In what might appear as a subplot ripped from a baseball-themed crime thriller, Ippei Mizuhara, widely recognized for his role as the voice behind two-way MLB sensation Shohei Ohtani, finds himself under a glaring spotlight, though not for any celebratory reasons. The scope of betrayal stretches far, piercing through the trust of not just Ohtani, but also capturing the attention of federal prosecutors who have now slapped Mizuhara with hefty bank fraud charges.
The story begins with Mizuhara enjoying a position of unparalleled trust and access as Ohtani’s interpreter and everyday manager. When Ohtani, a superstar known as much for his humility as his explosive swing and fast pitches, needed help navigating the complexities of American bank accounts upon his arrival in 2018, Mizuhara was right there, assisting in opening an account. But as the complaints filed against Mizuhara reveal, this was perhaps where the seeds of deceit were planted.
Fast forward to a 37-page complaint that paints a picture of rampant misuse: Mizuhara is accused of siphoning off more than $16 million from Ohtani’s accounts. The money—a staggering amount by any standards—was allegedly funneled not just to cover his vast gambling debts but also to amass a collection of baseball cards, an ironic twist for someone so ingrained in the real game.
Authorities detail how Mizuhara, operating under the pseudonym “Jay Min,” haunted online auction sites like eBay and Whatnot to acquire around 1,000 baseball cards, averaging about $325 per trinket. Imaginations can barely conjure the scene as packages filled with the likes of Juan Soto and Yogi Berra were delivered, some even to the Dodgers where they were carefully sidestepped into the clubhouse by an unsuspecting employee.
Mizuhara’s car later became a mobile vault of sorts, housing rows of meticulously encased cards—treasures in cardboard featuring the very players he crossed paths with, including his employer, Ohtani. The intention, as investigators deduced, was probably to sell these off later, potentially to recoup some losses or dive deeper into his gambling escapades.
Speaking of gambling, Mizuhara seemed to have equally high stakes in this arena. An IRS special investigator unveiled that Mizuhara had placed approximately 19,000 bets with a nettling net loss of $40.7 million. One breathes a small sigh of relief to know these bets steered clear of Major League Baseball, perhaps a thin thread of ethics that remained uncut.
Mizuhara’s audacity didn’t just end with unauthorized splurges. He delved deeper into deception, impersonating Ohtani to wire money to accomplices intertwined in his betting world. This sinister twist of identity theft adds another layer of violation to Mizuhara’s rap sheet.
U.S. Attorney Martin Estrada didn’t mince words on the matter; the betrayal was not just of a financial nature but deeply personal, exploiting a relationship founded on trust and professional dependence. Meanwhile, Ohtani, who has cooperated fully with law enforcement, remains clear of any involvement, betrayed by someone he once tasked with translating more than just language.
As Mizuhara prepares for his initial court appearance in downtown Los Angeles, one thing remains clear: the price of betrayal might just outweigh any collection of baseball cards, no matter how rare they might be. This unfolding case leaves us with a sobering reminder of how closely knitted deceit and trust can be—even in the world of sports where the play is supposed to stay on the field.
