was only the beginning of the disappointment that would mark his early pro career. When Ichiro arrived in camp, Orix’s manager, Shozo Doi, took one look at his body and waved him into the outfield. His pitching career was over. Once Doi saw Ichiro bat, he banished the youngster to the minors, convinced he would never hit with his unorthodox style.

Ichiro’s first pro season had its ups and downs. He played most of the year for the Blue Wave’s farm club in the Western League. There he encountered a hitting coach named Kenichiro Kawamura. This was, literally, a stroke of luck, for Kawamura knew instantly that, with a little fine-tuning, the teenager’s swing would work in the majors. Ichiro batted well over .300 all year, and gained confidence in his abilities.

Injuries on the big club left Doi little choice but to call Ichiro up during the 1992 season. The Orix skipper played the rookie in 40 games, and watched disapprovingly as he batted .253. Ichiro briefly considered changing his methods at the plate to make his manager happy but ultimately decided against it. This was his style, it worked, and he was going to stick with it. Despite limited success with the Blue Wave, Ichiro ended the year as the Western League’s batting champion and MVP. The following spring, Ichiro encountered the same resistance from Doi, who shipped him back to the minors. Recalled again, he produced a meager .188 average in just 64 at bats.

Ichiro thought all he needed was playing time against top-flight competition. Orix officials agreed, and sent him to Hawaii in the winter of 1993 along with some other Blue Wave prospects to participate in a new league that brought together young players from both American and Japanese baseball. Ichiro played for the Hilo Stars and stung the ball at a .311 clip. The quality of players in the Hawaiian Winter League was high—Jason Giambi, a future American League MVP, won the batting championship. Ichiro’s average was good for fifth; he also finished among the leaders in RBIs. Hilo, meanwhile, won the league title.

Ichiro returned to Japan brimming with confidence but fearful of another conflict with Shozo Doi. Imagine his delight upon hearing the news that Doi was being replaced with Akira Ogi. On the first day of camp the new manager told Ichiro that he was his everyday rightfielder. The 20-year-old responded with a season for the ages. He collected a record 210 hits, captured the batting crown with a .385 average, earned a Gold Glove for his defense, and was named the Pacific League MVP.

Ichiro’s numbers were awesome, but the most remarkable thing about the 1994 season was the way Japan embraced its newest superstar. Ichiro did everything differently than other ball players. He hit, ran, threw, walked, talked, and warmed up in his own way. In the past, Japanese fans would have found this very distasteful. But the wind was shifting in Japan—young people no longer felt the need to conform—and Ichiro was adopted as a sort of standard bearer for these changing times. The back of his uniform bore his first name instead of his last, making him seem more like a rock star than an athlete. Fans and the press (who are allowed much freer access to athletes in Japan) swarmed around him wherever he went. In one short season, Ichiro had become a bona fide phenomenon.

His star rose even higher the following season, when he led the Blue Wave to the Japan Series. The team’s home city of Kobe had been devastated by an earthquake in January of 1995. Thousands died, thousands more were homeless, and the people were in desperate need of something to cheer about. The players wore patches on their uniforms that read “Gambarou Kobe” (“Let’s Do Our Best for Kobe”), and they played their best baseball in years. Ichiro won the batting title again and was named Pacific League MVP. He also topped the circuit in hits, runs, total bases, on-base percentage, stolen bases and RBIs.