A Whole New Ballgame

01:00 AM EDT on Tuesday, August 26, 2003

BY STEVEN KRASNER
Journal Sports Writer

Lou Merloni was perched on his moped, stopped at a red light in Yokohama, enjoying a nice day in Japan.

The light turned green. And Merloni froze.

He was the first in line at the light, but he suddenly realized he had a major problem.

"I had no clue where to go," said Merloni, recalling that panicky moment in 2000. "I didn't know if I could turn right or left. Or if I had to stay in that lane."

The signs certainly didn't help him. Merloni didn't read Japanese. He managed to maneuver his moped over to the side of the road, giving him a chance to watch the traffic pattern to help him continue his journey.

AP photo When the Red Sox' Lou Merloni, reaching for a grounder, played in Japan he got plenty of insight into what foreign-born players feel when they come to the U.S.

"I think it definitely gave me a different perspective," said Merloni, who played part of the 2000 season in Japan before rejoining the Red Sox' organization that year.

"You think about it, how the Latin guys come over here and they all hang out together. In Japan, as an American, it doesn't matter if you've ever played with the guy before, but if you see another American, you're best friends with him right away. You understand why it is the way it is over here (for the Latins). I came to appreciate that more after being over there in Japan," said Merloni, now a member of the San Diego Padres.

Generally, when players from the U.S. go over to Japan, they have their own personal interpreters. They are with the players at the ballpark, and can be available away from the field, also. But they are not with the players 24 hours.

At some point, the players have to fend for themselves, creating challenges because they have been plopped into a different civilization with a language that they generally can't speak.

And it's different than going to a Spanish-speaking city to play winter ball, as many players do at some point in the course of a career. At least there it's the same alphabet, and it's easier to pick up some basic words.

In Japan, it's an alphabet of characters that to the eye of anyone not skilled in the language looks like an assortment of ink splotches you might see in a psychologist's office.

Communication, as you might expect, can be hairy.

Take a page from Willie Banks' Japanese diary, for instance.

"One day, my first year there, I overslept," said Banks, a former Red Sox pitcher who played in Japan in 1999 and 2000.

"I was supposed to be at practice, so I jumped into a cab to take me to the train station. Okay, fine, I can do this alone. I wound up in Hiroshima, which was three hours out of the way. I get out and I'm telling people I play baseball, trying to find my way back, and they're all saying, 'Ichiro, Ichiro,' " said Banks, referring to the former Japanese League star now shining for the Seattle Mariners.

"I'm like, 'No, try to understand me, I'm just trying to get back to where I came from. How do I do that?' Everything was in Japanese letters and I'm like, 'Oh, this is nice.' I panicked. An American in Hiroshima? The place we bombed? I was scared. I'm not afraid of much, but I was afraid right there, thinking the people might have a flashback or something."

Eventually, Banks found his way back to his apartment. When he got there, he said he found 30 messages on his phone, asking where he was and instructing him to get to practice.

He had a message of his own for his employers, the Orix Blue Wave.

"If you guys want me to go to practice, you send someone to pick me up because I'm not getting in another cab," said Banks.

One of the biggest adjustments Americans face in Japan has to do with dining -- not only the difference in cuisine, but also being able to order what you might want.

"I liked every bit of the food, but I only ordered what I knew I was ordering," said another ex-Sox pitcher, John Wasdin, who spent 2002 with the Yomiuri Giants. "Rice is pretty common. I got a lot of fried rice and fish."

Merloni tried to pick up a few words and phrases to make his life a little easier.

"Most of the restaurants had pictures on their menus, so you'd point to what you wanted and you'd learn some basic Japanese, like how to count, how to say 'left' and 'right,' simple things to help you get by," said Merloni.

"I didn't know much, but words I did know I wasn't afraid to speak. But they have so many phrases that talking in sentences was tough. So you talk in one word or two, trying to get your point across the best way you could. Usually it worked, but sometimes they just laughed at you. Sometimes I'd just give up and turn around and leave and try the next restaurant. That happened a few times," he said.

At the clubhouse or on the field, with the interpreter's help, each American can get by. But there are many moments when the Americans have no idea what's being said in the clubhouse, having to wait for the translation while fighting the feeling of paranoia that maybe they are being talked about in unflattering terms.

"I wasn't worried what they were saying because they would just smile, and I'd smile back and wave," said Wasdin, recently sent back to the minor leagues by the Toronto Blue Jays. "They could be yelling at you but if they were, you didn't have any idea what anybody was saying so you just smiled and went about your business."

"I don't think I ever worried about people talking about me behind my back because the guys weren't like that," said Merloni. "But you kind of get the jokes second-hand. A guy says something and everybody starts laughing, and you ask the interpreter, 'What did he say?' And then you hear it and start to laugh. It's a weird situation."

All of which is exactly what the Spanish-speaking players and the Far East players experience when they come to this country, leading those American who do play in Japan to have a better understanding and more compassion for what the foreign players feel in the States.

"It's hard. You feel like an outsider," said Wasdin of his Japanese stint. "You can't communicate because you're scared to talk the language, so you kind of sit at your locker, put on your headphones, listen to the music and keep to yourself. After spending 10 months in Japan, I understand why the Latin guys come over here and speak very little English. I realize now how very lonely and very frustrating it can be for someone who doesn't speak the (host country's) language."