It is 8 p.m. Saturday and I'm about to head up to Yamasho to get ready to head into Osaka/Kobe for our second game in the tourney. Sounds like we drive part way to a massive rest area (rest areas in Japan are full fledged operations with stores and stuff). We'll "sleep" on the buses while parked, until heading off again in the early morning. The game is set for 9. Rain is threatening. It will be a severe disappointment if after all this weird scheduling the game is delayed. Let's hope the rain takes it easy.
I'm off!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Nice Catch!
Video of the awesome bottom-half of the ninth inning:
click
The announcer guy is confused at the end ... he thought it was a nice catch ... but it was only almost a nice catch.
click
The announcer guy is confused at the end ... he thought it was a nice catch ... but it was only almost a nice catch.
Color me Green
From the beginning, they had us beat in terms of who was more purple.
Our opponents, the Purple Squad from Chiba Prefecture, also started things out right with a solo shot over the left field fence to go up 1-0 on the second pitch.
They quickly added two more in the following frames, and things looked bleak for Yamasho in the single-elimination tournament.
But then in the bottom of the eighth inning we managed a score, 3-1, Yamasho rallying.
Only one, though.
But ever since those three early runs, Yamsho's defense and pitching was stellar. The Purple Fighters' early hitting surge leveled off. Their defense, meanwhile, chimed in with four errors.
Then came the bottom of the ninth. Base hit. Base hit. Base hit. Tie game. One out. Base hit. Game over.
Sorry for the lack of dramatics, but that was how it went. And being me, without a roster, so far away in the cheering section with the obstructed view, I couldn't tell you right now who hit that final shot that made it 3-4 in favor of Yamasho.
But I do know the pitcher:
He was in one of my once-a-week classes during the school-year. One of the lower-level English-speaking classes. But in every class, without fail, his voice carried over all the rest. Always smiling, if not nodding off. But clearly today he was on, smiling, and throwing some serious stuff at the Purple Peddlers.
Thank goodness we were in Hot Green.
(a note about the colors: for some reasons, the cheering sections of school clubs in Japan do not match the actual colors of the teams on the field or court or whatever ... our "school color" is neon/hot green, but the players uniforms are white with blue writing. The other team's cheering section was purple, but so was the writing on their jerseys.)
Our opponents, the Purple Squad from Chiba Prefecture, also started things out right with a solo shot over the left field fence to go up 1-0 on the second pitch.
They quickly added two more in the following frames, and things looked bleak for Yamasho in the single-elimination tournament.
But then in the bottom of the eighth inning we managed a score, 3-1, Yamasho rallying.
Only one, though.
But ever since those three early runs, Yamsho's defense and pitching was stellar. The Purple Fighters' early hitting surge leveled off. Their defense, meanwhile, chimed in with four errors.
Then came the bottom of the ninth. Base hit. Base hit. Base hit. Tie game. One out. Base hit. Game over.
Sorry for the lack of dramatics, but that was how it went. And being me, without a roster, so far away in the cheering section with the obstructed view, I couldn't tell you right now who hit that final shot that made it 3-4 in favor of Yamasho.
But I do know the pitcher:
He was in one of my once-a-week classes during the school-year. One of the lower-level English-speaking classes. But in every class, without fail, his voice carried over all the rest. Always smiling, if not nodding off. But clearly today he was on, smiling, and throwing some serious stuff at the Purple Peddlers.
Thank goodness we were in Hot Green.
(a note about the colors: for some reasons, the cheering sections of school clubs in Japan do not match the actual colors of the teams on the field or court or whatever ... our "school color" is neon/hot green, but the players uniforms are white with blue writing. The other team's cheering section was purple, but so was the writing on their jerseys.)
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
He's not a pitcher, he's a ... wait, yes, in fact, he is a pitcher. Excuse me.
Yesterday, before the school-year-ending ceremony, students and staff gathered in the gym to practice the pre-planned set of cheers to be dispatched during Yamasho's opening game tomorrow at the spring national high school baseball tournament, known generally as "Koshien."
