A Culture of Silence - When Mental Health Was Taboo
In Japanese professional baseball, showing mental weakness was long considered taboo. Issues were dismissed with phrases like 'lacking fighting spirit' or 'no guts,' and mental health problems were treated as personal weakness. At the root of this attitude lies the deep-seated culture of seishin-shugi (spiritual fortitude) that permeated postwar Japanese sports. The 'spokon' (sports guts) culture that peaked in the 1960s and 70s glorified enduring suffering as a virtue and regarded voicing psychological distress as shameful. Professional baseball was no exception - enduring grueling training was seen as proof of elite status, and players who complained about mental struggles risked being branded as 'unfit for the pros.' Even when players suffered from depression or panic disorders, teams avoided disclosure, using vague terms like 'poor condition' or 'conditioning adjustment.' A former team trainer has testified that 'until the early 2000s, whenever a player was sidelined due to mental health issues, we always substituted a physical reason on the disabled list.' Players themselves had little choice but to remain silent. Consulting teammates or coaches would be met with 'stop being soft,' and if fans or media found out, the player would be labeled as 'mentally weak.' This culture of silence created a vicious cycle that made it difficult for players to seek help and allowed problems to escalate. A turning point came in the late 2010s. In MLB, players like Brandon Webb and Zack Greinke publicly shared their battles with depression in 2018, rapidly expanding understanding of mental health. In Japan too, attitudes gradually began to shift, with some players starting to speak about their experiences. However, the consciousness reform across the entire baseball world remains a work in progress, and the unspoken norm of 'never show weakness' persists stubbornly.
Active Player Pressure - Days Driven by Numbers
Professional baseball players are constantly evaluated by statistical numbers. Metrics like batting average, ERA, and home runs directly affect salary, and poor performance immediately leads to demotion or release. NPB's registered player roster is limited to 70 per team, just 840 across all 12 teams. Every October, roughly 100 players receive non-tender notices and leave the professional world. This fierce survival competition takes a serious toll on players' mental states. Players drafted in high rounds particularly struggle with the gap between surrounding expectations and their actual performance. When a player who signed for tens of millions of yen in signing bonus and a 15-million-yen annual salary fails to establish himself in the top league after several years, the pressure of 'not delivering returns on the investment' intensifies daily. The scrutiny from team officials and media, fan expectations, and above all, disappointment in oneself gradually corner the player psychologically. Testimonies of slumping players becoming unable to sleep, eat, or even face going to the stadium are not uncommon. One former pitcher recalled: 'When I stepped on the mound, my hands would tremble and I couldn't see the strike zone. I became afraid to pitch, and just throwing in the bullpen made me nauseous.' For batters, a string of outs can turn the batter's box itself into an object of terror. The condition known as the yips, a movement disorder, is largely attributed to psychological factors. Furthermore, the spread of social media has amplified player stress. After games, clips of errors and strikeouts are extracted and shared widely, triggering floods of anonymous criticism. Criticism that once required reading a sports newspaper now jumps out the moment a player opens their smartphone. Younger players especially struggle to maintain distance from social media and are more vulnerable to psychological damage from online abuse.
The Chain of Injury and Mental Suffering
Physical injuries deal serious blows to players' mental health. Players forced into long-term absence are tormented by anxiety about returning, fear of losing their position, and guilt about not contributing to the team. In NPB, many players undergo Tommy John surgery (ulnar collateral ligament reconstruction) each year, requiring 12 to 18 months for recovery. This extended rehabilitation period places enormous strain not only on the body but also on the mind. Loneliness during rehabilitation is also severe. Spending days confined to the training room while teammates play games and celebrate victories together is mentally grueling. Players who continue their solitary rehabilitation at home facilities rather than traveling with the team are particularly susceptible to feelings of alienation, wondering 'am I even part of this team anymore?' One former outfielder shared: 'The hardest part of rehab was watching my team's games on TV. The team kept going without me. Every night I wondered whether I was even needed.' When injuries recur, despair that 'maybe I'll never be the same' can develop, with some players falling into depression. For pitchers with recurring shoulder or elbow injuries, or position players who have torn knee ligaments multiple times, the next injury could mean the end of their career. This fear casts a shadow over their play even after returning. An unconscious brake on throwing or running at full effort kicks in, leading to performance decline. That decline generates further mental anguish, forming a negative spiral of injury and psychological suffering. Recent sports medicine research has reported that approximately 30 percent of athletes show clinical depressive symptoms following anterior cruciate ligament tears. The concept of 'dual recovery' - addressing mental care simultaneously with physical rehabilitation - is gaining traction internationally, but its adoption in NPB remains limited.
