Facing My Heroes: The Day I Struck Out Ichiro Suzuki Twice

Editor’s Note: Brandon Beachy had a relatively brief but highly memorable career, rising from undrafted free agent to a key — at times overpowering — member of the Braves’ rotation. Injuries derailed Beachy’s career, but he retired with a 14-12 record and 275 2/3 innings of 3.36 ERA ball under his belt. Beachy was at his best from 2010-12, when he made 41 starts with a pristine 3.07 ERA and plus strikeout/walk rates alike. Nearly two years ago to the day, Brandon was kind enough to take some time to host a chat with MLBTR readers. We’ve asked him about contributing some occasional writing for the site, and we’re thrilled that he’s taken us up on the offer.

A couple of years ago, I did a Q&A with readers that MLBTR owner Tim Dierkes said was well received. He asked if I’d be interested in doing some writing, and after a little consideration, I figured I’d give it a shot. We’ll see how it goes.

For my first piece, I want to talk about what it was like to face one of baseball’s greatest hitters: Ichiro Suzuki. As an undrafted free agent signing with the Atlanta Braves in 2008, I worked my way through the minors and made my Major League debut in September 2010. I had some success but unfortunately dealt with multiple elbow injuries that ultimately ended my career sooner than I’d hoped. Still, I had some incredible experiences, and facing Ichiro on June 27, 2011, is one of the most memorable.

Preparation

I want to set the scene by briefly describing my process and preparation. The day after my starts I would come in early, get my flush running in, and get into the gym. I’d then go through yesterday’s start pitch by pitch. Roger McDowell was very influential on me. The results mattered of course, but some of my toughest self-scouting days came after quality starts or even scoreless outings. I had days where I felt I had just gotten lucky after executing rather poorly. I would track all my fastballs and how often I hit my spot. I believed in the long run that process-oriented approach would yield the results I wanted in the long run.

Day 2 is when I started looking ahead at my next opponent. I’d look over their roster, see who was hot at the time, and dive into their numbers a little bit. I wanted to know two things on each hitter:

1. What and where (i.e. pitch type, location) did they struggle that could be a putaway opportunity for me?
2. Against which pitch type and where within the zone did they do their damage?

Balancing this with pitching to your own strengths was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed this side of the competition.

The First At-Bat (YouTube link)

Back to June 27, 2011. I was throwing to Brian McCann, one of the best catchers a young pitcher could ask for. Mac was huge comfort blanket for me. He knew the hitters inside and out and was extremely perceptive to hitters’ swings and subtle changes.

Ichiro was leading off, and I started with a fastball up in the zone. He flared it foul down the left-field line. I was a four-seam, high-spin-rate guy before that became a widely discussed metric. I typically attacked hitters with my fastball early and often.

I missed with my next fastball to even the count at 1-1. I went back at him with another fastball, 93 mph, a little over the plate. He fouled it off. I got away with these a lot early in games especially. McCann had relayed things hitters had told him about my fastball just having a little extra gear than it appeared. McCann was great at using this to get me into favorable counts, and I trusted his guidance.

By this point, I thought Ichiro had a read on me—he knew what I was throwing and was adjusting accordingly, it seemed. Looking back I don’t think he ever started cheating to get to the fastball. He would’ve been content wasting them away all night long.

Next, I threw a well-located 95 mph fastball down and away. Ichiro was one of the best ever at this, and wasted another good pitch, just fouling them off instead of taking the strike. So McCann called for a changeup, a great pitch on the outer part of the plate. Ichiro appeared fooled by it but recognized it enough to keep his hands back, on plane and fouled it off to the right side.

Then came one of my favorite pitches of my entire career. McCann doubled up on the changeup here. After the way he kept his hands back on the last one I knew it couldn’t be the same. Mac set up on the chalk of the right-handed batter’s box to help illustrate this to me.

