Just like America, spring is time for baseball in Japan. The days grow longer and hotter, the cicadas start singing, and through it all there is the call of strike, ball, safe, and out. The thwak of a pop fly snagged by a leather glove. The clink of a grand slam on its way out of the park. The cheers of the crowd, the dugout, and the announcer.
School is winding down as natsu yasumi, summer vacation, approaches. After final exams, classes are pretty much lame duck sessions, just filling time required by the government. Instead, students and teachers buzz with excitement. The prefectural baseball tournament starts this week!
The last hurrah for third year students, they practice tirelessly, determined to make a good showing in the last games of their high school careers.
In Japan, sports and extracurricular activities work a bit differently. In their first year, students join a club, a single activity that will define their identity and schedule for the rest of their enrollment. In Japan, clubs, even sports, are run by students. They arrange their activities, budgets, and training regimens. There is a coach, but most of the responsibility falls on the students. Students will remain in this club throughout their high school career, working their way up through the ranks of the club from kohai to sempai. Their club mates will become their closest friends and mentors. They will spend evenings, weekends, and holidays with their club. As a multi-sport athlete and someone who could only have been involved in more after school activities if I had Hermione’s time turner, I can’t help but feel sad for the opportunities my students miss by having such a strict system. But then I watch them interact with their club – see the camaraderie they have. Closer than teammates, they are family. And this alleviates some of my anxiety. They may not be as well rounded or indulging in all their interests, but they are happy. They have friends and support. And boy are they good at that one thing they have chosen to focus on. Like insanely good. Just imagine if you had a whole team with the dedication and focus of the star on an American team. They eat, sleep, and breath their club activity. Even those not naturally gifted end up pretty darn impressive after years of constant, intensive practice. But then it all ends halfway through their senior year. All their effort is focused on doing their best in one summer tournament their third year of high school because after that they retire.
And so everyone is excited for the coming tournament. Baseball is incredibly more popular in Japan, but our school is also really good at it. Our pitcher has a great arm. We have a strong batting lineup. This should be a really good tournament for the team and the school. The whole tournament will be televised, but about a hundred students and a handful of teachers will be allowed to play hooky for the afternoon and attend the team’s first game. I am super excited to be invited to such an important event. I want to know what all the fuss is about. Baseball in Japan is a very different experience than baseball in America.
Unlike Texas, where I grew up and where football is king, baseball seems to be the apex sport in Japan. But there is a fundamental difference between Japan and America when it comes to school sports. In Japan there are no pep rallies, no homecoming, no Friday night lights. Sports in Japan are for the athletes, not the spectator. Games take place as part of tournaments; attended by a few parents and the members of the club not on the playing roster. Unlike America where staff and students, parents and alumni wear school colors and cheer on their team, Japanese games are quite and subdued. No concession stand, no cheering squad, no fanfare. Students are usually busy with their own club activities. Staff are accompanying their own clubs to events and games. There are some parents and families, but the atmosphere is wholly different. I found this out when I attended a basketball tournament earlier in the year. My students were shocked and thrilled when they saw me. As I said, staff don’t usually attend. Not that there is room for them if they did. The gym had no bleachers. I ended up standing with a small group of parents in the catwalk that surrounded the gym floor. I couldn’t see the score or the clock, kept on a small tabletop display. Baskets were met with polite applause and disappointment was met with silence. While I will admit this is better than the jeers and angry shouts at refs and players heard in the States, I couldn’t help feeling the whole affair was too subdued for a real game. But it was not meant for fans. It was meant for players only.
Baseball on the other hand, was completely different. I boarded the bus with student fans, the brass band, and the Japanese equivalent of a cheer squad. Excitement was palpable as students twittered excitedly while passing around tubes of sunscreen. At the stadium we were met by a parent organization, much like a booster club. We were given hats, towels, and fans with the school name and logo. Waiting for us inside were large blue trashcans filled with ice and various drinks – canned coffee, sports drinks, water, tea, and soda – free for the taking. They were provided by the boosters and available for all staff, students, and fans. As we settled in, Okasans passed out megaphones – two per person. These were blue, the school color, and meant for banging together. Everything needed to show school pride had been provided! Which was great because the students were still in their school uniforms of white shirts and plaid trousers or skirts. No face paint or t-shirts in school colors.
The game started with bows rather than handshakes. Then our boys took the field first. I found it hard to watch the play, though. My attention was constantly dragged away by the band and cheer squad of the other team. Unlike American sports where cheering is usually suppressed till the end of a play and music only blasted during down time, the band and cheers never stop during a high school Japanese baseball game. Each school chants, plays, and shakes their pompoms while their team bats. The songs and chants include the batter’s name and are sometimes completely customized. Members of the baseball club not on the playing roster don’t sit the bench in Japan, they lead the chants and dances from the stands. They hold up signs with the batter’s name and the whole fan base stands and shouts as the batter faces off against the pitcher on the field below. It is a bit distracting to say the least. Before I knew it, our team was running toward the dugout and our first batter was taking his practice swings on deck.
It was our side’s turn to stand and chant. Ike, ike, ike, Takashi! Ose, ose, ose, Takashi! Ikotoba, Ta-Ka-Shi! We cheered for each batter by name. Beat our megaphones together. Thrust them into the air and yelled with each hit. Sighed and groaned with each out.
The game went quickly, but sadly not very well for our team. In the first inning we had given up a run. In the third, our pitcher seemed to be struggling. Several walks filled the bases and allowed the other team to make second run on an error. Our batters were having a tough time as well, getting only a piece of a pitch, enough to send the ball foul, but never enough to get all the way around the bases. By the fourth inning we were down 3-0. In the fifth inning, things really fell apart. Our pitcher came out with a hand injury. The relief pitcher, caught off guard and walking onto the mound with a full count, allowed a walk and several hits. The fielders, frustrated by the course of the game, struggled. By the end of the fifth it was 8-1. Our team held them for the 6th, but the game was called in the 7th under Japanese mercy rules. It was a blowout and a tragedy for the players and fans.
As a former athlete and coach, the end was inevitable. One error let to two, led to three. Frustration and tension running amuck. Players losing heart. I had seen it before. I had lived it before. But it didn’t make it hurt less. And my own pain was nothing compared to the disappointment of the players – especially the third years. We gathered in the trees outside the stadium. The players wept openly as they apologized for the loss and thanked family, friends, and fans for their support. Personally, I have shed many tears after an important loss, but always in the locker room or in the car after. Never in public. The openness of this emotional display was difficult to watch. Don’t ever believe the Japanese are unemotional. In many ways they are far more in touch with their feelings than us moody Americans. Especially when it comes to the men. The third year students tried to stem their tears for pictures. Many just looked red faced and angry. Others quickly wiped the tears away between takes. This had been their last game as high school students. Instead of the triumph they had worked so hard for, they had been eliminated in the first round. They were devastated.
The bus ride back was a quite affair. The sun, heat, and loss had robbed the students of their energy. We rode in silence, all lost in our own thoughts.
While the outcome was far from what I hoped, I am still glad I got to see high school baseball Japanese style. It was a strange and exhilarating experience. So unlike baseball in America.
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