Culture
Breakfast with Ohtani: In Japan, watching this World Series may be the national pastime
Shohei Ohtani has been a superstar in Japan for more than a decade, but one day earlier this year, a Tokyo resident named Tatsuo Shinke noticed something different.
Shinke, the CEO of Mint, a leading trading card store, had already watched as Ohtani’s soaring popularity had fueled the Japanese collectibles industry, spiked Japanese television ratings for Major League Baseball, and pushed baseball news into every corner and crevice of the country’s vast media ecosystem.
Yet as Ohtani made history in his first season with the Los Angeles Dodgers, becoming the first player in history to record 50 home runs and 50 stolen bases in one season, Shinke observed another data point: His mother, Emiko.
At 73 years old, Emiko had never followed baseball. But because Ohtani’s Dodgers games are aired live in the morning in Japan, and because he has become a daily fixture on the country’s popular morning variety shows — the equivalent of “Good Morning America” or “Today” — Emiko developed a new morning routine: She wakes up, eats breakfast, and then turns on Ohtani.
“Elderly people in Japan love Ohtani,” Shinke said. “It’s my mother. And all my mother’s friends. She’s retired already, so she has enough time to watch all the games in the morning.”
In the United States, the World Series between the New York Yankees and Los Angeles Dodgers is a matchup featuring the country’s two biggest cities and most high-profile franchises. The audience could surpass 20 million viewers per game for the first time since 2016.
In Japan, it will likely be even bigger.
In seven seasons in the majors, including six for the Los Angeles Angels, Ohtani has lorded his talent over Major League Baseball in a manner previously thought impossible. For his trouble, he has captured two Most Valuable Player awards while dominating as a hitter and a pitcher. If he wins his third this November, as is expected, he will become the first full-time designated hitter to win the award, a role he was forced to play after injuring his elbow last season.
At World Series Media Day on Thursday, no one was a bigger draw than Ohtani. (Katharine Lotze / Getty Images)
In America, his performance earned him a $700 million contract — the largest in history — and stardom in a sport that increasingly trails its rivals in cultural capital. But back home in Japan, where baseball is the most popular sport, Ohtani’s celebrity has reached stratospheric levels, akin to Michael Jordan or David Beckham, figures who transcended their field of play and whose fame turned them into international avatars for their home country.
“There isn’t a person in Japan who doesn’t know who Ohtani is, I don’t think,” said Robert Whiting, an American author in Tokyo who has written about Japanese baseball since the 1970s.
When the Dodgers defeated the Padres in Game 5 of the National League Division Series — a game that featured two Japanese starting pitchers — an estimated audience of 12.9 million Japanese viewers tuned in at 9 a.m. on a Saturday, at least 5.4 million more than watched in the U.S. When Ohtani chased 50-50 in September, his exploits often led the national nightly news and daytime “wide” shows, spaces that rarely mention sports. (The business newspaper Nikkei also ran a front-page story above the fold.) And when Rahm Emanuel, the U.S. Ambassador to Japan, spoke of Ohtani during a press conference in Tokyo earlier this season, he told reporters he wanted to speak not as an ambassador but “as a kid from Chicago” who watched Jordan rule the 1990s and transcend basketball.
“This is early on in Ohtani-san’s career,” Emanuel said, “but there’s no doubt that that’s what he has right now.”
The sheer volume of wall-to-wall coverage has even surprised Whiting, who first moved to Tokyo in the 1960s and has authored books on baseball and Japanese culture. Japan has seen this story before, the obsession over conquering baseball heroes in the form of Hideo Nomo, Ichiro Suzuki and Hideki Matsui, who was World Series MVP for the Yankees in 2009. But perhaps not since Nomo in the 1990s, Whiting says, has a Japanese player embodied and lifted the national spirit.
When Nomo debuted for the Dodgers in 1995 — in the middle of a nasty trade dispute between the United States and Japan — Whiting recalled that Asahi Shimbun, one of the nation’s biggest newspapers, ran an editorial stating: “In Hideo Nomo, the Japanese have produced a product that no one is complaining about.” But whereas Nomo, Suzuki and later pitchers like Yu Darvish validated the quality of Japanese baseball, Ohtani has changed the equation: For the first time, Japanese fans can credibly argue that the most talented baseball player of all time is from Japan.
“In the global market, Japanese value and power is (becoming) a little bit weaker, year by year,” said Tomoki Negishi, a baseball marketing executive who worked for Japan’s Pacific League. “So Ohtani-san’s great performance is a beacon.”
