To the Player who Taught Me to Love Baseball...

When I was a kid, soccer was my favorite sport. I didn't have a great reason; all I knew is that I liked to run fast. But then something changed that. Somebody changed that.

The day was April 23, 2009. My dad took part in the classic American heritage: taking your son out to the ballgame. Although I had been to then-Safeco Field once a few years prior, I hadn't paid much attention, so this would be my first true exposure to Major League Baseball. I was only eight at the time, and I didn't know any of the names of the players on the field. I didn't know who the Tampa Bay Rays were. The only thing I knew was the Mariners wore white uniforms, and they were the right team. But soon, I would learn one player's name, the most important name. How could I miss it? As the leadoff hitter stepped into the box in the bottom of the first inning, that name resounded throughout the stadium.

I-CHI-RO! I-CHI-RO!

My dad explained to me that this Ichiro was the best player on the team. Right on cue, Ichiro sent a James Shields pitch into the right field bleachers. That was all I needed.

As it would turn out, that home run would be the only run scored all game. Felix Hernandez, whom I had yet to discover, would narrowly outduel Shields to give the Mariners the win, despite poor run support. That game would be very indicative of many things to come in my life (maybe save the fact that the Mariners won). But that day, baseball became my new favorite sport. The Mariners became my favorite team, and Ichiro became my favorite player.

Over the next few years, my love for the game grew. The next year, my dad and I made it to opening day, and there I bought my first pack of baseball cards: the 2010 Mariners team set. From that point on, I collected binders and eventually boxes of baseball cards. I memorized the backs of the cards and could rattle off a concerning number of random facts and statistics. I watched Mariner games with religious zeal, and thus was subjected to a lot of miserable baseball, but I didn't know any better than to get excited for a Miguel Olivo at-bat. That didn't matter though; I had Ichiro.

To me, Ichiro was baseball. I wore my navy replica jersey with a beaming pride. I emulated his stance every time I walked up to bat in little league. I woke up at two in the morning to watch him go 4 for 4 in his home country when the Mariners opened the 2012 season in Tokyo. The Mariners missed the playoffs, but as long as we had Ichiro, there was always hope, right?

As fate would have it, I was at summer camp during the 2012 trade deadline. During the week, I heard rumors that my hero had been traded to the Yankees.

The Yankees? No. Ichiro is a Mariner. Ichiro is the Seattle Mariners. That could never happen, could it?

My mom picked me up at the end of the week. Before she could ask me about my week and tell me how much she missed me, I had three words: "Is it true?"

I hid from my friends so they wouldn't see me cry.

When playoff time rolled around, I became a Yankee fan. He didn't look as heroic in pinstripes, but that's okay. He was still Ichiro. Years passed. Combined no-hitters and perfect games came and went. I stopped buying baseball cards and found less time to watch my team lose baseball games. There were plenty of Happy Felix Days and "Boomstick Baby!" and Robinson Cano's excessively casual defense, but right field in Seattle wasn't the same.

It was a little bittersweet to watch Ichiro collect his 3,000th hit with the wrong jersey on. His final home run at Safeco Field gave me chills. He became a free agent, and while I knew signing a player like Ichiro didn't make a lot of sense for a team in a "win-now" mode, a part of me didn't care. I wanted Ichiro home, and when injuries opened a spot for him on the roster last year, my dream came true. He wasn't the same Ichiro that had mystified the baseball world for over a decade, but that didn't matter. Ichiro was baseball, and baseball was back.

Finally, this week, baseball decided to step away from the game he taught me to love. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Ichiro will have to learn to live without playing baseball. For the first time in my life, I'll have to learn how to love baseball without the player who enthralled me almost ten years ago.

Thank you for everything, Ichiro. Here's to new beginnings for us both.

Ichiro forever.