Celebrating the 80th anniversary of the All American 1934 Tour of Japan. 1934 Tour Diary: November 20, 1934 Today marks the 80th anniversary of one of the most famous games in the history of Japanese baseball. In Shizuoka 17 year old Eiji Sawamura nearly beat the All Americans by pitching five no hit innings before eventually losing 1-0. To celebrate, I am posting an excerpt from a paper I gave at the annual SABR convention a few years ago. November 20, 1934; Shizuoka, Japan With a flick of his wrist, the boy received the ball from the catcher. He felt confident as if his opponents were the fellow-high schoolers he had shut out just a few months before. The one o’clock sun came directly over Kusanagi Stadium’s right field bleachers, blinding the batters. He knew this. It had enabled him to retire the leadoff batter, Rabbit McNair, on a pop fly and strikeout Charlie Gehringer. The batters saw his silhouette wind up, then a white ball explode on them, just a few feet away. It was nearly unhittable. Fanning Gehringer thrilled the boy as he saw no flaws in his swing. When facing the Mechanical Man, the pitcher imagined them as samurai dueling to the death with glittering swords. It was a spiritual battle, who could outlast the other—will the other to submit. Gehringer alone among the Americans showed the spirit of a samurai. The third batter strode to the plate. He was old—over twice the boy’s 17 years—and he was heavy—outweighing the boy by 100 pounds—with a sizable paunch. His broad face usually bore a smile, accentuating his puffy cheeks and board nose. His twinkling eyes and boyish good humor was infectious, forcing smiles even from opponents. Instinctively, the boy looked at his face—a mistake. There was no friendly smile. The Sultan of Swat glared back like an oni—those large red demons that guard temple gates. The boy’s heart fluttered, his composure lost. Babe Ruth dug in. Eiji Sawamura breathed deeply, steadying himself. This was, after all, why he had left high school early and forfeited a chance to attend prestigious Keio University—an opportunity to face Babe Ruth. Just three months ago, Sawamura had been pitching for Kyoto Commerce High School when Tadao Ichioka, the head of the Yomiuri Shimbun’s sports department, approached his grandfather. Ichioka explained that the newspaper was sponsoring a team of Major League stars, including Babe Ruth, to play in Japan that fall. There were no professional teams in Japan so Yomiuri was bringing together Japan’s best to challenge the Americans. Ichioka wanted the 17-year-old pitcher on the staff. The newspaper would pay 120 yen ($36) per month, more than most skilled artisans made. The Sawamura family needed the extra income to support Eiji’s siblings, but the invitation carried a price. The Ministry of Education had just past an edict forbidding both high school and college students from playing on the same field as professionals. If Sawamura joined the All Nippon team, he would be expelled from high school and would forfeit his chance to attend Keio University the following semester. But to pitch against Major Leaguers! To pitch against Babe Ruth! The boy accepted. Sawamura wound up, turning his body toward third base, before slinging the ball towards the plate. The blinded Ruth lunged forward, his hips and great chest twisting until they nearly faced the wrong direction. The fastball pounded in catcher Jiro Kuji’s mitt. Strike one. The All Americans had pounded Sawamura in his first start ten days ago on November 10. The 17 year old remembered how nervous he was before taking the field. It didn’t help when Ruth homered in the first inning to the delight of the sold-out Meiji Jingu stadium crowd of 60,000. Sawamura had lasted eight innings, giving up 10 runs on 11 hits and home runs to Ruth, Earl Averill, and weak-hitting Harold Warstler. But the Japan Times noted that he “pitched courageously to the murderers row,” as he struck out both Ruth and Gehrig. Fanning Ruth and Gehrig helped the boy grasp that even the greatest had weaknesses. Ruth, for example, had difficulty with knee-high inside curves. As Sawamura told a writer for Yakyukai, “I was scared but I realized that the big leaguers were not gods.” He was noticeably calmer and more effective three days later in Toyama when he relieved Shigeru Mizuhara in the fourth after the starter had surrendered 11 runs. The schoolboy ace held the Americans scoreless until Jimmie Foxx belted a three-run homer in the eighth. Recalling how he had struck out Ruth before, Sawamura wound up and fired another fastball. Sawamura’s fastball burst through the glare. The Bambino flailed his 36 inch, 44 ounce Louisville Slugger at the ball, but it was too late. The ball smacked into Kuji’s glove. Strike two. The sellout crowd at Kusanagi Stadium roared. The park was small, by both American and Japanese standards. Only 8,000 spectators could fit into the grandstands that ringed the field. The fans, primarily men, wore light wool overcoats with fedoras or wool driving caps in the pleasant 48 degree afternoon. Once home, they would remove their western garb, bathe, and don the traditional kimono. Here and there, however, a man dressed in the traditional manner could be seen in the stands. The fans cheered and shouted on every play, making them louder than an average American crowd. But to the Americans a familiar sound was missing from the din. There were no vendors advertising their wares. No “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!” No “Popcorn!” or “Cracker Jack!” or even the heavenly sound of “Beer! Ice cold beer here!” Eating in the stands was not a Japanese tradition. In fact, eating while walking or sometimes even standing was considered rude. Those who wanted to eat would purchase a small bento (boxed lunch), from an outside vendor or a stand just inside the stadium’s entrance, and quietly eat fish or octopus with rice, or maybe fried noodles with their chop sticks. Both the fans and players noticed differences between American and Japanese baseball. The much smaller Japanese were solid fielders and quick runners but weak hitters. Most still hit off their front foot and hadn’t mastered the hip rotation technique that had enabled Ruth to change the way Americans played the game. They played the field with precision acquired from hours of repetition but without flair—seemingly without joy. John Quinn described them as playing with the seriousness of a professor. The Japanese also approached the game differently. They believed that it took more than just natural ability and good technique to win a ball game; it also took a dedicated spirit. Borrowing from a heavily romanticized version of samurai behavior, Japanese players in the 1880s created a distinctive approach to the game that emphasized unquestioning loyalty to the manager and team as well as long hours of grueling practice to improve both players’ skills and mental endurance. This “samurai baseball” offered hope to the All Nippon team. Infielder Tokio Tominaga explained, “Many fans think that the small Japanese can never compete with the larger Americans, but I disagree. The Japanese are equal to the Americans in strength of spirit.” With Ruth in the hole, Sawamura knew just what to do. Like any good warrior, he attacked his adversary’s weakness. As he readied himself, the boy twisted his lips in a peculiar fashion. He then raised his arms, kicked his leg high, and fired. Ruth brought his bat back, raising his rear elbow to shoulder height before taking a short stride with his front foot and snapping his hips forward. The bat followed along a level plane through the strike zone. Just before contact, the ball “fell off the table.” Fooled by the curve, Ruth’s momentum carried him forward, his body twisting around like a corkscrew. As Ruth walked back to the dugout, a surge of confidence and hope swelled through Sawamura and the crowd. Maybe today would be the day. The Japanese had improved with each game. Both their fielding and pitching were shaper even if their hitting was still weak. Maybe today their fighting spirit would be strong enough to defeat the Americans. By the next morning, as readers unfurled their newspapers and scanned the headlines, Sawamura would be a national hero. He would hold the All Americans hitless into the fourth and scoreless into the seventh when Gehrig would hit a solo home run to win the game 1-0. Although the Japanese had not won, they showed that they were capable of conquering their opponents. Many Japanese felt that with enough fighting spirit their countrymen could surpass the Major Leaguers, just as they believed their military would surpassed the Western powers. As years past, the duel between Sawamura and Ruth took on greater meaning as the nations battled in the Pacific. After the tour, Sawamura became the top pitcher of the newly-created Nippon Professional Baseball League. He led the league in wins in 1936 and captured the MVP in 1937 before being drafted into the Japanese Army in 1938. He fought in China and the Philippines before losing his life in combat on December 2, 1944. After his death, Eiji Sawamura became an icon of Japanese baseball. In 1947, the magazine Nekkyo created the Sawamura Award to honor the best pitcher in Nippon Professional baseball. Twelve years later, he became one of nine initial members of the Japan Baseball Hall of Fame. Later, statues of the pitcher would be raised outside Shizuoka Kusanagi Stadium and his old high school in Kyoto. Sawamura’s image would also be placed on a Japanese postal stamp. Many consider him to be the country’s greatest pitcher. But in truth, he was only a standout pitcher for two years. Why then, was he elevated to the pantheon of immortals? In his short life, Sawamura personified the trials of his country. In 1934, as Japan strived to be recognized as an equal to the United States and Britain, he nearly overcame the more powerful American ball club. Many viewed his performance as an analogy of Japan’s struggles against the west—with the proper fighting spirit Japan could overcome their rivals. In late 1930s and early 1940s, Japan and Sawamura went to war. Eiji wholeheartedly supported the war effort both as a soldier and spokesman. The press updated fans on his life at the front and upheld him as a patriot who sacrificed his career and endured hardships to serve his Emperor and country. After the war, Sawamura’s life took on a different meaning. Many Japanese felt betrayed by their leaders for initiating a futile war that destroyed their country and lives. To help reconcile the two nations, American occupational forces propagated the myth that a cadre of military extremists had pushed Japan into an unwanted conflict. This enabled the Japanese populace to view themselves as victims of wanton militarism and a repressive government. Sawamura came to symbolize an entire generation whose dreams and lives were shattered by evils of war.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Nov 2014 17:31:30 +0000