MIAMI - Something that was started with promise, ended up being up in the air. But unfortunately, that was not the worst of it....far from it. It sounded so simple, take a redeye across the country, arrive in Miami by 8 a.m. before checking in and asking my baseball idol Ichiro Suzuki a few questions while also possibly telling him he was being inducted into the Wing Luke Museum's Sports Hall of Fame.
However, once on the plane, a fellow passenger fell ill and we diverted to Dallas to get her to the hospital. After a two-hour delay, we finally arrived at 10:10.-The time I was supposed to be at Marlins Park.
Going through the maze of the Miami airport it's more like a labyrinth especially with the rental car. Bu the time I got out of there and drove up to Marlins Park, it was 11:30 a.m.- about 90 minutes before the first pitch wold be thrown. Under the time was "GAME CANCELLED" shined brightly accompanied by another lighted sign "Jose Fernandez 16". Seeing that, this great feeling of dread overcame me.
I held out hope that was just his name up there for being National League pitcher of the week or something like that. None such look. That's when my friend Nobu, a Japanese journalist, told me what really happened, he and two friends had perished in a boating accident at a nearby jetty late last evening.
I was floored. Here I was going across the country to do something I had been looking forward to doing for quite some time, and then not only realizing that it was not going to happen, but exponentially worse, one of my favorites pitchers, a kid who defected to the U.S at the age of 15. after three previous unsuccessful attempts and then becomes one of the most talented pitchers and entertaining spirits out there...after Tommy John surgery, had died in a boating accident at the still young age of 24.
Even when he's not pitching Jose Fernandez commands attention. (Taking on Jun 14 in San Diego)
I've only met Jose in passing, but I got to see how he acted with his brothers, his teammates. There was no better teammate. At the press conference announcing his death, the entire team of players and coaches were wearing their black jerseys in a show of solidarity for their fallen teammate. There was no game, only tears coming from teammates like Yelich, Prado and Gordon, the Marlins announcing team, coaches like Lenny Harris and yes, his manager Don Mattingly along with team president Michael Hill who were all deeply affected. A few even came from the normally jaded media side. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was in that group.
Outside the media room, instead of fans happily filling the stadium to honor the great Ichiro, a few dozens who bought special tickets that included a commemorative Ichiro 3000-hit baseball bat peacefully queued up to pick up their prize. Some teens quietly played catch. Others came to the team shop to buy Fernandez and Ichiro shirts.
But instead of cheers and banter inside the store, there was a respectful murmur of muted conversations and staring at the television screen tuned into the MLB Channel. It reminded me of the day after September 11 2001, a day in which I was supposed to see Ichiro play for the first time, became a day of mourning. On September 12, wanting to get away from the television, my wife and I just drove and drove, until we ended up at Universal City Walk of all places. It was deserted, save a few zombies like us. I came across a Japanese family, that was supposed to have flown back home that day, but obviously couldn't. The little boy noticed my shirt and yelled "Ichiro!" We had a good laugh over that one, but our smile soon faded as the reality was too close in everyone's memories.
Later tonight, I went back to Marlins Park and the place was teeming with people, old and young, white, black and of course Fernandez's fellow Cubans. Television cameras were still there, the pile of flowers had doubled in size, and people were still bringing bouquets. Kids were playing, but not noisily-it was as if they recognized the gravity of the situation.
While it appeared to be business as usual around the city, there was a large group of people who were deeply affected enough to want to show their respect. It was announced earlier that the day's next game against the Mets, would go on as planned. Not even death can get in the way of a wildcard race New York is in the thick of, and the Marlins are barely holding onto. I continued to make plans for my potential interview, fully realizing that Ichi, anyone would really rather not talk to a reporter. If that reluctance shows on his face tomorrow, I'm not going to push the issue - my longtime desire to have this chance notwithstanding, some things just aren't that important when it comes to loss of life.
Above everyone, the bright orange lettering continued to blare "Game Canceled" hours after the game would have ended, staying up to be more of a metaphorical reminder that the lives of Fernandez and two of his friends were snuffed out. Tomorrow the sign will be gone-which is another reminder to us that life does indeed go on.
