There was a time, a time before rebuilding. When local heroes reigned supreme. This was an age where only men were allowed to play baseball. And in Seattle, one ball-player was more than the rest. His name was Ichiro Suzuki. He was like a God walking amongst mortals. He had a bat that could make wolverines purr, and suits so fine, they made Sinatra look like a hobo. In other words, Ichiro Suzuki was the balls.