Category Archives: Random

A Nation of Four Distinct Seasons, More or Less

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One of the defining characteristics of the Japanese is a belief that Japan is unique because it is a nation of four distinct seasons. The Japanese are surprised when people from other countries point out that their countries also have four seasons. In fact, in Kansas, as last summer proved, it’s possible to to have four distinct seasons in one day. The Japanese usually counter with “Yes, but are they DISTINCT seasons?”

Part of this stems from the fact that, relative to it’s wealth, Japan is a small nation which makes it easier for it to have four distinct seasons. The problem is, the Japanese believe their seasons break down as Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn. The truth is, of course, much more complicated. In the Tokyo region, for example, the seasons are best described as Static, Pleasant, Humid, and Awesome.

The defining characteristic of Static is a lack of humidity that dries and cracks the skin and makes all metal objects potentially dangerous (albeit a lot of fun in dark rooms). Static also features stunning blue skies, drunks on trains and snow.

Static gives way to Pleasant. The air is warming and the island is turning green and the drunks are moving from the trains to the parks to enjoy the cherry blossoms. Unfortunately, the air is beginning to feel a bit sticky but you still have to have your entire wardrobe ready because, as I like to point out, it always gets cold one more time after someones says “Well, I’ll bet that’s the last time it’s going to be cold.” You are wrong, you fool.

After Pleasant comes Humid. Humid is broken into three distinct sub-seasons, all with white skies. The first is The Season in Which it Rains. I hate this season a great deal as it’s too warm to wear a rain coat and I often get to work soaked from the chest down. Give me snow any day. You can play in snow, but you can only sing and dance in the rain, activities I find abhorrent. After The Season in Which it Rains comes Rainy Season which often has no rain at all as it’s defined by a specific weather pattern and not the presence of rain. After Rainy Season is Hell. The Tokyo region is suddenly overwhelmed by waves of heat and humidity and periodic cloudbursts of scalding water and mosquitoes. Once you get sweaty, you are wet all day. If you go inside though, you are instantly frozen because many offices keep their air conditioners set at “Keep Vegetables Crisp” setting. It’s normal to see women and men carrying small blankets to use at work.

Many new English teachers arrive during Hell and immediately start hating the place, and looking for the closest place to get a beer.

After the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, there was a government sponsored movement to save energy called “Cool Biz” the purpose of which is to make offices warmer–this is different than “Warm Biz” which is designed to make offices cooler in the winter–but the change from outside to inside can be quite shocking even under Cool Biz.

The drunks, by the way, move to indoor/outdoor beer gardens during Humid.

Humid gives way to Awesome. The change from Humid to Awesome happens abruptly, giving some credence to the notions that 1) Japan is a nation of four distinct seasons and 2) someone in the government actually controls the weather (albeit very badly sometimes).

In Awesome the weather gets cool and dry and the sky slowly turns blue again. You can walk to work without needing to carry hand towels and lots of extra water. But then it gets dry and you have to start drinking more water. The drunks go to the mountains and the parks to see the leaves change.

I just enjoy the cooler weather, and start getting ready for Static by buying wool socks to wear around the house.

 

Sloth, Lethargy, Laziness, Bachelor Mode

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Perhaps as part of my recovery from yesterday’s journey to watch Frozen. I and the oldest were about as lazy as it was possible to be today. We did somehow manage to wake up, change out of our pajamas (although the oldest had to be told several times) and feed ourselves, but neither of us could be bothered to actually venture out of the house.

This is a normal condition for me when She Who Must Be Obeyed is away. When the Cat’s away, this mouse gets lazy and sloppy and plays computer games. In other words, I revert to bachelor mode. The kitchen table becomes excess storage and the kitchen sink becomes a receptacle for dirty dishes which are cleaned as necessary but not before. The living room becomes a secondary Temple of Half-Finished Projects (i.e. an office), with appropriate stacks of half-finished projects set on the coffee table and balanced carefully on the sofa.

To rephrase a part of the Bible: By much slothfulness the bachelor decayeth;
and through idleness of the hands the house filleth up with crap through.

I have warned She Who Must Be Obeyed to never, ever, try to surprise me by coming home early without telling me. Were she to do so, I have no doubt she would immediately flee back to her parents’ house or go find a psychiatrist (for her) and a zoo keeper (for me).

The most amazing thing about bachelor mode is, after days of acting as if the washing of a single dish will somehow destroy me and doom my soul to hell for eternity (as if altering Bible verses won’t…), in those last few hours I can transform the house into a model room suitable for showing potential renters.

I always leave something undone though. I wash the dishes but don’t dry them and put them away. I leave the laundry hanging. I have to show She Who Must Be Obeyed some physical proof that, yes, I really do need her, if nothing else for some adult supervision and so the neighbors don’t think a bear moved into our apartment.

