TIMEasia.com: Asian Heroes - Ichiro Suzuki and Hidetoshi Nakata

Left: ICHIRO SUZUKI by DAVID STRICK FOR TIME
Right: HIDETOSHI NAKATA by GUIDO HARARI/CONTRASTO FOR TIME

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Real Men in a Gelded Land
The overseas exploits of sports stars ICHIRO SUZUKI and HIDETOSHI NAKATA pump up Japan's deflated ego
By TIM LARIMER

On a train platform in Tokyo's Harajuku neighborhood, there's a billboard advertising a new video game. "Come on," taunts a manga drawing of a menacing human fighting machine, "if you're a real Japanese man, get a grip!" To the thousands of downcast Tokyo drones who trudge by on their way to nowhere jobs, being mocked by a cartoon character is just part of the daily ritual of humiliation. Joe Salaryman—once a blue-suited samurai who made factory workers in Detroit tremble—has been stripped of his dignity and his wealth by Japan's perennially stagnant economy. Headlines of layoffs and bankruptcies remind Japanese men so incessantly of their shortcomings that even alpha males are dizzy with self-doubt. Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi, himself the butt of a thousand eunuch jokes, spoke for a generation of wounded Japanese men last week when he admitted in an appearance on, of all places, a TV cooking show: "I'm tired."

We've all been there, pal. What the beleaguered Everyman needs at times like these are better role models—warriors whose prodigious feats lift the heart and stiffen the spine in ways Viagra can't. During Japan's national spiritual emergency, two have answered the call: Ichiro Suzuki, the sensational right fielder for America's Seattle Mariners baseball team; and Hidetoshi Nakata, the soccer phenom who kicked his way into Europe and who embodies Japan's World Cup aspirations this year.

Mere ballplayers, yes. But what fine specimens. In his first year in the U.S., Ichiro (he goes by his first name, which means first-born son) shattered decades-old baseball records, including most hits by a rookie, which was set by legendary Shoeless Joe Jackson in 1911. A tricky speedster as good with his glove as his bat, Ichiro led his team to an astonishing 116 victories (tying the 95-year-old mark for most wins in a season) while also garnering the American League batting title, Rookie of the Year honors and Most Valuable Player award—a gloriously rare trifecta. "The way he hits is just like a samurai," says 45-year-old office worker Isao Ogata on his way to a recent baseball game at Tokyo's Jingu Stadium. "I'll bet he could split a mosquito with a sword."

As for Nakata, he burst into Japanese consciousness by engineering the country's first trip to the World Cup in a 1997 victory over Iran. And what's up with his tresses? Nakata changes hair color more often than most men change channels. "Nakata and Ichiro, they are always trying to do something new, to break the rules," says Masahisa Nakamura, a creative director at advertising giant Dentsu. That's a tonic to Japan's trapped and emasculated male populace. "We feel as if we have come to a dead end," says Nakamura. But by demonstrating that Japan is still able to excel in international arenas, the two sports stars "represent our hope," he adds.

More important, chicks dig them. "I love Hide [Nakata's nickname]," whispers Michiko Yanagawa, a 20-year-old college student, while sitting next to her boyfriend at a recent soccer match outside Tokyo. "There aren't any Japanese men like him. He just is so ... cool. Independent. I think he is very brave." One thing Nakata is not, however, is tall. Ichiro is the lankier of the two, at 1.8 m to Nakata's stocky 1.75 m. That is part of their appeal. Endowed by genetics with standard equipment, they excel at pursuits that tend to favor more formidable types.

