Katsuke Nagasaki’s breath billowed as he wound his way through Tokyo’s narrow, crooked streets.  The morning of February 22, 1935, was chilly.  But that was good—part of the plan.  Nobody would look twice at his bulky overcoat.

His neighbors in working-class Okachimachi rose early.  Men and women dressed in padded traditional jackets called hanten were sweeping the sidewalks before their small wooden houses and discount shops.  Others were hauling display tables stacked with ceramic teapots and dishes, small kitchen appliances, or crispy rice crackers called sembei out from their cluttered one-room shops to the narrow sidewalks.  Above the street, women leaned out of second-story windows, beating their colorful futons with wooden paddles to cleanse them of musty night smells before airing them out on the window sills.

As the thirty-year-old Nagasaki reached the wealthier Ginza neighborhood, the streets became wider and cleaner.  Delivery men glided by on heavy black bicycles piled with crates of beer and sake bottles for the area’s many bars, fresh fish from the still-under construction Tsukiji market, and bundles of wrapped cloth for the dress shops.  Occasionally, an aging black truck lumbered down the larger streets.   As the depression had deepened, trucks and gasoline became too expensive for all but the most prosperous businesses.  Besides, the Imperial Army had requisitioned most of the fuel.  Japan had several hundred thousand troops deployed in Manchuria as well as the standing armies in the colonies of Korea and Formosa.  

Nagasaki had not joined the army.  There were better ways for a man of his skills to serve the Emperor.   He practiced his swordsmanship each day and eked out a living by instructing others in this ancient art.  He also taught the newer form of self-defense known as jujitsu.  Some of his students shared his political views and he had introduced a select few to his fellow members of Bushinkai (The War Gods Society).   The group was small; not well known like the Black Dragon Society, which had agents across Asia and ties to members of parliament, but it was dedicated and after today would receive the recognition it deserved.

Soon the three-story concrete Yomiuri Newspaper building loomed ahead.   The sidewalks became crowded as men in suits and fedoras rushed to work at the newspaper and the nearby offices.  In a three-piece brown suit and dark tie peaking out from beneath his overcoat, Nagasaki blended into the crowd.  He had an intelligent, pleasant long face with a high forehead and neatly trimmed thin mustache.

At 8:40 A.M. a black sedan cruised down the street.  Nagasaki slipped into the shadows as it halted in front of the newspaper building.  A short, balding man with black-framed, coke-bottle thick glasses emerged from the auto.  The man did not seem imposing, but Nagasaki knew that Matsutaro Shoriki should not be underestimated.   The newspaper’s owner was a judo master and uncommonly brave.  As a young police inspector, he had single-handedly quelled angry mobs during the Tokyo riots of 1918 and ‘20.  As Shoriki said good morning to the doorman and began to climb the stairs into the building, Nagasaki strode forward.  It was Nagasaki’s only chance.  He drew his short samurai sword from beneath his coat and the gleaming blade flashed through the air striking Shoriki’s head.  As his target collapsed, the assassin fled, leaving Shoriki prostrate in a pool of blood. 

The doorman and an office boy rushed the judo master to the newspaper’s infirmary, where he remained unconscious for five hours.  Shoriki would spend the next 50 days in a hospital but survived to create a media empire before dying of old age in 1969.

Later that day, Nagasaki walked into a local police station and gave a detailed confession.  The primary reason for the assassination:  Shoriki had defiled the memory of Emperor Meiji by allowing Babe Ruth and his team of American all stars to play in the stadium named in the ruler’s honor.

Banzai Babe Ruth!: Baseball Diplomacy and Fanaticism in Imperial Japan is the story of the doomed attempt to reconcile the United States and Japan though the tour of Major League all stars in 1934, and the efforts of Nagasaki’s War Gods Society to drive the nations apart.  The story contains international diplomacy, espionage, attempted murder and, of course, baseball.  It will follow some of baseball’s most colorful personalities as they toured the then exotic Orient and will introduce to English-speaking fans the Japanese stars, such as ace pitcher Eiji Sawamura, who played against the Americans in friendship but died in the jungles of the South Pacific as their bitter enemies.  It will follow Moe Berg’s forays into espionage; the ultra-nationalist War Gods Society attempt to decapitate tour organizer Matsutaro Shoriki; and the birth of Japanese professional baseball.  It will introduce the lesser-known tales of Victor Starffin, the Russian immigrant and player for Japan whose father was a convicted murderer; and Jimmy Horio, a Japanese-American who played for the All Nippon team in an effort to gain a Major League contract.  It is a true tale of how two groups of men from different cultures, temporarily united by their love for baseball, were drawn apart as their countries rushed towards war.  Some of these friendships, however, endured the conflict and later played an important role in reconciling to two nations. The 1934 All American tour of Japan was more than just a series of exhibition baseball games.  It was an event that changed lives and influenced history.