Back in Japan, a whole new brand of Ichiro-mania was building. Reports from the various newspaper, magazine, television and radio correspondents stationed in Arizona kept fans updated on every miniscule development. Seattle’s first game of the exhibition season, a charity event against the San Diego Padres, was televised live in Japan at five in the morning—creating a not-so-small army of bleary-eyed factory and office workers that day. For many fans, the 45-plus Mariner games the government planned to air on Japanese television were not enough. Many went to travel agencies for special “Ichiro Trips” to the U.S. cities where he was scheduled to play.

The Mariners opened the season against the Oakland A’s at home in Safeco Field. Seattle had lost its best player, Alex Rodriguez, to free agency, yet there was an air of confidence on the field and in the clubhouse. The Mariners sensed that they had a special player in their midst, and could hardly wait to unleash him on the rest of the league.

The hits kept coming for Ichiro in May. After putting together early-season hitting streaks of 15 and 23 games, he was on pace to challenge the all-time mark of 257 hits, set by Hall of Famer George Sisler in 1920. And the victories kept coming for Seattle; with each win, the all-time record of 116 seemed less far away.

As the All-Star Game approached, Ichiro-mania had swept Seattle. Sushi joints were serving Ichi-rolls and the seats behind the team’s new star were renamed “Area 51” after his number. That the team gave Ichiro the number that had once been worn by Randy Johnson was no coincidence. Fans were still angry about the trade that sent him to the National League in 1998—as well as the subsequent departures of Junior Griffey and Alex Rodriguez—so this was a great way to show them that they were bringing in new superstars to “replace” them. Meanwhile, the rest of the country was discovering Ichiro. As All-Star balloting drew to a close, he was announced as the league’s top vote-getter. Ichiro was the first rookie outfielder since Tony Oliva in 1964 to crack the AL’s starting lineup. Ichiro got a hit in the All-Star Game, which was played in Seattle. Ironically, it came against Randy Johnson.

As the Mariners embarked upon the second half of the season, manager Lou Piniella began to rest his key players. Ichiro had not had a day off, so when his average began to slip in July, he was given a breather. Revitalized, Ichiro went on a 21-game hitting streak that lifted his average into the .350s.

Ichiro was having a great time. He was playing well, the team was winning, and he adored Seattle. The only problem was an old and familiar one: The Japanese media was getting out of control. Despite warnings from the team, they were hounding Ichiro all over the place. One magazine offered $2 million for a picture of him naked, so he could no longer dress with the other players in the locker room. Ichiro and Kaz Sasaki decided they would boycott the Japanese reporters. Without quotes from their two headline-makers, they suddenly realized their jobs might be in jeopardy, and things calmed down considerably.

Seattle ended the regular season with a record of 116-46, and won the division by 14 games. Although several Mariners had MVP-caliber seasons, Ichiro was unquestionably the engine that pulled the train. His stats were eye-popping. He won his eighth batting championship in eight years, led the majors with 75 multi-hit games and 56 steals, and had the highest average in baseball both with runners in scoring position (.445) and the bases loaded (.545). He obliterated the all-time record for hits by a rookie (242), and broke the AL mark for singles (192).

The perfect ending to this record-smashing season would have been a World Series ring. But baseball rarely works that way. The Mariners ran into trouble in the playoffs, first against the Indians and then against the