Odd Connections

Disoriented, I shook my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts before returning my attention to my surroundings. I immediately regretted this as a simultaneous assault upon my sight and hearing began; my vision swam with neon signs and screens flashing wildly while incessant beeps, wordless shouts, and unpleasant tinny music blasted my eardrums relentlessly. As I fought the urge to cringe away, the darkness began to recede and the outlines of hulking shapes revealed themselves to be what I had secretly known and dreaded... gaming machines.

They stretched as far as the eye could see. With titles such as Dance Dance Revolution, Taico Drummer, Guitar Freak, Mario Kart x 4, and Pop’n Music, the interactive potential was endless. And, to make full the joy and despair rending my heart, there were rows upon rows of glistening UFO catchers chock full of treasures near and dear to a gamer’s heart, such as life-sized Goomba dolls and the all-coveted FFXII Potions.

There was nothing I could do. The choice had been made long prior to my arrival, and whether I willed it or no, there would be no deviation from the script. With great care and a deliberateness found in some ancient craft handed down from generation to generation, my body fell into the groove it had once trodden years past.

Time blurred into nothing. All I was aware of was the chime of coin hitting coin within the heart of my captors, over and over again. Heart racing at my recklessness, mind racing with the amount of money being blown through heedlessly, conscience heavy with guilt at this blatant disregard for the budget strictly adhered to until this ill-fated spree, it occurred to me that I knew exactly what I was doing, and it didn’t change a thing. Just as the pit in my stomach dropped to an all-time low...

I woke up.

Thank goodness I woke up.

And with clenched fists, I muttered to myself, "I really hate that Laundromat".

The Sting of Defeat

Make that 13 stings, each more painful than the last. At first it was only 7, and we were smarting, but the wall wasn't insurmountable. Then I glanced at my computer screen for 30 seconds for no good reason before returning my attention to the television.

The last 6 stings struck without me even noticing.

We were once a "Pacific League doormat". Then we were champions. And now... now we're one step above doormat, which everyone knows is housecat.

There was no ceasefire granted in mercy this day, and at the end of it all, the scoreboard read:

Eagles: 13
Marines: 0

Lotte still has cool chants and loud Taico drums on their side, and it's a new day. Just take it one game at a time guys and shake off the building psychological pressure more losses than wins tend to produce. We can still have a respectable season.

All Together Now!

I’d just like to take this moment and say that Lotte has some kick-butt cheers going on. Especially the most popular chant in its repertoire, which is partially in English (for that stylistic punch that Japanese words lack) and enhanced by gut-thundering Taico drums rumbling in-sync to the words:

“Let’s Go Lotte!” BOOM BOOM BOOM-BOOM-BOOM
“Let’s Go Lotte!” BOOM BOOM BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

(enter musical score as everyone begins to jump) “Go Lotte, Go Lotte! (Insert Japanese phrase here). Go Lotte, Go Lotte! (Insert Japanese phrase here).”

“Let’s Go Lotte!” BOOM BOOM BOOM-BOOM-BOOM
“Let’s Go Lotte!” BOOM BOOM BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

It was so catchy that I actually found myself singing under my breath every time the Taico drums would start up. The opposing team’s chants weren’t nearly as awesome. If the teams were going up against each other in a WWF wrestling match, Lotte would win by the sheer superiority of its theme music.

I also forgot to mention that Lotte won the game we attended. Naturally. No one can withstand the crazy power of “Go!!” with the might of a thousand sweets enthusiasts marching behind it.

Japan's Favorite Past Time- Part III

(From the forgotten chronicles of Fall 2005)
Ah yes, the fans. These faithful supporters are not just a few in a vast sea of fair-weather floozies- they make up an amazing majority of ticket holders, and bring an element I have seldom seen at a game back in the states (remember, I’m speaking from the background of someone whose home-team was lackluster at best). And truly, there’s nothing like soaking in genuine fan excitement for their team, no matter how lousy their performance the previous year.

As with every other area of life here, there seems to be an unwritten protocol of how to participate in rabid fan-like activities. Each side has about three chants and/or songs that they rotate through, each accompanied by trademark choreography, such as jumping up and down or waving hands in unison. These are only displayed when their respective team is up to bat. Each side also has a volunteer band that follow the team around no matter where their game schedule takes them, providing the music with which the crowd synchronizes their deep-voiced intonations.

