Lincicome: Continued achievements would make Suzuki even more coveted

Early on, the label most often used to identify Seiya Suzuki was "coveted," a handy description just in case things did not turn out well for the Cubs or for Suzuki for that matter. When one is "coveted" whatever happens next is no fault of the "covetee."

Now, as expectations are weighed and noted, it must be remembered that not only the Cubs but nearly every team thought Suzuki was a good idea. One does not become "coveted" by being unnoticed.

Remember Kosuke Fukudome. There he was on the cover of Sports Illustrated identified as the player to "end the Cubs 100-year wait."

Fukudome was also "coveted" and an early favorite among Cubs fans, yet he went from coveted to novelty to uncoveted and platooned, not the first such regret to romp upon the playground of Wrigley.

Recall Tuffy Rhodes, a Cub of yore who had one career day at Wrigley Field and then hit 55 home runs in the same league whose pitching groomed Suzuki into becoming "coveted."

What this all means is that connections between the Cubs and Japanese baseball should always, like wasabi, be consumed with caution.

I can tell already, one cheap joke and six paragraphs into wherever this goes, that I am risking culturally stereotyping players, an insensitive and risky thing to do, though not much different from a major league scouting report.

Identifying a player by place is inevitable, as I once pointed out for the Bears who had Jim Harbaugh and Brad Muster in their backfield. The preferred way was a quarterback from Stanford and a running back from Michigan, not the other way around.

Why, I don't remember, but I thought a good idea for a column about Carlton Fisk was to find out how he felt being the greatest ballplayer to ever come out of Vermont, only get a shrug and a stare, later to learn that Fisk was born in Vermont but was from New Hampshire.

Reluctant to go back and find out how it felt being the greatest player from New Hampshire, I parked the idea of geographical significance and have since used it sparingly, not even as a modifier, never once referring to Sammy Sosa as Dominican Sammy.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Seiya Suzuki.

Here is what we know so far. Pretty good player, gathering new adjectives like "sensational" and "amazing," causing stats mavens to research obscure feats of history, such as, and this is a true account, "only one of two players to reach base twice and score or drive in at least one run in each of his first five games as a Cub."

Whoa. Good research, even if I can't follow the chain of achievement. It sounds impressive and, what's more, it is just the beginning. Suzuki's big start puts him in the company of other Cubs such as Starlin Castro, Jorge Soler and Mark Grudzielanek. That is meant to be, I insist, encouraging.

One national publication - there still are such things - lists Suzuki as the second most important name to know in baseball, an entirely invented category.

Why? Because Suzuki has "impeccable credentials." Those credentials would be four All-Star berths, three Gold Gloves, two batting titles and an Olympic gold medal. All of that back in Japan. Another witness calls him a "budding superstar."

What is obvious is the Cubs have a new hero, just when they most need one, a franchise face, however long it lasts.

After last summer's disruption, the dispatching of any Cub who didn't need his name on both the front and back of his jersey to be recognized, keeping up with what was left of the Cubs came down to Kyle Hendricks and Others.

Suzuki removes the need to thumb through thumbnails of the assorted Justins and Clints and Rafaels to find out just who the Cubs now are or why anyone should bother with the journeymen and odd socks who make up the roster.

The focus is fortunate and obvious. The question is not if the Cubs won or lost, but how did Suzuki do today?

To quote newly added pitcher Marcus Stroman, "He's going to be a main dude." And this from someone who is himself a candidate for dudeness.

We shall see.