Now, however, this is all complicated by the presence of my oldest. Now I have to maintain certain fatherly standards. Today I did that, albeit in a very lazy way.

Lady Go, 7-Zark-7 and a Castle in the Sky

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A quickish one tonight after Daddy-Daughter movie night.

As part of my daddyly duties, and because I’m watching the 13 year old for next couple days while the youngest and She Who Must Be Obeyed are visiting my in-laws. I took my oldest daughter to see Frozen–especially because the first of every month is discount movie day in Japan. It was visually spectacular, fairly standard Disney fare, and I’m guessing there’s a debate about which version of “Let It Go”–Demi Lovato’s or Adele Dazeem’s–is the best. Unfortunately, the version forever stuck in my head is courtesy of the lady announcers on Fuji TV’s morning show, who, at the end of the promotion segment started singing “Lady Go, Lady Go.”

All this has me thinking about the differences between US animation and Japanese anime. Growing up I mostly remember watching The Krofft Supershow, (which is not cartoons, I know), Scooby-Doo, The Flintstones, The Super Friends, The Jetsons, and Johnny Quest among others. But the only one that had a long lasting impression on me (well, besides the Krofft Supershow’s Electra Woman and Dyna Girl for various complicated reasons I best not explain in detail) was called Battle of the Planets.

It is a heavily edited, nearly ruined (by the addition of 7-Zark-7, the bastard love child of R2-D2 and C-3P0) US version of Japan’s Science Ninja Team Gatchaman. I remember the animation itself being gritty in a way US cartoons didn’t imitate and the level of violence being shocking. It also had cool vehicles and a great opening theme song. I started trying to track down other Japanese animation, and eventually found what in the USA was known as Robotech.

After I got to Japan, and saw other cartoons and lots of Studio Ghibli movies, I realized that the main difference is that, in Japan, most cartoons are intended for adult audiences, not for children. Compare, say Laputa: Castle in the Sky, to Frozen. Even the Japanese animation aimed at children, say Ponyo, are fun for adults, too. If you really want to see grown up, watch Barefoot Gen (makes Threads and The Day After seem rather soft) and Grave of the Fireflies (which is one of the saddest movies I’ve ever seen). If you want to transcend time and space, get drunk and/or high and watch Akira, Ghost in the Shell and its sequel Innocence.

In the USA, Pixar films probably come the closest to being for grown ups, but they’re still a bit sanitary for my taste. In a Japanese version of The Incredibles, the final fight would leave scorch marks and corpses.

 

So Long Farewell Good Riddance Most Likely

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Tonight is the last episode of the world’s longest running live television show, Warratte Iitomo! (or It’s Okay to Laugh!), which has been hosted for its entire 32 years by the ubiquitous, on Japanese TV anyway, Tamori. You don’t need to know that much about the show: it’s a daily variety show with a revolving cast. What’s important for this blog is that it reminds me of one of my stranger television hobbies: watching the final episodes of television shows, even ones I don’t watch regularly.

My only rule is that I must have seen either enough episodes of a series to actually enjoy it and be sad it’s ending or enough to get annoyed by it and wish it good riddance (kind of like Jack at the end of Titanic). As a result, I’ve seen final episodes of many of US television’s most famous shows, and a couple of its most obscure: M.A.S.H; China Beach; Little House on the Prairie, which is complicated by Little House: A New Beginning and the fact it ended in a two hour movie, complete with explosions; Good Times; All in the Family; Mary Tyler Moore and its inferior ripoff Ally McBeal (which inexplicably aired here in Japan); Beverly HIlls 90210; Thirtysomething; The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (which I had to track down on a trip to the USA); the underrated, badly named Space: Above and Beyond; The X-Files, Millennium; Fringe; Lost; Red Dwarf (complicated by having been continued later); Babylon 5; everything with Star Trek in the title; Battlestar Galactica (twice); and Breaking Bad, even though I’d only seen two episodes.

One of the things I enjoy is seeing how maudlin or insane the writers decide to get and how, more often than not, the endings are crap. My old standard for crap used to be St. Elsewhere (spoiler: it was all a little boy’s dream). My new standard is Battlestar Galactica, the new version, (spoiler: Huh? What? Oh come on! What bullshit is this? Really?)  Even the ending of Lost, as bad as it was, was more disappointing than stupid.

Part of the problem with endings, especially of TV shows, is that the shows usually start with a great premise and then, because of the nature of television, are forced to twist and mangle the characters and the story lines well beyond the premise and all hopes of resolution. Babylon 5 had a great conclusion after four years, but then, unfortunately was renewed for a fifth, and the ending is a quiet let down. Lost and Battlestar Galactica were clearly being made up as they went along, for better and for worse.