Koshien, which has a summer version as well, is a major deal, with national media attention and live television broadcast.
In what was perhaps a bit of accidental foreshadowing, I attended a day of the Koshien tournament in 2003 when I was just visiting Japan. That summer, as it happened, Yamasho was in the tournament, though at the time I was unaware of any alleged "Mie Prefecture."
So in the summer of 2003, and again in the summer of 2007 just after I arrived in Ise, I was able to experience the organized craze that is high school baseball in Japan.
What struck me most originally was the organized and civil nature of the cheering sections. For an American, cheering on your team is about making noise, shouting insults, or in high school student sections, coming up with clever cheers or personal attacks.
In Japan, by contrast, the cheering routine is rehearsed and polite. When our team comes up to bat tomorrow, our student section will rise and offer a cheer song, backed up by the school band, a group of "cheer girls" in the usual cheerleader uniforms and a unit of "cheer guys." The guys seem to be the leaders while the girls focus on dancing and pom-pom control. I should also point out that these guys and gals have rehearsed dance moves to go along with the cheers, which they do without any apparent embarrassment (I have not found a Japanese person who cannot dance, if pressed; it seems to be a highly respectable thing to be able to do).
When the other team is up to bat, despite better logic, we sit quietly, showing respect to the other team. Meanwhile, that team's cheering section, located across the big league ballpark, stands at attention.
There is no unfounded but widely accepted belief that the opposing team's pitcher may be, in fact, a belly itcher. In addition, no one, at any time, asserts that the umpire should submit to a previously unscheduled eye examination. (Or perhaps in deference to maintaining the harmony of social relations, such suspicions go unsaid.) To the American baseball fan, these facts are difficult to understand.
So here I am, the day before the big game, and I am not, despite instincts, coming up with a clever ESPN acronym to try to get on TV. Instead, I'll have to hop that the camera men take a liking to our cheer girls or our neon green trucker hats with the school name across the top. Or, in an attempt at internationalization, I could probably get on TV by introducing to Japan the U.S. sports tradition of streaking through the outfield.
Koshien, which has a summer version as well, is a major deal, with national media attention and live television broadcast.
In what was perhaps a bit of accidental foreshadowing, I attended a day of the Koshien tournament in 2003 when I was just visiting Japan. That summer, as it happened, Yamasho was in the tournament, though at the time I was unaware of any alleged "Mie Prefecture."
So in the summer of 2003, and again in the summer of 2007 just after I arrived in Ise, I was able to experience the organized craze that is high school baseball in Japan.
What struck me most originally was the organized and civil nature of the cheering sections. For an American, cheering on your team is about making noise, shouting insults, or in high school student sections, coming up with clever cheers or personal attacks.
In Japan, by contrast, the cheering routine is rehearsed and polite. When our team comes up to bat tomorrow, our student section will rise and offer a cheer song, backed up by the school band, a group of "cheer girls" in the usual cheerleader uniforms and a unit of "cheer guys." The guys seem to be the leaders while the girls focus on dancing and pom-pom control. I should also point out that these guys and gals have rehearsed dance moves to go along with the cheers, which they do without any apparent embarrassment (I have not found a Japanese person who cannot dance, if pressed; it seems to be a highly respectable thing to be able to do).
When the other team is up to bat, despite better logic, we sit quietly, showing respect to the other team. Meanwhile, that team's cheering section, located across the big league ballpark, stands at attention.
There is no unfounded but widely accepted belief that the opposing team's pitcher may be, in fact, a belly itcher. In addition, no one, at any time, asserts that the umpire should submit to a previously unscheduled eye examination. (Or perhaps in deference to maintaining the harmony of social relations, such suspicions go unsaid.) To the American baseball fan, these facts are difficult to understand.