Post-Retirement Loss - Identity Collapse
The average retirement age for NPB players is around 29, with many beginning second careers in their early 30s. However, for players who have lived solely for baseball since their teens, retirement means not just the end of a career but the collapse of identity. Unable to answer 'who am I without being a baseball player,' many former players develop depression after retirement. The depth of this problem is rooted in the structure of Japan's baseball development system. From youth baseball through high school, college, and corporate leagues to the professional level, players have virtually no opportunity to develop skills or gain social experience outside of baseball. During high school, they practice from dawn to dusk; in college, baseball club activities remain the center of their lives. After turning professional, the baseball-immersed lifestyle intensifies further, with extremely limited contact with general society. As a result, a steady stream of players face the reality at retirement that 'all I've ever done is baseball' and find themselves at a complete loss. Kazuhiro Kiyohara's drug addiction is said to have been rooted in post-retirement loss. Even a slugger who hit 525 career home runs could not fill the void after hanging up his uniform. Kiyohara himself later confessed: 'Every day after retirement was hell. I felt I had no value without baseball.' While this is an extreme case, many former players experience similar feelings of loss to varying degrees. Financial problems also amplify psychological distress. Players who earned tens of millions of yen annually during their careers face a dramatic income drop after retirement. Cases of former players unable to adjust their spending habits and rapidly depleting their savings have been reported. Losing social connections, facing financial pressure, and becoming increasingly isolated - the plight of former players represents a serious problem behind professional baseball's glamorous facade. It has also been noted that the divorce rate among former players within five years of retirement exceeds the general average, with changes in family circumstances becoming an additional source of stress.
Current Support Systems and Challenges
In recent years, NPB has been developing mental health support infrastructure. Counseling services in cooperation with the players' union, placement of sports psychologists at teams, and pre-retirement career counseling have been implemented. Since the early 2020s, several teams have begun hiring dedicated mental performance coaches, which represents meaningful progress. A framework for supporting both performance enhancement and psychological well-being is gradually taking shape. However, support systems are still insufficient. Stigma around receiving counseling remains strong, and many players hesitate to seek help for fear of being seen as 'weak.' A sports psychologist at one team has revealed: 'It's rare for players to come for consultation on their own. In most cases, coaches or support staff notice something is off and refer them.' In other words, an environment where players can proactively seek help has not yet been established. The comparison with MLB is instructive. Since the 2014 collective bargaining agreement revision, MLB has mandated that all 30 teams have a Licensed Mental Health Provider on staff. An environment where players can easily seek consultation is institutionally guaranteed, and receiving counseling is recognized not as 'weakness' but as 'professional self-care.' Furthermore, similar support is provided to minor league players, building a system that cultivates mental health awareness from the earliest stages of a professional career. NPB faces numerous challenges going forward. First, mandating mental health professionals at all teams. Currently, responses vary widely between teams, creating significant disparities in the level of support available. Second, introducing mental health education from the development stage. A systematic framework is needed to teach young players entering through the draft how to cope with the stresses they will face in the professional world. Third, expanding post-retirement support programs. Systems should be established that provide counseling and career support not only during active careers but for several years after retirement. Cultivating a culture that views mental health issues not as 'weakness' but as 'health concerns requiring care' is urgently needed. Creating an environment where players can safely seek help is not only about protecting individual players' lives but is also a critical issue for the sustainability of Japanese professional baseball as a whole.