The best endings find an inevitable twist that makes you go “Of course. It couldn’t end any other way”. Dinosaurs had a great ending because, well, look at what happened to the dinosaurs. Star Trek: Voyager was a bit neat for my taste, but didn’t try to be too clever; Space: Above and Beyond, had a kind of bitter-sweet ending that left many characters’ fates in limbo–but not in an annoying Lost kind of way–and left me and a couple of my friends sad. Newhart, though, remains the best ending ever because it was the twist we didn’t know we wanted.

The worst endings, though, answer questions in ways that are too obvious or offer an annoying twist that distracts from everything that went before. For example, I could point out that my other odd television hobby is watching episodes where popular characters die, even if I don’t watch the show, but then not elaborate. Or, I could do the ALF ending, and just stop without resolving anything.

 

 

You Are Number Two And Will Be Treated Accordingly

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Since today is the day I practice Karate, or was supposed to be (long story), it seems that Sunday’s are slowly becoming the day I tell my sports adventure stories, pathetic as they are.

Many years ago, when my friend Charles and I had our brown belts securely fastened and were being considered for our black belts, we were told that Norihito Kawamoto, the founder and head of our style, was going to visit our dojo–which, given the no nonsense nature of our style, meant he’d be visiting the community gym where we practiced. Our sensei’s suddenly turned very serious and we had several minutes of etiquette practice, which we’d never done before.

I don’t remember us talking about what we were expecting, but neither of us was expecting a tall, pot-bellied balding man who spent most of his time sitting on a chair with his eyes closed, apparently asleep, whilst two of our senseis tested for their sixth level black black belts.

Joining Kawamoto sensei was another high level sensei from a dojo in Myoko. I don’t remember his name, even though I’ve met him once since then, but I remember he’s the first Japanese martial artist I’d seen who had swagger. He knew he was good–and we weren’t about to argue. When we practiced with him, he was doing things in ways we hadn’t practiced, including getting in closer at the start of a technique than we’d practiced. I’ve learned since then that this is pretty common. Although we all stick to the same basic techniques, there’s a lot of variation in performance and teaching styles.

Eventually Kawamoto sensei left the chair and it was clear that despite his size, and a noticeable limp, he was light on his feet. He pulled the Myoko sensei over–as he was officially the second highest rank in the room–and used him to demonstrate the various techniques.

Now, it’s important for you to understand that, in this context “used him to demonstrate” means “smacked the living crap out of him for the better part of ninety minutes”. Several of our techniques involve pushing on the opponent’s face. Kawamoto demonstrated that by smacking the Myoko sensei loud enough in the face that the rest of us cringed. And then he kept doing it. By the end of the night, The Myoko sensei had a little less swagger and a bright red face.

Lesson learned: Never be the second highest ranked guy in the room.

Now, although this has never been officially stated, this seems to be a rule across the style. In my sensei’s case, you don’t want to be the second highest ranked student in the room. When Fukuda, a sixth level black belt, is at practice, I get the extra special treatment. With Fukuda he’ll demonstrate “Now, after blocking the knife with both hands, you deliver a backhand across the stomach and then push the person’s face with your right and then you do the throwing technique. Got that?” With me, he back hands me across the stomach, smacks me in the face and throws me. If I get things wrong, I get yelled at.

When Fukuda’s not there, unless I’m doing something completely boneheaded, the tone is much more gentle, while the lower level student gets the special treatment.

To this day, I don’t know if this is official policy, or just some kind of the hazed becomes the hazer psychological thing. In general, the teacher’s aren’t abusive in other ways. My sensei went through a faze where he was slapping us on the shoulder or on the head when we made repeated mistakes. I told him if he didn’t stop, I was leaving for good, and he’s never done it sense.  But the sensei’s bring the pain when demonstrating techniques.  I’m on my guard no matter what, especially when we’re using bo staffs and swords, even if I’m number one.

 

 

 

Slogging and Blathering and Assessing

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Today’s post, unless I’ve miscounted, is post number 37 which means I’m 10% finished with this daily project. Since I’m coming down off a minor migraine, I’ve decided to assess what’s happened thus far and where I hope things will go from here.

I went in to this project with very little plan and I was worried about having enough interesting ideas. (Ha Ha Ha. Too late, DL, looks to me like you’ve already run out. That’s funny. Ha ha. I get it. Now shut up.) My friend Steve was much wiser in that respect, and his new daily poetry project looks interesting, too. On the other hand, having no plan gives me a much broader range of topics. But when you can go anywhere, where do you go first?

I keep a notebook of possible topics, but prefer to blather on about whatever strikes my interest on the day–hence haircuts and lots of stuff about marking exams. I want to keep a good portion of the possibles list as “I Got Nothin'” back-up topics.

I also decided by the end of the first week to limit myself to one hour of writing for each post. One of the reasons I haven’t done anything like this before–and also why I’m dubious about daily diaries–is the time spent on things that don’t necessarily pay. The consequences of the time limit have been mixed. Although it forces me to write quickly–I don’t count any prior notes or scribbled lines toward the time limit– I feel a number of the entries just kind of stopped without a satisfying concluding punch–The Corpse of Peace, for example.