So here I am, the day before the big game, and I am not, despite instincts, coming up with a clever ESPN acronym to try to get on TV. Instead, I'll have to hop that the camera men take a liking to our cheer girls or our neon green trucker hats with the school name across the top. Or, in an attempt at internationalization, I could probably get on TV by introducing to Japan the U.S. sports tradition of streaking through the outfield.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
some words
This has been a Sunday afternoon of nothing-ness. I cycled to the convenience store for a snack. I download-rented "Michael Clayton" via iTunes (haven't watched it yet). Back to workless work tomorrow -- the students have already stopped regular school for the term. Final tests are over. Closing ceremony this week, then spring break for the students. Unlike in the U.S., spring break is not so break-y for staff. We still must report to work or use paid holiday ... which I'd prefer to save for a time when I have some kind of plan. So I go to work with nothing to do and do nothing. It's painful. But at least we can sneak out a little early and enjoy our free time with the weather turning nice (minus the rain, but I'm kinda used to that). That is all.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Here we gooooo
Shortly, I shall leave my apartment in Ise, eventually getting to the airport, boarding a plane and, strangely, on this Friday morning, flying into Friday half-way around the world.
See you there.
See you there.
Soap Box
So in Times Square a bomb goes off at a military recruiting station. A small one. Anyway, the word is that they think it was not an act of terrorism.
What?
A bomb is not "terrorism" ?
What they mean is that it wasn't an extremist Muslim, right?
Can't we agree that terrorism is terrorism regardless of reason or race or religion?
What?
A bomb is not "terrorism" ?
What they mean is that it wasn't an extremist Muslim, right?
Can't we agree that terrorism is terrorism regardless of reason or race or religion?
Monday, March 3, 2008
snapshot
This tiny, grainy picture, courtesy of Yamasho's home page, shows the students filing in for graduation on Saturday. You may be able to spot a few people featuring non-black hair. That would be me in the middle with Sam on my right and former Yamasho ALT Pam on my left. That is the chair in which I sat for the ceremony, except for the parts when I stood and bowed.Sunday, March 2, 2008
This way for naked men
Somehow, I had gone six months without stripping down and getting into a hot tub with a bunch of Japanese men.
Fortunately, this major oversight was rectified last night, after my friend Mayumi responded to a "what are you up to tonight" with an invitation to a sentou, or public bath.
A sentou is like the more widely known onsen, or hot spring, but is indoors. Onsen feature sulfur-smelling natural pools; sentou offer a variety of different baths and saunas. I have not been to a proper onsen.
Both feature naked men. Also, naked women, but a key feature of these places is that the men and women are separated to keep things civil. Some advice: If you ever trek to one of these naked parties on your own, I would learn the Japanese kanji for man (男）and woman（女）.
There comes a time when you have to choose one of two directions, and it is probably a good idea to avoid an incursion into lady-land.
Once I was safely inside the naked man area, I was, not surprisingly, surrounded by naked men, casually walking around, relaxing, or filing their tax returns. They were everywhere, and of all ages. Things started out in a traditional locker room, which I would describe as like a health club locker room back home, but with more naked men.
And the naked men here are not concerned about limiting their naked exposure time. This is a public bath, not a public pool. Being naked is not an unfortunate side effect of the experience, but rather the point.
So I quickly found a locker, dropped in a 100 yen coin, threw in my backpack, and ran for the exit.
OK so I didn't really run away. I had already made the decision to not be a wuss. The only reason I could think of to turn down the offer was fear or embarrassment. I decided these reasons were not good enough. And this is Japan, after all, and being naked with a bunch of men is a key cultural experience that I had somehow escaped on three previous visits and half a year of living here.
So I stripped down and headed for the bath area. Now here is where I realized I had made a mistake. I had brought a full-sized towel for drying off after the affair, but when you walk around the bath area you are supposed to carry a small towel you get at the public bath. I failed to get this towel. This was a result of confusion out front, when Mayumi said I didn't need to buy the towel from the machine. Turns out, one requirement for having such a towel would have been buying said towel from the machine out front. The little towel is used for washing up before you get into the bath, and, for some, as a private-parts-covering-device.
