SF Giants’ Taira Uematsu wants to be MLB’s first Japanese-born base coach. Why stop there?

SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. — Taira Uematsu’s day began, like it always does, before dawn.

It’s 6 o’clock now, as he slides into the corner table under his name at a sushi hotspot here — he just ran into Ichiro’s translator at the same spot last week — 12 hours since he arrived at the ballpark, first in the building, as usual.

Twelve-hour days are tame for Uematsu, who puts in his order and begins to play with his chopsticks. His hands tell a story. His left thumb is permanently altered from a Hunter Strickland fastball, and the index finger next to it turns blue while he sleeps. Proof of the physical toll of more than a decade of grunt work, of never saying no, of being “Mr. Omnipresent.”

Uematsu, 39, might be the most important person in a Giants uniform whom you’ve never heard of. One of the handful of folks left in the building with three World Series rings, Uematsu predates every current player and just about everyone else. He joined the organization in 2006, five years after moving to the U.S. from Japan, and has been a constant presence at Oracle Park since 2008.

A bullpen catcher, batting practice pitcher, intel gatherer, trainer, translator, you name it, Uematsu has done it. But he won’t be anonymous for long.

“One of my goals,” he says, taking a bite from his chirashi bowl, “I want to be a base coach.”

Why stop there?

“The people that I’m seeing as managerial candidates on our staff at some point, I look at Taira in that regard,” manager Gabe Kapler says. “The way he demonstrates his willingness to do anything is what makes him special. But then also what’s impressive is that he speaks up.”

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His nickname — “Mr. Omnipresent” — was coined by former Giants manager Bruce Bochy, who first brought Uematsu on board. His biggest opportunities, though, have come under Kapler.

“Kap likes collaborating,” Uematsu says. “If you like something and he feels like you’re good at it, you can get involved. You have to be good at it. I thought that was a big opportunity.

“I wanted to be a coach, but I didn’t think it was a possibility. I didn’t even think about it for a while. But as soon as Kap took over, the way I could think about myself in the future and baseball itself was totally different.”

Uematsu will tell you: he was not the best baseball player. His father played collegiately in Japan, and Taira once dreamed of following the same path. But by the time he reached high school, what was once a passion had come to haunt him.

A voracious eater, Uematsu couldn’t shed his scrawny frame no matter how hard he tried. He was bullied by his classmates. After graduation, he took the advice of his mother: to put baseball behind him and look for better opportunities in the U.S.

It was his dad, though, who directed him toward Southern Illinois Carbondale.

At 17 years old, far from proficient in English, Uematsu moved stateside. The son of one of his dad’s clients was a minor-league trainer with the Chicago White Sox who had graduated from SIU’s kinesiology program. Maybe, Taira thought, there was a path in baseball, after all.

At least twice a semester, Uematsu would wrangle together a group of friends, hop in the car, and drive 2 hours to old Busch Stadium. Roaming the Cardinals’ outfield at the time: So Taguchi, the third position player to ever go from Japan’s highest level, Nippon Professional Baseball, to the major leagues.

“When I came to the big leagues, my first day, I found the jersey in my locker and I was so happy,” Uematsu said. “The number was 99.”

Taguchi’s number.

It was 2008.

After serving as the bullpen catcher for the Fresno Grizzlies, then the Giants’ Triple-A affiliate, there was a need in San Francisco: newly signed Japanese pitcher Keiichi Yabu required a translator.

Yabu lasted only one season in San Francisco. Uematsu, though, is still here.

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For a man who is described as indispensable by practically anyone you ask, Uematsu is curiously insecure about his employment status. When Kapler took over in 2019, he wondered if there would be a spot for him, having mostly been a bullpen catcher under Bochy.

Those worries were soothed as Uematsu watched Kapler round out his staff. His bench coach, Kai Correa, never reached the pros. Mark Hallberg, who would become third-base coach in 2022, was raised in Saudi Arabia and possessed an MBA. Alyssa Nakken became the first uniformed female coach in major-league history.

When Hallberg was promoted, it created an opening on the support staff. He told Kapler that Uematsu would be a great fit, but Kapler already knew. Uematsu had told him himself.

“He’s not in the dugout or on TV, but he has a huge impact on what we do,” said Hallberg, who gave Uematsu his first coaching project, helping track whether the Giants or their opponents were tipping their pitches.

This season, his second as an assistant coach, Uematsu is taking on more responsibility.

As the Giants seek to improve their base running and take advantage of the new rules in place, that will be an area of increased focus for Uematsu, one step closer to his goal of being a base coach. The art of base-running is a particular passion for Uematsu, which he informed Kapler of.

“I didn’t think I was a good hitter, and I wasn’t fast either, but base-running is something you can be better at,” Uematsu says. “Sometimes, actually a lot of the time, base-running dictates the result of the game.”

Next offseason, perhaps, he wants to travel back to Japan to consult some of the country’s best base coaches. This spring, Uematsu got time in the first base coach’s box during multiple split-squad games. When the next position opens up, Kapler said Uematsu would be a candidate.

While Kapler quickly became familiar with Uematsu after he was hired, and observed his work ethic around the ballpark the past three years, he got an up-close understanding of it midway through last season.

Rooted in his childhood insecurities, Uematsu doesn’t go a morning without working out. (Except, it should be noted, for about six weeks this offseason, after his wife, Yumi, gave birth to their second child.) He came to like the routine that current bullpen catcher Brant Whiting put together — one day of upper body, one day of lower body, and a separate day altogether for arms — and, it turned out, he wasn’t the only one.

Every morning around 6, Uematsu, Whiting and Kapler clanked weights inside Oracle Park.

“That was fun,” Uematsu says. “Kap can lift so much heavier than we do. That was good motivation. Working out with the manager? I didn’t even think of doing that before Kap.”

What did Kapler learn from his daily workouts with Uematsu?

“It’s a consistency and a dedication and a work ethic thing,” Kapler says. “This is what training is all about. Even though you’re not going to feel the same way everyday, can you be the same person everyday? And he does that very well. You can’t tell a good day from a bad day with Taira.”

In the weight room, Kapler lives up to his reputation.

“I do deadlifts and squats and stuff,” Uematsu says, “but he lifts so much more.”

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Uematsu sips from the miso soup next to his bowl of raw fish and rice. It’s good, but it doesn’t quite hit in the same way as his mom’s.

For the first time in three years, Uematsu was able to travel back to his hometown this offseason. His daughter, Hannah, couldn’t walk the last time her grandparents saw her. There’s a new addition, too: Sho, Uetmatsu’s son who was born this offseason.

Back in Japan, Uematsu is a regular talk-show guest. He’s asked about his journey, how it could be a model for other kids to follow. If and when he achieves his goal and becomes a base-coach, he’ll be the first Japanese-born on-field coach in major-league history.

Uematsu understands the significance, but it doesn’t concern him.

“I think I’m always going to feel the same way, even if I became the prime minister of Japan,” he says.

Uematsu laughs. He’s joking.

He takes another bite.

He is hungry for more, though.