Not a peep could be heard out of the other team’s supporters when Lotte’s players came up to bat. They kept a respectful silence as roars of encouragement and approval came from the Lotte faithful. The only time this code of silence was broken was when an error was made, which inevitably led to the Other’s horn player whipping out a mocking nya nya nya barrage of notes as his cohorts cackled. Silence would then descend upon them once more, until either the next error or the inning’s end, whichever came first. Just as the two teams would trade places, so would the fans, with Lotte remaining silent as the Other cheered their team on.

In truth, it was all very civilized as each side dutifully waited for their turn to chant, stomp, and cheer, all the while remaining silent in shared shame during painful blunders aggravated by the taunts of their opponents. In my mind, this scene defined something difficult to grasp about the Japanese psyche that I had observed around me; a compulsion to practice manners and social graces without fail, but only part of the time, or the obsession to follow the letter of the law, written or unwritten, all the while breaking those the masses have deemed unnecessary, or at least bendable. And permeating everything is the Us vs. You mentality, right down to association with and accepting the responsibility of mistakes and blame by “your” side’s representatives, whether it be a baseball team, political party rep, company CEO, or family member. I see it everywhere. Absolutely everywhere.

Seeing this mindset being displayed so blatantly was strangely fascinating, as ingrained in the game here as anything else associated with the sport. And although we might not be able to get such a complete experience watching games on TV, the spirit was still there.

So why did we caught up? Maybe it was the intensity with which the game was played. Maybe it was the fact that we innately understand baseball, and understanding anything in this strange culture was welcome. Maybe it was the way players and fans alike poured everything into the game. Maybe it was for the badly translated comments fans made on the news. Whatever the reason, I’ve now watched more baseball in Japan than I ever did in the states. Period.

Japan's Favorite Past Time- Part II

(From the forgotten chronicles of Fall 2005)
Our first taste of baseball simmered in trademark Japanese intensity came about one scorching September day in the glistening city of Makuhari. In the absence of the familiar sight of purple and white adorning the stadium, Ash & I had decided to root for our “new” home team, the Chiba Lotte Marines, even going so far as to purchase over-priced trinkets at the gift shop in the name of “memories” and “souvenirs”.

Arm in arm with a friend from Tokyo, we managed to buy some behind-home-plate tickets from a kindly old man less than two feet from the main ticket window for half the normal price (we secretly think he was a scalper, although he couldn’t have made any money from us), ignore our rightful seats while claiming others higher up in the shade (scoring some relief from the barbaric early September sun), smile at the 4-year-old munchkin being super-cute with her doting grandfather, and soak in the overall ambiance.

The stands on the opposite side of the field were a solid white, filled to the brim with loyal Lotte fans. To our left were devout followers of the opposing team, resplendent in appropriately festooned merchandise. As far as I could tell, the rest of us were the indistinct masses that go to a baseball game because it seems like a reasonably interesting way to spend a Saturday. It was at this moment that I began to think the term “fan” here meant more than munching on yakitori while quietly thinking about how nice it would be if the team I had vaguely stronger feelings towards claimed victory this day.

The stadium itself was noticeably smaller than the one back home, which meant even last-minute stragglers could purchase seats that provided a decent view of the game. Provided you weren’t unfortunate enough to sit directly behind a very ugly and very opaque concrete post. Ill-conceived architectural design, that post. Although I wasn’t right behind it, it marred my view of the game, which actually consisted of more than indistinguishable dots moving far off in the distance. So I actually wanted to see the field. But it was better than sitting in a pool of my own sweat in the seat I had actually purchased, which was half-melting in the sun by that time. My point is that since I could actually see the action, I was able to enjoy the game.

As far as I can tell, the rules of the game are the same as back in the states. If they’re not, they’re similar enough for the casual observer who knows the basics and is able to understand no-brainer concepts such as Out, Strike, Ball, and Walk, even without knowledge of Japanese sport terminology. Since understanding directly affects enjoyment, and enjoyment commands attention… you can see where this is going.

But Star, you may ask, it’s easy to see all the action of a baseball game on TV, you don’t have to sweat in the air-conditioned haven of your own home, and you understood the game back in the US! Why would anything you’ve mentioned suddenly capture your attention for an otherwise unchanged sport?

I’ll be the first to acknowledge that it’s a bit bizarre. But I’d like to point out a few things. First off, there is no true escape from the unrelenting summer heat. For anyone. Even salarymen decked out in smart business suits who have nice homes and more money than us common folk carry around sweat rags to mop up the never-ceasing rivers of your body’s cry for relief. Ash once lived with host parents who were very well off with a very nice house (I’ve been in it. I want it.) and he still roasted during that summer. So, given the choice of being wet and sticky at home or out and about… out and about at least has the promise of brief forays into air-conditioned buildings, which is still a hit-and-miss endeavor.

