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January 30, 1947 - Tokyo, Japan:
"You will no longer be permitted to use an artificially colored bat," Hiroshi O****a had just been told.
"And why is that?" he asked, forcing himself not to sneer at this representative of the Japanese League President. The least the arrogant fool could have done was to personally communicate this to him. Instead he sent a flunky.
The flunky had tracked O****a down at one of his many favorite haunts - an American-style nightclub. A fine place for a man inclined to enjoy a fine drink and the company of attractive women - as O****a was.
He pitched his voice to be heard over the jazz band playing mere feet away. "I have always used a blue bat, and I would remind the honorable President of the League that unlike him I served the Emperor in the late war as a member of the Army Air Forces."
The representative - O****a had not bothered to ask his name - shuffled his feet and O****a knew he would not relay such an impertinent message to his boss. He tapped his foot in time with the music.
Just as O****a was about to turn his back and walk away, the representative responded, "It is a new league rule and you will be required to comply."
O****a was amused. The flunky had some backbone after all. Very well. He nodded. "Of course I will obey the rule. I am a good Japanese - and I always obey the rules."
He turned and took a step away, then seemed to remember something and turned back. "Even the rules which are merely the whims of cowardly old men."
The representative grew pale. He had never heard anyone speak so... disrespectfully of his boss. He had heard that O****a was difficult - which seemed an understatement - but he also realized that the man was not only a war hero, but also probably the most talented hitter in Japan. He bowed.
O****a grinned and returned the bow. "Tell your boss something for me," he growled. The representative cocked an ear to hear over the strident tones of the saxophone solo. "Tell Murakami-san that he may end up pushing me to play in America. I don't believe that the Americans have any rule against colored bats."
Then he was gone, swallowed into the cloud of cigarette smoke and the waves of music.
(NOTE: the player's name - and he was a real person, censored by the board is spelled O-S-H-I-T-A)
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