To some, he says, Ohtani is “a symbol of Japan in the global market.”
To others?
“He is just a crazy superhero that I’ve never seen before,” Negishi says.
On the morning of October 12, the symbol beamed through a television into a living room in Ōta, a special ward in Tokyo. Masanori Ninomiya, an owner of an English reading company, finished a traditional breakfast of white rice, miso soup and fruit and then turned on the Dodgers and Padres.
Ninomiya, 59, grew up in the city of Oita, obsessing over books about Japanese baseball history. He attended business school at UCLA in the ’90s, as Nomo was breaking through. He is among those in Tokyo who work remotely, which allows him to put the Dodgers on in the background during the work week.
“Everybody will have a breakfast,” he said “And then it’s Ohtani.”
In Japan, all Dodgers games appear on NHK, the country’s free, over-the-air public broadcaster. The audience for NHK often skews older, especially in the mornings. Unlike the United States, where European soccer fans huddle in bars and pubs in the morning, there is less public consumption of Ohtani, outside of major events like the World Baseball Classic. According to Negishi, this is partly due to cultural norms and partly because of the sheer volume of baseball games.
“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” said Chen Liang, director of imports at Mint cards and collectibles. “But there’s a huge percentage of Japanese people who are at work, and they’re in front of their computer, and they’re just clicking on the box score while they look at Excel sheets and things like that.”
Ninomiya was awed by Ohtani when he emerged as a two-way player for the Hokkaido Nippon-Ham Fighters. He followed him when he debuted with the Angels in 2018, when the morning ritual began. But he ascribes the national love affair to the way Ohtani has conducted himself on the MLB stage.
“For example, if there’s garbage on the ground, he tries to pick it up,” Ninomiya said. “We know he’s a superstar — and super rich — but he doesn’t behave like that.”
Ohtani and his representatives have cultivated an image in Japan of a modest, polite baseball star who is deferential to teammates and respectful to elders. The reputation helped Ohtani weather a wave of public scrutiny earlier this year, when his former interpreter, Ippei Mizuhara, was charged with stealing more than $16 million from an Ohtani bank account to cover gambling debts. (Mizuhara later pleaded guilty.) It’s also helped him land a raft of endorsements from companies on both sides of the Pacific and turn his personal life into daily fodder on television. (His wife, Mamiko Tanaka, and his dog, translated to Dekopin in Japanese, are regular characters on the daytime shows.)
The comings and goings of Mamiko Tanaka and Ohtani are regular fodder for Japanese morning shows. (Stringer / Getty Images)
“Those are traits that I think Japanese fans love to see in practice on a foreign land,” said Hiroshi Kitamura, an associate professor of history at William & Mary who specializes in U.S.-East Asian relations. “Japanese fans love to see MLB players like (Aaron) Judge, (Fernando) Tatis, (Ronald) Acuna say great things about Ohtani as being the unicorn. But I think they also appreciate seeing Ohtani kind of being Japanese. In that sense, I think Japanese fans see Ohtani as part of them.”
The face of Major League Baseball greeted Foster Griffin each day when he arrived in Tokyo. The billboards. The cardboard likenesses in convenience stores. Ohtani’s voice even features in advertisements on the subway.
Soon after Griffin, a former Kansas City Royals pitcher, moved to Japan to pitch for the Yomiuri Giants, he learned the cultural primacy of televised nightly news.
“And he has his own section of the news,” Griffin said. “They highlight everything he does every day over there. He’s everywhere.”
From an American perspective, it’s hard to conceive of the popularity of Ohtani in Japan. America does not revere any foreign sports in which they are not supreme. The Japanese media, a sprawling apparatus with five commercial television networks and five national daily newspapers, can be impenetrable for non-Japanese speakers. And contrary to hyperbole, not everyone in Japan cares about baseball.
“Culturally, I felt like in recent years, the interest of young kids seemed headed to new sports like soccer,” said Ema Ryan Yamazaki, a Japanese filmmaker raised in Osaka.
The sport, however, remains a cultural unifier, a source of connection at the office or during the morning commute. And Ohtani has transcended demographics, spawning new generations of fans while appealing to retired grandmothers in Tokyo, Fukuoka and Sapporo.
