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They love Hillman in Japan
By JOE POSNANSKISAPPORO, Japan | Hillman’s Hangout is a little third-floor bar that looks like it popped right out of the movie “Lost in Translation.” It’s dark and warm and smoky. On most nights, an eclectic mix of American and Japanese music plays while a slide show of photographs projects on the wall. The photographs are of Trey Hillman’s life.
Yes, you could say it’s a bit odd to be in the Sapporo business district eating what passes for Texas-style ribs while looking at photographs of Hillman’s wedding and Little League games. But you get used to seeing odd things in Japan.
“This guy wanted to do this restaurant,” Hillman says. “I had nothing to do with it. He asked me for permission and for some photographs, and I said, ‘Sure. I’ll be glad to help.’ It’s flattering. And it’s embarrassing at the same time.”
It’s also a good place to watch game two of this Japan Series. The game itself is nothing to talk about — the Chunichi Dragons dominate the game 8-1. Still, it’s impressive to see the way people rush into the restaurant, point at his uniforms on the wall, say “aww” at the baby pictures and generally try to get close to Trey Hillman.
Hillman, as you know by now, is manager of the Nippon Ham Fighters, and he is the incoming manager of the Kansas City Royals. But you may not know just how big he is here in Japan and, especially, in Sapporo. He draws the biggest cheers during introductions. He is constantly asked to be a guest star on talk shows even though he’s not confident enough in his Japanese to go on without his interpreter. His habit of holding a stopwatch in his hand at all times is constantly discussed and imitated. Some people dress up like Hillman for holidays.
“They put you up in the clouds,” Hillman says, and he shakes his head because he does not want to be up in the clouds. He sees himself as just a Texas guy who likes baseball and likes people, who plays his guitar and gets his food at a convenience store near his house. He’s had a hard time getting used to the formality of Japan. People treat baseball managers here like they are larger than life.
There’s a reason for this. This is a culture that reveres teachers and masters. Japanese managers have been larger than life. There was Tetsuhara Kawakami, the great Yomiuri Giants manager who won nine straight Japan Series. He used to say, “Most players are lazy.” Kawakami suspected that he was the main reason the Giants won, and most people agreed with that sentiment.
Tatsuro Hirooka was even more adamant about it. He was a baseball tyrant — sort of like Bear Bryant in his younger days — and according to the excellent “You Gotta Have Wa,” he once ran a 59-day training camp and demanded that every single day his batters take 600 swings and his pitcher throw 430 pitches.
When his team, Seibu, won the Japan Series, he said: “This year was a battle between me and the players. And I won.”
You probably wouldn’t hear, say, Tony Dungy say that (although Bill Belichick is at least a possibility).
In this atmosphere where managers are deities, people in Sapporo tend to see Hillman as something of a miracle worker. You have to understand that until five years ago, the huge Japanese island of Hokkaido (which is where Sapporo is) had no professional baseball team. And even though Sapporo is the fifth-largest city in Japan, nobody ever expected they could get a baseball team. Most people here just thought Hokkaido was too far north, too distant from Tokyo, too far out of the way to matter.
Then, the Nippon Ham Fighters — who were second-class citizens in Tokyo anyway — moved out to Sapporo. There, they found a near-cult following. The whole island embraced the team. With Hillman in charge, the Fighters made the playoffs their first year in Sapporo, which got everybody going. Last year, they won the Japan Series. Everybody went crazy. More than 200,000 people showed up downtown for a parade. Hillman became a bona fide hero, though it was the last thing in the world that he wanted.
“It’s not about me,” he says. “It’s about the players. I keep saying that. You can ask the reporters here, I say that every single day. But they really won’t listen.” No, they love Hillman here. And that means they are not too crazy to see him go. There was quite a bit of tension when Hillman announced late in the season that he was resigning from Japanese baseball so he could spend time with his family.
It wasn’t that people disbelieved him — they just thought there was more to the story. Some of the people running the Fighters thought he was after more money. Reporters speculated that he had already cut a deal to manage the New York Yankees.
Then, a few weeks later, when he took the job as Royals manager and came to America for two days, there were major complaints. There aren’t many things that bother Hillman, but this definitely bothered him. People in Japan have been so kind to him. They have taken him into their culture. They have embraced him. They have seen his wedding photographs. But he wonders if they know him at all.
“I love Japan,” he says. “I love the people here. I love this team. I have spent five years here, and I will come back, believe me. But I needed to do this for my family. I have missed too many of my daughter’s birthdays. I’ve missed too many of my son’s birthdays. I haven’t seen my son play a football game this year.
“And, yes, it really bothered me when some people thought that I wanted more money or was just after a better job. That hurt me. I pride myself on being a loyal person. I would never do that. I really and truly hope people in Japan understand how I feel about them.”
Sunday night in Hillman’s Hangout, a whole group of Japanese people ate Texas food and watched the game on television. Waitresses wearing T-shirts with Hillman’s face on them scurried about. There wasn’t much for a Fighters fan to cheer, but when Hillman appeared on television, there was a smattering of applause. A woman at the next table asked me where I was from.
“Kansas City,” I said.
“Oh,” she said. “I am Kansas City Royals fan.”
“Really?” I asked. “Since when?” She smiled and pointed at a photograph of Hillman and said, “Since him.”