by Tom Plate
                                 
                                 Los Angeles --- In the sports-happy, globe-oblivious country of United 
                                 States, probably more people know who Hideki Matsui is than who Junichiro 
                                 Koizumi is. 
                                 
                                 The former is the star left fielder of the New York   Yankees baseball 
                                 team.  The latter is only the prime minister of Japan.  But   for a shining 
                                 few minutes late last week in New York, you could very well   make the case 
                                 that Matsui was the most important Japanese celebrity in the   world. 
                                 
                                 The dramatic situation was this.  It was early in a feral game   against 
                                 the hated Boston Red Sox baseball club. A sharp line drive was   slammed 
                                 into left field in the general direction of Matsui. An excellent   fielder 
                                 as well as batter, a Yankee star and a baseball superstar in Japan, 
                                 Matsui charged the liner without fear, lunged for it, fell to the ground 
                                 and rolled over onto his left wrist and arm. 
                                 
                                 The capacity crowd at   historic Yankee Stadium in the Bronx gasped at the 
                                 sight of the fallen   warrior on the ground unable to move because the pain 
                                 was so great. The team   doctor and teammates ran to his aid, but nothing 
                                 could be done. The arm was   broken, the star had to leave the game, the 
                                 recovery period is said to   require months. 
                                 
                                 But here is where Matsui exceeded his greatness as   individual player with 
                                 great dignity as a human being and as a team player.   In the age of the 
                                 coddled athlete, the widely overpaid athlete, the   agent-protected 
                                 athlete, and the totally obnoxious superstar athlete, Matsui   from Japan 
                                 did something that hardly anyone could remember another athlete   doing in 
                                 a long time. 
                                 
                                 Matsui apologized. 
                                 
                                 He publicly   apologized to his manager for the injury that would keep him 
                                 out of the   team's lineup indefinitely, and he apologized to his fellow 
                                 players for   having to withdraw from the front lines of the battle to 
                                 allow his broken   left wrist to heal back together. 
                                 
                                 The apology was so unusual and   unexpected and uncharacteristic, it became 
                                 a major news story in the   American media. The New York Times devoted a 
                                 major feature to the Matsui   apology. Countless news organizations picked 
                                 up the story for the   astonishing if almost unprecedented development that 
                                 it represented: a   superstar athlete and celebrity actually and sincerely 
                                 saying he was sorry. 
                                 
                                 Apologies are as rare in the United States as they may be unexceptional 
                                 in Japan. In this country even major newspapers fail to apologize to a 
                                 citizen who has clearly been wronged by a story.  To date, nearly 2,500 
                                 Americans have died in the Iraq war (and who knows how many Iraqis) and 
                                 nothing remotely close to an apology has been issued by the perpetrators 
                                 of this unnecessary calamity. In Los Angeles a driver on a cell phone 
                                 will drift mentally off into Mars, make a serious life-endangering 
                                 driving error, cause a multi-car pileup, and will you hear an apology? 
                                 More likely you'll hear first from his lawyer or his insurance company. 
                                 
                                 It was against this stony-faced culture of arrogance that the Matsui   "I'm 
                                 sorry' rang across America like the ringing of some new liberty bell, 
                                 freeing us from a culture of smugness. Unprompted by media advisors, 
                                 unforced by barristers, it offered the feeling of sincerity and of coming 
                                 deep from the heart. 
                                 
                                 In American baseball lore, few phrases or   gestures are memorable enough 
                                 to last longer than the next newspaper   edition. Perhaps the most famous 
                                 gesture of all time is Yankee   slugger-of-history Babe Ruth's alleged 
                                 gesture to the bleachers right before   hitting one more or less exactly 
                                 there. Another is Lou Gehrig's famous "I   consider myself the luckiest man 
                                 on the face of the earth" phrase memorably   delivered in Yankee Stadium 
                                 during a ceremony saluting the great player's   struggle against a fatal disease. 
                                 
                                 Matsui's apology probably will not go   down in history to quite that 
                                 degree of gravity.  But to this ear it was   memorable. Like Ruth or Gehrig 
                                 before him, Matsui, the happy but humble   warrior from Japan, gave a 
                                 public and moving demonstration that reflected   the pride of a Yankee. 
                                 
                                 
                                 UCLA Prof. Tom Plate, a member of the Pacific   Council on International 
                                 Policy, is a veteran American journalist.  © 2006,   Tom Plate. 
                                 Distributed by the UCLA Media Center. 
                               
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