In Japan, Ohtani is the face of countless advertising campaigns. (Tomohiro Ohsumi / Getty Images)
“The school teacher understands a balk and an intentional walk, throughout the entire country,” said Bobby Valentine, the former Mets manager who had two stints in Japan as manager of the Chiba Lotte Marines. “It’s like a port of passage. Baseball allows you to be acceptable in the culture. It’s just one of those things.”
When Ohtani led the country to a World Baseball Classic championship last year, more than 42 percent of Japanese households watched Japan defeat the United States at 8 a.m on a Wednesday. Six of Japan’s seven WBC games drew more than 30 million viewers. Ohtani’s presence — along with starting pitcher Yoshinobu Yamamoto — could help the Japanese World Series audience approach those heights. The numbers are already so striking that MLB continues to target the Japanese market, and will open the 2025 season with the Dodgers facing the Chicago Cubs in Tokyo, a year after the Dodgers opened the season in South Korea against the San Diego Padres. Commissioner Rob Manfred told The Athletic this week that “If you’re going to open (the season) in Tokyo, the only choice was to take the Dodgers again. And the reason it’s the only choice is the audiences that those games deliver are so big that it drives what’s a real broadcast business for us in Japan.”
The first pitch of the World Series will come at 9:08 a.m. on Saturday, airing on both NHK and commercial network Fuji TV. Interest is so high that creators of the wildly popular manga show “One Piece” pushed back a season premiere, to not compete with Ohtani.
“Smart move to move the show on their part,” Yamazaki said. “I would, too.”
As Ninomaya puts it, the only figure in Japan who could conceivably surpass Ohtani in name recognition is the prime minister, and the current one, Shigeru Ishiba, just took office earlier this month.
“Some young people may not know our prime minister,” he said. “But even kids — junior high school students, senior high school students — everybody knows Ohtani.”
Yes, every generation in Japan is ready for breakfast with Ohtani. Even if there is one that appears most charmed.
Earlier this year, Whiting, 82, was talking to his wife, Machiko Kondo, who worked for years as a resettlement officer at the United Nations. For decades, Kondo never expressed any interest in baseball, even as Whiting wrote best-selling books about Japanese baseball history and the meaning of Ichiro, even as he followed games on both sides of the Pacific.
But then came Ohtani.
“I’ve written all these baseball books that have gotten national attention, and it doesn’t mean anything to her,” Whiting said. “But now with Ohtani, she’s started asking: ‘Did Ohtani have any home runs?’”
The Athletic‘s Andy McCullough and Sam Blum contributed to this story
(Illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; Photos: Jayne Kamin-Oncea / Getty Photos)
Culture
Poetry Challenge Day 4: What The Stars Can Teach Us About Love
Here we are on Day 4 of the Poetry Challenge, looking up, again, at the sky. (If you’ve just arrived, click here to catch up.)
We’ve considered “The More Loving One” as a witty, teasing love poem, and also peeked into the life of its author, W.H. Auden, to see what it might have meant to him. But maybe it’s time to take this poem at face value, as a meditation on our place in the universe.
You can read the whole poem here, but to recap: We start by admiring the stars even though they don’t feel the same way (or any way, really) about us. Then we wonder … do we care about them all that much? At last, we imagine them extinguished, leaving an emptiness that we tell ourselves would be just fine. Eventually.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
Tracy K. Smith, poet
The poem resolves with a sigh that seems to linger, as if the poem didn’t quite want to end. Unlike the concluding lines of the previous stanzas, all of which clocked in at precisely eight syllables, the last line of the last one extends to nine. That may sound trivial, but we know that Auden counted his syllables carefully.
And it isn’t hard to identify the extra particle, the one tweezed in among the others. Auden could just as well have written, “Though this might take a little time.”
That would have maintained the pattern without altering the meaning. The “me” is implied. Adding it might seem redundant. Which is exactly why Auden does it.
Though this might take me a little time.
W.H. Auden, poet
That scant word makes the poem last a little longer. It also emphasizes the human presence of the speaker, a person whose perceptions and feelings are what this is finally all about. He is asking for patience, for grace, as he adjusts his eyes and heart to a stark new situation.
But how much time is “a little”? The split second it takes to utter that extra, unstressed “me”? However much is needed to heal all proverbial wounds? Or are we thinking in astronomical measures, as those stars invite us to suppose? In that case, it might take our poor stargazer more time than he has. Millions of years. Hundreds of millions!
