There is perhaps no map with more pins on it than that of a Tokyo traveler. While the research and planning can pay dividends, with travel, it's often the unexpected bit that sticks in your memory the most vividly. That's exactly what happened to me on a recent trip to Japan. One afternoon in between filming sessions for a soon-to-be-released project, I went for a little walkabout to clear my head. As I wandered through the narrow suburban Tokyo streets, I could hear cheering coming from a nearby park. I found myself walking towards what turned out to be a series of Japanese Little League games, and I was instantly captivated by the scene and quickly found a spot on the fence to watch.
I arrived as one game was ending and the other was about to begin. The umpires were tending to the infield dirt and re-painting the batter's box with precision as the teams filed off the field while chanting. The teams for the next game organized themselves in rows behind the fence and started on their packed lunches. As the infield dirt was raked and the lunches finished, the teams took the field for warm-ups. This process was organized and led by the coaches in their pristine team uniforms. After warm-ups, each team stood in a single-file line, facing each other in rows off of home plate. The players took their caps off, bowed to each other, and then extended the same honor to the umpires. This was followed by singing and other pre-game rituals. I stood there smiling, loving every minute of it.
Being exposed to Japanese Little League for the first time, I couldn't help but be taken by the organization and ceremony of it all. It was so captivating to see the way the Japanese have applied their culture of honor, respect, and ritual to a game we know so well as Americans. It was a simple thing, but I'll never forget that afternoon with the Japanese little leaguers.
A few nights later, while in Osaka, we stumbled into Ballpark Bar—a tiny baseball-themed bar, randomly hidden on the third floor of a sprawling complex with a maze of restaurants and bars that resembled an apartment building.
Throwing the door open, we're greeted by a small crowd gathered at the bar, clearly regulars, intently watching the Softbank Hawks battle the Hokkaido Nippon Ham Fighters (Shohei's old team) in the middle innings. They're cheering for the Hawks - even though they hail from Fukuoka, we quickly learn that they were the original Osaka team.
The owner enthusiastically greets us, coming around from behind the bar. Upon learning we hailed from Boston, he quickly ditches his Cubs hat for a Red Sox hat. There's a framed Daisuke Matsuzaka jersey on the wall, prompting me to share my favorite Dice-K story: the night he intentionally threw at Alex Rodriguez the very first time he faced him, hitting him directly between the numbers as the Fenway crowd went nuts. There's a language barrier to be sure, but I think the story landed thanks to my A-Rod impression, exaggerated wincing and all.
There is an impressive hat collection lining the room, including, directly behind the center of the bar, a Syracuse Chiefs hat - the very first team I ever saw play baseball as a kid. The extensive collection is no accident; it turns out the owner, Masataka Iwai, literally wrote the book on them. His beautifully illustrated Baseball Cap Encyclopedia captures the rich iconographical history of Nippon Professional Baseball.
The early cap history of the Yomiuri Giants as illustrated in Masataka-san's Baseball Cap Encyclopedia
We enjoy a few beers and some popcorn (served in mini plastic batting helmets, of course). We spend a few moments thumbing through the collection of mint-condition 80s baseball cards, partaking in the iconic male pastime of remembering some guys. The Hawks score two runs in the bottom of the 8th for a come-from-behind 3-2 win, and we're cheering and high-fiving along with the other patrons. We move on with our evening, grateful to have had such a fun experience experiencing the essence of Japanese baseball fandom, in a place that looks like you asked 10-year-old me to design somewhere for adults to watch baseball.
On the Shinkansen from Osaka to Tokyo the following day, and with a free afternoon on the horizon, I spontaneously decided to buy a ticket to the Yomiuri Giants game at the Tokyo Dome. A quick Reddit search confirms that the outfield bleachers are the place to be, where the fans are loudest and the atmosphere is best. I'm expecting a more refined version of the bleacher creatures, since the Giants are effectively the Yankees of Japan, their most successful team.
After a walk around the Tokyo Dome to soak in the pre-game festivities, I went to my seat. Turns out, it was directly behind the band. That's right, in the right field bleachers are three trumpeters and a drummer, plus three more people dedicated to waiving, ahem, giant Giants flags, and one person with a whistle who leads the cheers.
Once the game starts, you quickly figure out the ritual of it all: as the bottom of the inning approaches, the fans in the outfield rise as one, the band starts playing, and the chanting begins according to the leader's instructions. This continues, non-stop, all half-inning until the third out, when they sit back down and the small contingent of visiting supporters (stationed in the left field corner) take over in the top half of the inning. Fans of the visiting Hiroshima Toyo Carp employ an elaborate routine: half sit and the other half stand, then switch positions rapidly through the chant, giving the illusion of a shaking stadium. It's a baseball game with all the best elements of college football and world soccer thrown in for good measure.
Some elements of the game are very familiar (there's one American player on the Giants, and his walk-up song is a country song); others are very foreign (the home fans applaud the visiting team off the field at the end of the game - imagine that in Boston or the Bronx!). The hallmarks of Japanese efficiency are there, too: draft beers are poured at your seat courtesy of a beer girl with a backpack keg; and all varieties are accounted for, whether you're drinking Asahi, Kirin, Sapporo, Yebisu, or Suntory. On the field, the NPB baseball is slightly smaller and has different seams than MLB's, giving the pitcher an advantage and emphasizing "small ball" tactics. But today, two of the four runs scored come courtesy of the long ball (one for each team), and the Giants emerge victorious 3-1.
Postgame celebrations
"How can you not be romantic about baseball?" Brad Pitt's character asks in Moneyball. After seeing firsthand the love Japanese people have for America's Pastime across all its forms, I felt the same sentiment. Starting this weekend, the finale of the NPB playoffs, the Japan Series, kicks off between the Hawks and the Hanshin Tigers. I'd imagine many of those little leaguers are watching, dreaming of being the next Shohei or Munetaka Murakami (the current star of the moment). You better believe I'm trying to figure out how to tune in, too.
