We use cookies and other tracking technologies to improve your browsing experience on our site, show personalized content and targeted ads, analyze site traffic, and understand where our audiences come from. To learn more or opt-out, read our Cookie Policy. He could have, but would doing so have made him or his teams better? No one will be sorry to see this, except possibly Pete Rose. Suzuki is just three hits away from that next round number.

It's been written about countless times. There have been far more movies produced about it than any other sport—unless, of course, you consider zombie hunting a sport. No matter how many times the grand ol' game is written about, it will never be enough. There are just too many story lines and far too much history to quench our appetites. One of my favorite aspects of the game is the way it lends itself to idiosyncratic impulses. When it comes to pitching motions, batting stances, even fielding technique, it's all good—as long it's effective. Actually, come to think of it, I wouldn't mind watching Tony Romo incorporate a crow-hop if it enabled him to magically cut down on his interception rate.

If not for a bench coach who saw perfection where no one else did, Ichiro Suzuki might never have become the most prolific hitter in baseball history. It was story he rarely repeated, even though he was a known hitting coach in Japan and Ichiro an American sensation as the right fielder for the Seattle Mariners. But that was Ichiro in those days: private, guarded and resentful of inquiries about his past. In many ways, he still is, even after recording his 3,th major league hit against the Rockies on Sunday. Ichiro was a decent high school pitcher in Japan, generating surprising speed from his lithe 5ft 9in, lb body.

Ichiro Suzuki steps out of the cold into the small restaurant that serves him dinner most nights. It's winter in Kobe, Japan, where he once played professional baseball and where he comes during the offseason to train. His wife, Yumiko, is back home in Seattle. He is here alone, free from the untidy bits of domestic life that might break his focus. Every day, he works out in a professional stadium he rents, and then he usually comes to this restaurant, which feels like a country inn transported to the city.