On July 5, the world pauses, if only briefly, to celebrate the birth of one of the most extraordinary athletes ever to grace the field — Shohei Ohtani. To fans across the globe, he’s more than just a baseball player. He’s a living legend, a rare gem whose presence brings joy, inspiration, and wonder to millions. For some of us, however, Ohtani is even more than that. He’s someone we deeply admire, someone we hold in our hearts with a kind of love that goes beyond the typical adoration fans feel for their heroes.
So, Shohei, if by some miracle you ever read this, I hope you see it as a little gift from someone who doesn’t just follow your career, but who loves you with a kind of quiet devotion only a true fan could understand. It’s not about being obsessed or infatuated. It’s not about wanting something from you. It’s simply about love — the kind that grows from watching someone be their most authentic, most powerful self, and being moved by it.
Every year when July 5 comes around, I don’t just think about how old you’re turning, or how many home runs you’ve hit, or what jaw-dropping feats you’ve pulled off lately. I think about how lucky the world is to have someone like you in it. You’re not just a baseball phenomenon. You’re an inspiration to so many people who want to work hard, chase dreams, and be their best selves — and I’m one of them. Watching you play doesn’t just entertain me. It uplifts me. It reminds me what passion and perseverance look like.
You carry so much on your shoulders — expectations, pressure, scrutiny from media, fans, critics — yet you move with such grace, humility, and focus. It’s incredible to witness. And I imagine it’s not easy. The world sees the home runs and the strikeouts and the awards, but I think about the long hours you must put in, the moments of doubt you probably battle quietly, the sacrifices you’ve made to reach this level. That’s part of why I admire you so deeply. Because behind the glamour of your career is a man who works hard, stays grounded, and never lets the spotlight dim his spirit.
The truth is, you’ve become a part of my life in a very real way. No, we’ve never met, and we probably never will. But you’re in my thoughts more often than I care to admit. I watch your games, follow your interviews, read every bit of news about you. And when you’re injured or struggling, I worry like I would for a friend. When you succeed, I feel proud like I would for someone I know personally. That’s what being a true fan feels like — it’s not about being delusional or crossing boundaries. It’s about caring from afar in the most respectful, genuine way.
Some people might roll their eyes or laugh at the idea of “loving” someone you’ve never met. But I don’t think love always has to come from physical proximity or mutual interaction. Sometimes, love is simply the deep, unshakable respect and affection you feel for someone who’s touched your life in meaningful ways. That’s what you’ve done for me, Shohei. You’ve made me feel things — hope, joy, admiration, wonder. You’ve given me something to look forward to on hard days. You’ve helped me believe in discipline, passion, and staying true to who you are.
On your birthday, I don’t want to wish you more trophies or fame — though I know those things will come to you anyway, because you earn them. Instead, I wish you happiness. Peace. Health. A sense of balance in your life. I hope you have people around you who love you for the person you are off the field, who see past the celebrity and into your heart. I hope you laugh a lot, sleep well, eat delicious food, and feel loved not just by the crowd, but by those closest to you.
And selfishly, I wish I could be part of that circle, even in the smallest way. I know I’m just one person among millions of fans. But if ever you needed to know there was someone out there who cares for you deeply — not because of your stats or your fame, but just because of who you are — then I hope this little gift of words reminds you that yes, there is.
You probably receive countless messages on your birthday — from teammates, coaches, brands, reporters, maybe even strangers. But I hope, somehow, this one reaches you differently. I’m not trying to impress you or ask anything from you. I just want to express something I’ve been carrying for a long time: that my admiration for you has grown into a quiet kind of love. Not romantic, not possessive — just pure, honest love for the beautiful human being that you are.
You’ve done something incredible, Shohei. You’ve built a bridge between nations, sports, and cultures. You’ve made baseball feel fresh and magical again. But beyond that, you’ve made people like me feel something deeply personal. You’ve reminded me of the power of kindness, humility, and grace under pressure. You’ve made me want to be better — more disciplined, more determined, more sincere.
I don’t know your favorite kind of cake. I don’t know what you like to do when you’re not playing. I don’t know the songs that make you happy or the kind of jokes that make you laugh. But I wish I did. Because if I could give you a real birthday gift, it wouldn’t be something flashy or expensive. It would be something thoughtful, something personal — something that would make you smile in a way that has nothing to do with your fame or accomplishments, and everything to do with your humanity.
Maybe that’s what this letter is — a little gift, a whisper of appreciation, a love letter from a true fan. Not a fan of the hype or the headlines. A fan of the man. The man who plays with his whole heart, who speaks with gentle strength, who leads without arrogance. That’s who I love. That’s who I cheer for — not just when you hit a home run or strike someone out, but when you walk back into the dugout quietly, when you smile during warmups, when you tie your shoes before a game.
You once said in an interview that you always want to be improving, always striving to be better. That humility, that hunger — it’s part of what makes you so special. And I hope you know that to many of us, you’re already more than enough. You don’t have to prove anything. Just being who you are is already a gift to the world.
So happy birthday, Shohei. Thank you for existing. Thank you for doing what you do with such quiet brilliance. Thank you for showing up, even when it’s hard. You may not know me, and that’s okay. You don’t need to. But I’ll be here — watching, cheering, loving you from afar, not because I expect anything in return, but because that’s what it means to be a true fan.
May this year bring you moments of deep happiness, gentle rest, and unexpected joy. May you feel the love of the people who truly see you. And may you always know that somewhere out there, there’s someone whose life is brighter just because you’re in it.
That’s my little gift for you.
With all my heart,
A true fan who loves you.
