Chapter 3

Shigeo went out there that night and tossed a five-hitter over seven innings, striking out six Angels (including Vladimir Guerrero -- twice)!

He got into some trouble with one out in the seventh, and gave up two runs on a single, a walk, and a double before Paul Warren came out to get him. But he left the game leading 6-2 and we went on to win it, 8-5. Shiggie was 1-0 in the Show!

After the game, the Japanese press was all over Shiggie, trying to relive every pitch of every inning. I guess it was good for him, since he got to speak to a few countrymen in his own language, but, wow, I'd never seen so goddamned many reporters in one place in my life! The Japanese take their baseball seriously, and when one of their guys is successful in the Big Leagues, they go apeshit! When Ichiro Suzuki first started playing for Seattle, one of the local American reporters was heard to say, "This is what it would have been like, if Princess Diana had played baseball!"

We finally liberated Shiggie from the reporters and got him back to the hotel. Despite the language barrier, I did my best to convey to Shiggie that his new roomie was proud of him. I pounded his back every chance I got, gave him the thumbs-up, and went through every other kind of positive gesture I could think of, to get across that he was now a True Oriole. Several of our teammates had also congratulated him, in the locker room after the game.

The guy couldn't speak a word of English, but he wasn't stupid. He was grinning like a possum the whole time, and returning all the gestures in kind. I think if somebody had given him the finger, he'd have returned that, too.

We didn't get a chance to see the professor after the game, because of all the confusion with the press. I imagine Mr. Hiroka figured it out all right.

I didn't get a shot at the Angels in either of the following two games, but we took two out of the three and were ready to go home at last. Finally, maybe the club would find a translator to make Shiggie's life -- and my life -- a little easier.

We had an off-day on Monday after the cross-country flight, and when we got to Baltimore-Washington International Airport in the wee hours of Monday morning, the Orioles' Traveling Secretary was there, and he asked me if I'd put Shiggie up in my apartment -- just for the night. I agreed, but I wasn't too keen on the idea. I had an extra bedroom, but it was tiny and undecorated except for the single bed and some trunks serving as tables. Not exactly prime quarters for a guest.

I remembered to request that nobody let the Japanese reporters know where Shiggie was staying. It was after 3 a.m., but you couldn't be too careful, when it came to those guys.

Shiggie had never seen Baltimore in his life, so he had little choice but to go along with me when I grabbed him by the arm at the airport. We took a bus to long-term parking, picked up my Ford Escape, and headed into town.

My apartment was adequate but not fancy. It's about what you'd expect for a well-paid single guy who, nevertheless, still wasn't sure he was going to stick in the Majors beyond next Wednesday. I had a short-term lease of the kind popular with ballplayers, and the monthly rent was higher than it ought to be -- probably to make up for the short-term lease.

I vowed that when I woke up -- around noon -- I'd call the Orioles' front office and ask for somebody else to take over baby-sitting Shiggie. Roomies on the road was one thing, but I didn't want to adopt the guy!

And I started wishing he hadn't told me to call him "Shiggie," because now I kept forgetting his real name. "Shigeo Nomura" didn't exactly roll off my tongue -- especially the way Shiggie himself pronounced it. Who's that old guy who holds the Japanese League home run record? His name is "Oh." Now, that's a nice name -- "Oh."

For a first name, it ought to be something else that's just as easy. Maybe just "Kaye."

"This is my Japanese roommate -- Kaye Oh."

It was around 4:30 in the morning when I finally fell into the sack, after showing Shiggie where he was supposed to sleep, and pointing out where the guest bathroom was located.

Far too soon, around 10:00 a.m., I heard the phone ringing insistently and finally I got up to answer it. It was Barstow, the Traveling Secretary. "Mitchell wants you and the Jap guy to come down after lunch."

Mitchell was the Orioles' Director of Player Personnel. He was the all-purpose player honcho, ranking just under the team's duo of General Managers, Jim Beatty and Mike Flanagan.

"Is Mitchell gonna take this guy off my hands? Should I have him bring his stuff?"

"I don't know about all that. Just bring him down to see Mitchell."

Like all the Orioles' offices, Mitchell was housed in the Warehouse, the huge old brick structure that separated Oriole Park at Camden Yards from Baltimore's Inner Harbor. Nobody had asked me if maybe I had plans for my rare in-season day off. The established players -- the guys with enormous salaries and egos to match -- are treated with kid gloves. Newbies like me are treated with boxing gloves.

"Ballpark," I told Shiggie. "We go to ballpark." Pidgin English, with lots of gestures. Maybe he knew what I was trying to say, maybe not. But when I gave his non-pitching arm a little tug toward the parking area, he once again came along without a struggle.

When we got to the park, Shiggie was interested. It was his first look at his home ballpark, and Camden Yards is something worth looking at! It's now the oldest of the new- wave ballparks built in the past 15 years or so. Its design is old-style, but its amenities are right up to date. Fans love it, ballplayers (except for pitchers) love it, and the city is justly proud of Oriole Park at Camden Yards.

Pitchers aren't so enthusiastic, because, like most of the other new parks, Oriole Park is something of a bandbox. Your little brother Herbie could hit one out, down our right field line. Steroids optional.

So I got us into the park and showed the kid around. I call him "kid" although he's a year older than I am, I believe. He's had more top-grade experience than I have, too. I'm only two seasons out of college, with almost zero experience in the Majors. Shiggie has played nearly a full four years in the Japanese Pacific League -- better, I'm told, than our Triple-A leagues. They're damned close to MLB caliber, over there.