Secondly, circumstances do matter. It was a breath of fresh air to watch something and actually understand it in a foreign, unfamiliar land. Having arrived a scant month prior, the chance to join in communal understanding with the people around us was like a dip in a just-discovered cool mountain lake after a long hike; we didn’t really know how tiring it was to immerse ourselves in constant adventure (even signing up for a cell phone was unexplored territory- back home, they practically give them away!), or how much we missed just knowing what was going on around us, no matter how much we enjoyed and appreciated our different surroundings & new culture. Can you imagine the elation of stumbling across a chance to feel normal once more? This alone could have single-handedly accounted for our interest throughout the rest of the season, as we cheered Lotte on in the questionable comfort of our own home.

But, as always, the crowning factor is often the most simple one.

The die-hard fans are a riot.

Japan's Favorite Past Time- Part I

(From the forgotten chronicles of Fall 2005)
It’s a flurry of action. Men compete against one another in titanic struggle after struggle, pitting strategy, strength, speed, and agility against their opponents for the ultimate prize. Sweat, blood, and tears flow from both sides. Fans shower their favorite with screams of devotion and pride. I speak of the sport that has captivated Japan for many, many years.

No, I don’t mean sumo.

I am speaking about a sport that has crossed both cultural and physical boundaries, traversing vast expanses of ocean to lodge itself firmly into the hearts and minds of the Japanese people. Yes dear reader… I speak of the time-honored game of baseball.

Now, I don’t claim to be a baseball fanatic. I haven’t devoted vast amounts of time to learning about players and their statistics. Asking me to name last year’s roster of any team will net you a blank stare. I can’t even rattle off all the MLB team names like some members of my family (shame still twinges my very being every four years or so). My pitiful home team doesn’t seem to know how to play the game very well. And so, my interest in this all-American sport is contained to a few games at Coors field to enjoy the sun, and possibly as background noise on the television while clipping my toenails.

Ironic how it took moving overseas for baseball to capture my attention once more.

It was hardly noticeable at first, a passing fancy really. Ash and I had heard about the difference between games here vs. in the states; typical stuff like “the atmosphere is electric” and “fans really get into the game”. And so, we decided it was time to experience Japanese baseball for ourselves… a decision that would lead to the peculiar phenomenon of two Americans following the foreign league of a sport born out of their native soil all the way through the regular season to the Asian Championship itself.

Culture Lesson: Zabuton

The other day a friend of mine related an interesting little tidbit about Japanese culture that she had learned from a television show over the weekend.

The traditional Japanese cushion, known as a zabuton, is one of the everyday items found and utilized in just about every household across the country. Even homes that sport Western-style seating employ this traditional piece for many daily activities. They are as prevalent as chopsticks, and even if you simply visit the country, you have plenty of chances to experience these cushions when you enter a restaurant for a meal.

Side-effects of using these cushions for long periods of time might include numbness and tingling (for the inexperienced), and newfound flexibility (for long-time users, such as myself). I’ve often wondered if having to continually stand and sit contributes to the strength of the elderly here…

But I digress.

Zabutons are generally square, measuring 20-30 inches on a side, is approximately 2” thick, and are most often made of woven straw. Not the softest cushion I’ve ever sat on, but certainly better than the cold, hard floor.

Like everything traditional in Japan, there is a proper way to both present and use the zabuton. The tidbit I mentioned deals primarily with presentation, and so we will focus on that. It came about during that notorious time of warfare known as the Edo period.

When a guest comes to visit and it’s time to offer them a seat, both the guest and host will kneel on the floor. The host will then present a zabuton that’s folded in half, the open end facing the guest, placing it on the floor. With a slow, deliberate motion, the host opens the zabuton toward himself and solemnly pushes it over to the guest, who will then use it to cushion himself from the unforgiving floor.

This whole elaborate process was, for practical reasons, created to develop trust and afford some protection for the clans. The visitor could see for himself that there were no weapons hidden within the cushion, thus bolstering a reasonable certainty that a surprise attack would not be immediately forthcoming.

It would eventually find itself a part of traditional Japanese culture, meant to represent the host’s honorable intentions towards his guest, and that no ill will or treacherous designs were in place.

So, what does it mean now? I asked.

“Oh, it’s just the really polite way to offer a zabuton to guests, and I don’t think most of us even know how to do it properly.”

“You mean… you didn’t know this before you watched the show?”

“No, I think most Japanese don’t know why we do the things we do sometimes!” she replied with a laugh.

Considering I often don’t know why the Japanese do the things they do… let’s just say conversations like this help level out the playing field a little more.