Nakata grew up in a small town near the base of Mount Fuji and before he found fame, planned to study accounting. Ichiro, who hails from the industrial city of Nagoya, was a baseball standout in his youth but his first professional coach didn't think him good enough to earn a regular place on the team. Others have underestimated him. Although he won seven batting titles in Japan playing for the Orix Blue Wave of Kobe, many expected him to wilt when exposed to America's flamethrowing pitchers and chemically enhanced sluggers. Japan's pitching exports—Hideo Nomo, Kazuhiro Sasaki and a handful of others—had already impressed American fans. But not only did Ichiro, 28, amaze as the first everyday player and hitter, he gave U.S. fans fresh appreciation for baseball executed with precision, intelligence and discipline. From his stylized yoga warm-up routines to his diving, take-no-prisoners catches to his unorthodox batsmanship, Ichiro seems to have tweaked the game to give himself a half-step advantage. Although his persona is unassuming compared with the big egos and bigger mouths of some U.S. players, he carries himself with confidence that translates back home into attitude. His cool, swaggering image was not necessarily harmed by a couple of reported seamy liaisons. Here was someone his balding, angst-ridden, sake-swilling countrymen could toast.

Yet, underneath the titanium sunglasses, Ichiro is a most traditional Japanese man—quiet, polite, a testament to the single-minded work ethic admired by older generations. Nakata is anything but. He dyed his hair a coppery red for World Cup play four years ago, which set off a craze for multihued follicles among Japan's youth. He dresses in jeans, T shirts and rhinestone-studded sandals, moans with un-Japanese candor about loneliness in his diary, then posts his innermost secrets on his fan website. According to the myth surrounding him, he is unable to tolerate the rigid structure of life in Japan—he reputedly breaks out in a rash whenever he is in his homeland.

He's a free spirit on the field, too, an improvisational midfielder who sets up goals for team strikers with fluidity and grace. He has a gift, invaluable in fast-moving team sports, of knowing instantly where he is in relation to opponents and teammates. He says he keeps an aerial view of the action in his head, appraising the situation with the acuteness of a hovering seagull.

So it was in 1997 when Nakata, then 20, kicked three perfectly weighted passes to set up each of Japan's three goals in a now famous World Cup qualifier against Iran. Japan won. "From that point on, it didn't matter what he did. Nakata had become the hero of the nation," says novelist Ryu Murakami, a fan and friend of Nakata.

What he did, eventually, was leave. "In Japan, seniority is all important," Nakata said recently in his apartment in Parma, Italy, decorated with Helmut Newton photographs of leather-clad women. "It's a vertical society. You must constantly pay respect to the person above you. From the time I was a boy, I didn't feel like this. I felt a freedom from this." Imbued with this streak of independence, in 1998 Nakata took the unusual step of heading to Europe, where the pay—and pressure—was bigger. He signed to play with Perugia in Italy's Serie A for $3.5 million, shocking fans by announcing his plans just an hour before his departure. But even heroes must wrestle with disappointment and defeat. After two seasons delighting fans in Perugia and Rome, Nakata, now playing for AC Parma, has found himself sidelined just months before the most momentous event of his life—the World Cup, to be played on his native soil.

Nonetheless, Nakata is still the heart and soul of Japan's team—and of a nation of hopeful World Cup fans. "It doesn't really matter now if he wins or not, if he scores or misses," says Nakamura, the advertising director. "So many people in Japan are afraid to try anything new. When someone like Nakata does, they don't mind if he fails. At least he is trying."

What Ichiro and Nakata have done is remind the country that Japan may be down, but it can stand tall once more. "Before them," says Narumi Komatsu, who has written books on both stars, "Japan was associated with products. Objects. Sony stuff. This is the first time Japan has been associated with its men." Komatsu recalls a moment when Ichiro was introduced as one of the world's best baseball players at the All-Star game, an annual showdown between U.S. greats. As fans chanted I-CHI-RO! I-CHI-RO!, "I felt very proud," says Komatsu. "Imagine! Americans cheering for a Japanese player in their national pastime."

Yuichi Miketa, 28, a government worker in the Setagaya ward office in Tokyo, says he admires Ichiro's willingness to gamble what he has won in hopes of gaining something more. "Ichiro was doing really well in Japan. He was a big success," Miketa says. "But he threw away everything and took a chance to go to America. That was quite a risk. But still he succeeded." Miketa contemplates his hero with wonder, musing, "It's a good lesson for Japan. I can't really take that kind of risk, but I wish I could."

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