All it took for Eduardo Perez to learn the names of his Hanshin Tigers teammates was one embarrassing moment.
"The first thing I tried to do when I got to Japan was learn everyone's name," the third baseman says after a recent rainout against the Yokohama BayStars. "Two weeks later one of the players comes up to me at the dinner table and says, 'You don't know my name, do you?' I couldn't answer him. I felt soooo bad. I asked for a media guide immediately and learned everyone's name. Now I take them to Hard Rock and we have some fun."
Perez knows more words in Japanese than just those on the Hanshin roster. Ask him when his birthday is and he'll answer, "Kugatsu, juichi-nichi." Ask him why he knows more Japanese than your average ballplayer fresh off the boat and he'll answer enthusiastically, in English.
"I've studied Japanese since the day I got here, the 28th of February. My thing is, I'm not afraid to make mistakes and look silly -- as you can tell," says Perez, wearing his baseball cap cocked at a 45-degree angle. "I just try to be myself, and if I make mistakes they'll correct me and I'll learn from it."
The past three months has been one big learning experience for Perez. While he has had immediate success with the Japanese language, the same can't be said of his stab at Japanese baseball. As of Tuesday, the righty was hitting .229 with just two homers and 14 RBIs in 41 games. Hanshin, meanwhile, is dwelling near the Central League cellar. "I've worked hard here because I don't want to embarrass myself or our fans," says the Cincinnati native. "Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on how I'm hitting, but I think you need to learn how to fail here before you can succeed." Perez has seen his share of highs and lows during an eight-year career with the Anaheim Angels, Cincinnati Reds and St. Louis Cardinals. The .244 lifetime hitter averaged just 48 games a season in the majors but earned a reputation as a reliable utility man. Last year, he replaced the injured Mark McGwire at first base for 24 games and batted .297. Still, he chose not to return to the majors in 2001. "My coming to Japan was a combination of knowing that I could be on a big-league roster but not making it until the last day," explains the 6-foot-4-inch Perez. "Sometimes I'd have to go down to the minors and that's frustrating. But I stuck with it for a few years in the States and did well. . . . But sometimes the reality hits you. I'm 31 years old and I turn 32 in September. I feel I have to be a realist and economically this was the best decision for me. Not that I wasn't making good money over there, but at least now I can microwave two years (of salary) into one."
Perez glows when talking about his time with the Cardinals and being McGwire's teammate. But first he tells translator Hiroshi Abei, who has come to inform Perez that their taxi is waiting outside Yokohama Stadium, to get lost. "I'm going to finish my interview and this time you're gonna have to wait for me," he says playfully. "Isn't it great? For once in your life you're gonna have to wait for me!" Hiro, as he's known, walks away with a smile on his face. He is used to Perez's easygoing manner.
"Where was I? Yeah, I understand why everyone loves that club, why McGwire took less money to go over there. I've never seen anything like it. They treated me with utmost respect. I'm very grateful they allowed me to come to Japan and play.
"I learned a lot from Mac, too. He taught me to just take it in stride. Sometimes if you're not healthy, you can't play. Just keep your level of concentration up and enjoy what you do and study the pitchers." If Perez ever needs a study buddy, he can always call dad, Hall of Famer Tony Perez. Pop won two World Series rings as a member of the Big Red Machine in the 1970s. He spent 23 years in the majors and managed Cincinnati in 1993.
Tony knows what it's like to move to a foreign country for baseball. In 1960 he left Cuba at the age of 17 for minor-league ball in Geneva, N.Y. Now it's Eduardo who finds himself playing in a foreign country, albeit later in his career. "(Dad) tried to give me as little advice as possible because he knows this is different," Perez says. "He's heard from a lot of players that it's different here. It's more of a guesser's league than a skill league. If you guess right you're going to succeed here. If you try to just see it and hit it, you won't be as consistent as guessers. It's a different philosophy here than in the States." Tony hasn't seen his son play in Japan and probably won't.
"I don't think he'll come," Eduardo says. "It's a very long trip for him and my mom to come out here. He works for the Florida Marlins (as a special assistant to the general manager), so I don't see him leaving his job to come over here for personal reasons. We keep in touch through the Internet and talk on the phone and . . ."
And before he can utter another word, Hiro has returned. The meter on the taxi is running and Perez has been talking for more than 15 minutes now.
"I'm still doing my interview," he says in between fits of laughter.
Hiro quietly walks away.
"Thank you, Hiro," Perez shouts into the tunnel leading away from the dugout. "I looove you, Hirooo!"
Perez is then asked what he would've said had he, not commissioner Bud Selig, introduced his father during the induction ceremony in Cooperstown last July.
"There are so many good things to say about him, that's tough," he says. "Obviously I would be biased because I'm his son. But I believe I know him better than anyone out there. To me he was the utmost father. It didn't matter what he did on the job -- if he struck out four times or hit three home runs -- he'd be the same individual once he left the ballpark. I think so many people respected him for that. People didn't fear going up to him."
Like father, like son. In a few minutes Hiro will fearlessly go up to Perez -- in vain -- one last time.
"I admire my dad so much for going to a country where he didn't know the language, learned the language, always knew how to hit. 'See da ball, hit da ball,' as he says.
"Fortunately, when I was a young kid, my father never forced us to play the game," Perez adds. "It's not like I'm coming out here and doing something because I have to do it. I chose to play baseball; it wasn't chosen for me. I played hoops in high school and had 10 scholarships to play basketball and one to play baseball (for Florida State). I went with baseball. I just figured that in the long run it would get me out of a 9-to-5 job." Baseball has gotten Perez all the way to Osaka, and it may keep him there for a few more seasons.
"I can stick with it because you only live once," he says. "I'm learning a new language, I'm learning a new culture. I'm in another part of the world. . . . I think it's a beautiful country. Being here is something I'd never trade."
As the interview draws to an end, the Yokohama Stadium field is now waterlogged. There are no other players in sight. Perez chats for a few moments off the record and then slips into the locker room.
Hiro is still waiting in a taxi outside the stadium. For once in his life.