office, which frowns on player agents and multi-year contracts, and controls all player endorsements. The 20-year-old Tokyo Giants’ star Hideki Matsui even needed permission to begin driving his car to and from the stadium.
Yet few Japanese players are protesting. Although their union has expressed a desire for higher pay, better pension benefits and a quicker road to free agency (and has shown support for the striking U.S. players), it is clear that money is not the only important thing to them. The team is like a household. Trades are rare and a player’s association with a club often does end when his playing days are over — most teams are owned by large corporations that find a place for ex-players.
Many players are driven by a need to belong. “Baseball is a world of duty and humanity,” said Hiromichi Ishige, captain of the Seibu Lions. “To evaluate oneself just by money and sell oneself at the highest price, that’s business.”
Such sentiments appear to be supported by the public. Nikkan Gendai, a tabloid, used a blaring headline to compare the U.S. player’s association to old time unions that demanded money even if it meant bankrupting the company.
With the possibility of the U.S. strike extending into next season, there is talk of big-name American free agents looking to Japan. Paul O’Neill, the New York Yankee, has already expressed his interest. Others are sure to follow, as American agents have been flooding Japan with inquiries. A recent issue of Shukan Besuboru (Weekly Baseball) carried a feature on the “free agent refugees” expected to land on Japan’s shores in 1995.
Fading American big leaguers have long been a fixture here; there is a limit of three per team. In general, they are better reimbursed than their Japanese teammates and a source of resentment if, as is often the case, the performance does not match the income. The former Detroit Tiger slugger Rob Deer signed a record $2.7 million contract in 1994, only to find himself unable to hit Japanese pitching. He was released in mid-season with a batting average of .151.
Now, with many cash-rich Japanese owners — the large corporations use the teams as public relations vehicles — ready to splurge on top American talent, the gap between American and Japanese salaries will grow bigger.
The logical question for Americans is, Will that be enough to finally spur the union to action? Will Japanese free agents take the unprecedented step of trying their hand in the U.S.? Most Japanese observers think not. “I can’t think of anything that will make them do that,” said Kozo Abe, the sports editor of the daily Yukan Fuji. “They might not like the situation, but it’s just not the Japanese way to make waves.” Would that the American players thought that way too, from time to time.
Tokyo Junkie 