I threw a four seam changeup to match the spin of my fastball. I worked daily to try to stay perfectly behind this pitch so that it would mimic the fastball exactly. On this next pitch I intentionally got way inside of the ball, running it left to right out into the other batter’s box. Ichiro swung and missed. It was a huge moment—a small victory in the battle against one of the toughest outs in baseball.

The Second At-Bat (YouTube link)

In the third inning, we were up 1-0 with two outs and nobody on—an ideal time to face a hitter of Ichiro’s caliber. I started him off hard away, and again, he fouled it off, clearly tracking my fastball well. I missed off the edge with another fastball, bringing the count to 1-1.

McCann went back to the changeup. I threw a good one down and away, but Ichiro did what he does best—he kept his hands back just long enough to barrel it up and shoot it up the middle for a single. He was never the type of hitter who needed perfect timing; his ability to adjust mid-swing was second to none. This “good” pitch played into his hands well.

The Third At-Bat (YouTube link)

By the fifth inning, the game was tied, and I had a runner on third with two outs. The stakes were higher. After inducing a pop out for the second out, Mac visited the mound before Ichiro came to the plate. He was great in these settings. Always incredibly encouraging and helping me focus. A lot of times he would just ask what I wanted for first pitch, which is what I think was discussed here. I missed up with a fastball to start, then threw another over the plate that he swung through. Looking back, I can now see that I don’t think Ichiro had been on my fastball all day. He’d fouled them off repeatedly, but with glancing blows, not square dangerous swings.

At a 1-1 count, McCann called for another changeup, but he set up way outside, almost in the other batter’s box recalling the pitch I had struck him out on in the first inning. I again got way inside the release of it, and it ran sharply to the right and out of the zone. Ichiro, recognizing changeup, committed to the pitch expecting one like he had singled last at bat — swung and missed. Now I was ahead 1-2.

Then McCann made the call that sealed it. Instead of another changeup, he called for a slider down and in—a pitch Ichiro hadn’t seen yet. I threw a good one, and he swung over the top as it bounced into the dirt. Strike three. I got out of the inning unscathed, thanks to McCann’s pitch calling and conviction in the way he set up. These nonverbal cues put me at ease giving me not just the pitch he wanted and the location, but the purpose behind it.

The Takeaway

Earlier that year, I sat with Chipper Jones and a group of hitters, probably McCann included. Chipper was always generous with his time, and he’d invited me to always listen in and would even tailor conversations to help me understand from a pitcher’s perspective. One thing he told me stuck: “Maybe one or two guys in each lineup are truly thinking the game—picking pitches, playing chess at the plate.” The rest just go execute against. Ichiro was definitely one of those guys.

Facing a legend like Ichiro was an incredible challenge. He wasn’t just reacting to pitches—he was playing the chess game at an elite level. Early in the game, he wasn’t selling out for my fastball; he was waiting for something off-speed. Striking him out twice in the same game felt surreal, but it came down to a combination of sequencing, execution, and trust in my catcher.

Looking back, moments like these are what made my time in the big leagues so special. Sitting in the dugout after the game, icing my arm, I couldn’t help but think, I just struck out Ichiro Suzuki twice. It was one of those “I can’t believe I’m here” moments that I’ll always cherish.

Baseball is full of small battles within the larger game. Sometimes, you win those battles, and sometimes you don’t. In this instance, I believe I benefited from giving up what was ultimately a harmless single in the 3rd inning. Striking a pro hitter out is always a good feeling. Fooling someone or overpowering them are fun. My favorites though were times like these with Ichiro, where I gave them what I believe they wanted and used their aggression and wits against them.

After my playing career ended, I decided to bet on myself again—this time in business ownership through franchising. I wanted control over my time after years of being told where to be and when. Franchising was the right fit for me, and I believe it’s a great path for many athletes making the transition, as well as anyone looking for a new opportunity.

Now, while running my own business, I also help others navigate franchising as a consultant—a guide, coach, and advocate for those exploring their next step. My service is free, and I’m always happy to talk franchising, baseball, or anything in between. Feel free to reach out at Brandon@whatsnextfranchising.com.