What does it mean to exist as a solitary being in such a vast, incomprehensible cosmos? This may have been an especially timely question when this poem was written; early versions date from 1957, the year the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, marking the beginning of the space age. But poets have been looking at the sky for a very long time.
Some find comforting news of heaven, like William Wordsworth:
The stars are mansions built by Nature’s hand,
And, haply, there the spirits of the blest
Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest’
Others, like Ada Limón, see the projection of our own curiosity:
Arching under the night sky inky
with black expansiveness, we point
to the planets we know, we
pin quick wishes on stars.
Occasionally a poet (Stephen Crane in this case) will hear an answer that makes Auden’s silent stars seem kind:
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
Auden himself came back to the subject a dozen years after “The More Loving One,” in a poem called “Moon Landing,” which ambivalently hailed the Apollo II mission as a “phallic triumph,” “a grand gesture” of male self-regard. And while he acknowledges the spirit of adventure behind the mission, he doesn’t admire the moon enough to want to see it up close:
Worth going to see? I can well believe it.
Worth seeing? Mneh! I once rode through a desert
and was not charmed
He’d rather contemplate the moon above him — one who “still queens the Heavens” — than tread like Neil Armstrong on its dusty, lifeless surface. The feats of NASA and its astronauts belong to a world of science, politics and media spectacle; Auden prefers the realm of mythology and aesthetics.
He’s in good poetic company. In “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer,” Walt Whitman, at a lecture, finds himself “tired and sick” of charts and diagrams and scientific discourse.
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
He did not give a damn if they gave a damn.
For Auden, as for Whitman, demystifying the stars risks stripping them of their poetry. A sense of wonder flickers through “The More Loving One,” along with the wit and the romantic weariness. The poem concludes with an almost defiant commitment to awe, the search for sublimity in the heavens.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
Matthew McConaughey, actor and poet
Stars or no stars, what matters is the attitude of the person below: receptive, yearning, more in love than he may be willing to admit, even if — or indeed because — he doesn’t quite know what it is he’s worshiping.
As we approach the end of the poem, our own feelings might be in a bit of tangle: admiration, amusement and something else that’s harder to pin down in words or themes. A feeling that, having spent time with a poem largely about solitude, we are less alone.
Let’s nail down those tricky last lines, and come back tomorrow to talk about the whole thing.
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.
Your task today: Learn the final stanza!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
Culture
Book Review: ‘Israel: What Went Wrong?,’ by Omer Bartov
The result has been a terrible irony for a country that was founded as a refuge from intolerance: “How is it that the appeal to humanitarianism, tolerance, the rule of law and protection of minorities that characterized the beginning of Jewish self-emancipation gradually acquired all the traits of the relentless, remorseless and increasingly racist ethnonationalisms from which Zionism sought to liberate European Jewry?”
To answer this painful question, Bartov uses all the tools at his disposal, weaving together history, personal anecdotes, even some literary criticism, including a close reading of a poem — by Hayim Nahman Bialik and known to “every Israeli schoolchild” — about the perils of vengeance that has been misinterpreted and warped for political ends. Bartov writes unsparingly about Hamas’s murderous attacks, in which about 1,200 Israelis were killed and about 250 others taken hostage, which he calls an unequivocal “war crime and a crime against humanity.” It was a “slaughter of innocents” that “evoked collective memories of massacres and the Holocaust.”
Indeed, in a May 2024 poll of Israelis that he cites, more than half of the respondents said Oct. 7 could be compared to the Holocaust, and the Israeli media repeatedly depicted the massacre as a pogrom. Bartov understands why — for traumatized people, new traumas will revive old ones — but he maintains that the label is a category mistake. Israel is a state; it has an army, laws and government. A pogrom “is a mob attack, condoned or supported by the state authorities, against a minority lacking any attributes of a state.” (“To be sure,” he adds, “pogroms have occurred within the territories controlled by Israel, but when they take place, they were and are being carried out, with increasing frequency and ferocity, by settlers in the West Bank.”)
Israel doesn’t have a constitution. After its founding, its government was supposed to codify the protection of religious freedom and minority rights, but efforts to adopt a constitution were waylaid and arguably thwarted by political figures like David Ben-Gurion, the country’s first prime minister. Bartov believes that a constitution could have made Zionism “superfluous” after it succeeded in establishing a state that could be a refuge for Jews. Citizens could have turned toward the task of building a “just society” that aimed at “peace, truth and reconciliation with the Palestinians.”