But covering up is not really a major need. Some people seem concerned with covering up while others let it all hang out. I decided to forget the little towel as I went to wash up before getting into the bath.
This is a key rule of bathing in Japan, weather you're at home or at the naked party. You wash up first, then rinse, and only then do you enter the bath water. At home, bath water is shared. Of course, the water is shared at the public bath too. So it makes sense to clean up before you get in.
After I scrubbed up a bit, I got in the largest of the baths, which I would describe as being about as big as a Starbucks. By this time, I had gotten over the naked factor, and I was actually enjoying my time in the hot water. But I couldn't help but wonder if I was doing something "wrong." Am I allowed to sit here? Can I go over by those bubbles? Is that guy looking at me funny?
By the time I decided to relax, it was already time to go. But fortunately I've gotten over my fear of Japan's public bath culture. I now have a deeper appreciation for culture. And I now can avoid it for another seven months.
Fortunately, this major oversight was rectified last night, after my friend Mayumi responded to a "what are you up to tonight" with an invitation to a sentou, or public bath.
A sentou is like the more widely known onsen, or hot spring, but is indoors. Onsen feature sulfur-smelling natural pools; sentou offer a variety of different baths and saunas. I have not been to a proper onsen.
Both feature naked men. Also, naked women, but a key feature of these places is that the men and women are separated to keep things civil. Some advice: If you ever trek to one of these naked parties on your own, I would learn the Japanese kanji for man (男）and woman（女）.
There comes a time when you have to choose one of two directions, and it is probably a good idea to avoid an incursion into lady-land.
Once I was safely inside the naked man area, I was, not surprisingly, surrounded by naked men, casually walking around, relaxing, or filing their tax returns. They were everywhere, and of all ages. Things started out in a traditional locker room, which I would describe as like a health club locker room back home, but with more naked men.
And the naked men here are not concerned about limiting their naked exposure time. This is a public bath, not a public pool. Being naked is not an unfortunate side effect of the experience, but rather the point.
So I quickly found a locker, dropped in a 100 yen coin, threw in my backpack, and ran for the exit.
OK so I didn't really run away. I had already made the decision to not be a wuss. The only reason I could think of to turn down the offer was fear or embarrassment. I decided these reasons were not good enough. And this is Japan, after all, and being naked with a bunch of men is a key cultural experience that I had somehow escaped on three previous visits and half a year of living here.
So I stripped down and headed for the bath area. Now here is where I realized I had made a mistake. I had brought a full-sized towel for drying off after the affair, but when you walk around the bath area you are supposed to carry a small towel you get at the public bath. I failed to get this towel. This was a result of confusion out front, when Mayumi said I didn't need to buy the towel from the machine. Turns out, one requirement for having such a towel would have been buying said towel from the machine out front. The little towel is used for washing up before you get into the bath, and, for some, as a private-parts-covering-device.
But covering up is not really a major need. Some people seem concerned with covering up while others let it all hang out. I decided to forget the little towel as I went to wash up before getting into the bath.
This is a key rule of bathing in Japan, weather you're at home or at the naked party. You wash up first, then rinse, and only then do you enter the bath water. At home, bath water is shared. Of course, the water is shared at the public bath too. So it makes sense to clean up before you get in.
After I scrubbed up a bit, I got in the largest of the baths, which I would describe as being about as big as a Starbucks. By this time, I had gotten over the naked factor, and I was actually enjoying my time in the hot water. But I couldn't help but wonder if I was doing something "wrong." Am I allowed to sit here? Can I go over by those bubbles? Is that guy looking at me funny?
By the time I decided to relax, it was already time to go. But fortunately I've gotten over my fear of Japan's public bath culture. I now have a deeper appreciation for culture. And I now can avoid it for another seven months.
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