New Kid in Town

The world is coming to an end.

No, not really, it just feels like that.

They’re getting married. THEY’RE GETTING FUCKING MARRIED!

I was in Seattle, for a game, and about a half-hour before first pitch, Ichiro went over to the short wall where she always sits. Instead of getting his usual pre-game smooch, he produced something from his pocket. He got down on one knee. I stared with horrified eyes at it all.

I could see her eyes get big enough to fall out of her head from where I sat in the dugout. She kind of fell over the wall and they both toppled onto the blue-green grass. The full house applauded wildly.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could have sworn I felt her eyes, and his, on me after she accepted his proposal. And I felt like I would die.

Two ceremonies. One in Seattle, one in Japan. Of course, this sent the Japanese media into an even bigger frenzy. According to my best friend Google.com, “even though there were enough security guards to flesh out the infantry in the entire Japanese army surrounded the premises, some hangers-on still gained access to the biggest social event in modern Japan.” Pictures, pictures everywhere. The wedding in Seattle was slightly more low-key.

Now they’re calling her the “Jackie O” of Japan. And it’s true. Those damned ricers love her as much as they love him. The charismatic sports hero and his lovely, kind American bride. I think they love her cos she’s not a boorish ass like they all think we are. And the fact that she speaks fluent Japanese just warms their muffins even more, I’m sure.

You would think the hysteria over the new Mrs. Ichiro would calm down after two years, but it hasn’t. Not while he’s a hero in Seattle, and not while Finn is, well, Finn.

Then came the baby.

Oh, yes, they had a kid. I sneaked a peek at her, at her position at Sam’s one gray and rainy afternoon. Her swollen belly bulged out so far, she had to hold her serving tray parallel to her collarbone, right above her breasts. Knowing her, she’d probably work until the day she gave birth, or the day they dragged her away and confined her to bed. She looked as though she’d have the kid right there and then, she was so large.

She gave birth later that week. You’d think that she and Ichiro were Mary and Joseph, and Bakuryu John Suzuki was the baby Jesus himself, for all the hullabaloo over such a small kid. They chose a Japanese first name, and the middle name? Her father’s. How sweet.

But they were the First Family, of Japan, of Seattle. No three people could be more beloved. They were picture perfect. Little Bakuryu could be seen trailing after Papa as soon as he was old enough to walk. He did look very sweet and cute in his little M’s uniform, just like Daddy.

I found out that after lots and lots of wrangling, Ichiro sent his wife to music school to develop her talent. It was her dream. Now why didn’t she listen to me when I told her to go? I guess if I had said it in Japanese, she would have.

So now we’ve got an international superstar husband, a classically trained French hornist wife, and the most celebrated child since Jesus. The world was Finn’s. I wonder if she’d ever thought she get it all.