This sounds nice, if fanciful; constitutions don’t magically prevent authoritarianism. Not to mention that attacks by surrounding Arab states did nothing to alleviate Israelis’ sense that they were constantly embattled.
Culture
Poetry Challenge Day 3: W.H. Auden, The Poet and His Technique
Now that we’ve memorized the first half of our poem, let’s learn a little more about the man who wrote it. (Haven’t memorized anything yet? Click here to start at the beginning.)
For most of his life, Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-73) was a star. He was widely read, quoted, argued over and gossiped about, achieving a level of fame that few writers now — and not many then — could contemplate. His New York Times obituary did not hesitate to call him “the foremost poet of his generation.”
Celebrity of that kind is ephemeral, but Auden’s words have continued to circulate in the half century since his death. Maybe you’ve heard some of them before. In the 1994 film “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” his poem “Funeral Blues” is recited by Matthew (John Hannah) over the casket of his lover, Gareth (Simon Callow).
In the Gen-X touchstone “Before Sunrise” (1995), Jesse (Ethan Hawke) regales Celine (Julie Delpy) with an impression of Dylan Thomas reading Auden’s “As I Walked Out One Evening.”
In both these scenes, the characters use Auden’s poetry to give voice to a longing for which they otherwise might not have words. Auden’s poetry is often useful in that way. It speaks to recognizable human occasions, and it isn’t always all about him.
“The More Loving One” might not be something you’d quote at a funeral or on a date, but it is almost effortlessly quotable — the perfect expression of a thought you never knew you had:
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Ken Burns, filmmaker
The word “I” occurs five times in this stanza, but we don’t know much about the person speaking. His personality is camouflaged and revealed by craft.
Auden, born in the northern English cathedral city of York, began practicing that craft as a schoolboy, and honed it at Oxford. Not long after graduating in 1928, he was anointed by critics and readers as the great hope of modern English poetry. A charismatic, divisive figure, he gathered acolytes, imitators and haters.
He swam in the intellectual and ideological crosscurrents of the 1930s, drawing Marxism, psychoanalysis and mystical nationalism into his writing. Assimilating a daunting array of literary influences — Old English and Ancient Greek, French chansons and Icelandic sagas — he forged a poetic personality that was bold, confiding and seductive.
His love poems of that era were candid, discreet dispatches from a calendar of feverish entanglements, wrenching breakups and one-night stands, usually with other men. He also wrote about the feverish politics of the time — class conflict; the rise of fascism; the Spanish Civil War — in ringing rhetoric he later disavowed.
In 1939 Auden moved to America, acquiring U.S. citizenship after World War II. In New York he fell in love with Chester Kallman, a young American writer who became his life partner.
It was a complicated relationship, starting as a passionate affair and enduring through decades of domestic companionship and creative collaboration. Kallman’s refusal to be sexually exclusive wounded Auden, a dynamic that poignantly shades this poem’s most memorable couplet:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Yiyun Li, writer
In America, Auden distanced himself from the radical politics of his earlier career and embraced Anglican Christianity. His intellectual preoccupations shifted toward religion and existentialism — to the kinds of big questions we think about late at night, or when we look to the sky.
Making the leap from wunderkind to grand old man without seeming to stop in middle age, he became a mentor for several generations of younger poets. He was a prolific and punctual contributor of reviews and essays to various publications, including this one, for which he wrote a rave of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Fellowship of the Ring” in 1954.
Through it all, Auden devoted fanatical attention to the finer points of poetic technique. His notebooks are full of numbers, word lists and markings that show just how deep this commitment went. He counted every syllable, measured every stress.
He gathered rhymes and other words with a lexicographer’s zeal and a crossword puzzler’s precision.
The third stanza of “The More Loving One” is a miniature showcase of Auden’s skill. Of the four epigrams arrayed before us, it may be the most technically perfect.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
W.H. Auden, poet
The rhythm is flawless, without an extra syllable or an accent out of place. The grammar is also fastidious. Here is a single sentence, springloaded with equivocation, beginning with one idea and sliding toward its opposite.
This quatrain is the poem’s ideal formal representation of itself, a kind of proof of concept: four lines of impeccable iambic tetrameter in an AABB rhyme scheme. The by-the-book regularity of this stanza should give you a leg up in memorizing it, and you can test yourself below!
But the rest of the poem is an argument against perfection, just as it is a celebration of uncertainty and humility — as we’ll see tomorrow.
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.Your first task: Learn the first two lines!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
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