I’ve also been worried about balancing the mix of serious, funny, seriously funny, falsely profound and downright tragic, but that might be a result of deciding how honest to get with all of this. I also don’t want this to be another version of the barely breathing The Crazy Japan Times, although I may start cross-posting some stuff over there.

I do have an eye toward readership–the blog’s been doing reasonably well thanks to Brad Dowdy of The Pen Addict including one of my posts in his regular Ink Links. (Note: that’s NOT the Ink Links my post is in.) I’ll probably add a tip jar one of these days, although that possibility changes depending on what day it is.

I also want to work on a couple connected series of posts, one about Albania and the Peace Corps, one about university and why I am a grad-school dropout and one tentatively involving “Daddyhood”. (Once again, though, I’m saving those for the “No, really, I got nothin’. Really, I don’t.” days

Thanks to everyone who’s commented, either on a post or on Facebook. I hope you’ll share these with others. I also hope I manage to keep your interest the rest of the way, despite cheating posts such as this.

 

 

Ask Me No Questions and I’ll Tell You No Lies

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A dirty little secret of being a teacher overseas is that you are one part educator, one part bald-faced liar. Well, you don’t start out that way; it’s just that you quickly learn that lying is part of the job.

More specifically, it’s a defense mechanism. When I was in Albania, a fairly common conversation would proceed something like this:

Albanian–Tell me how much is kilogram of meat in America?
Me–What’s a kilogram?

Well, that was an EARLY conversation. A few months later the conversation was more like:

Albanian–Tell me how much is kilogram of meat in America?
Me–What kind of meat?
Albanian–Beef steak.
Me–What kind of beef steak? There are different cuts.
Albanian–Just average kind.
Me–Well, in Kansas the cheapest kind was–
Albanian–No, New York City.

Substitute “kilogram of meat” with “liter of milk”, or “pack of cigarettes” or “car” or “house” and you start to get the idea of what we were going through. Eventually, we just gave up and started lying.

Therefore, by the end of the first year, the conversation went more like.

Albanian–Tell me how much is kilogram of meat in America?
Me–Twenty dollars.
Albanian–It is expensive, I think. How much is kilogram of chicken?
Me–Sixteen dollars.
Albanian–I see. How much is pack of cigarettes?
Me–Seventeen dollars and twenty-seven cents.
Albanian–(Lighting cheap Partizani Cigarette). America is bad place.

I justified it by telling myself that somewhere, somehow those things were actually those prices.

I wish I could say things had improved in the age of the internet and the smartphone, but even here in Japan teachers field questions such as “How much it cost to have wedding in America?” I always say “ten thousand dollars” and then watch while they start to do the math in their heads “102.23 times 10,000 equals” pulls out smartphone, uses calculator “Ahh, that is cheap I think.” I don’t tell them they can just head over to the Little White Chapel in Vegas and be married and out for a lot less. I also don’t say look it up.

Part of what gets to you is it isn’t always a way to lead into a broader conversation; you really are expected to be a kind of living breathing Wikipedia, and it gets old fairly quickly.

Luckily, no one’s ever looked up and called me on it. If they do, though, I’m ready for it.

“Well, I haven’t been home in a while. Things may have changed a bit.”

I try to be a good person. Really I do, but only as necessary.

Cut, Shaved and Therapized

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I’d planned to go get a haircut today, but various events intervened: neighbors, the threat of rain, kids coming home from school with report cards and a dazed and confused teenager (but I repeat myself) who can’t read a map.

This, however, has me thinking about haircuts and my favorite places to get a haircut. In the USA, your choices are barber shops and stylists. Barber shops are primarily about sports, wisdom and life lessons–as one barber told me when he heard I was in Air Force ROTC: stupid, brain dead and moronic is no way to go through life, son. (Something like that. I can’t remember if he’d been a Marine or a soldier). Stylists shampoo your hair and then teach you about the transience of life and physical possessions by sculpting your hair into a shape you will never, ever, no matter how hard you try, be able to replicate on your own.

Albania, though, was an experience. For about 50 cents (if you were really splurging) you got a disturbingly fast dry haircut followed by a shave with a straight razor. That was followed by the application of a burning aftershave that was apparently the acidic by product of some sort of chemical weapons test and then the barber rubbed some sort of lotion on your face as part of a face and scalp massage. After days of extreme culture shock, it was better than drinking (well, it was cheaper than drinking) and better than visiting the Peace Corps nurse for counseling. Even the women in the Peace Corps were interested in getting a haircut at a men-only local place.

In Japan, as of late, you have a choice: therapy or a haircut.

Therapy: When I was in Nou-machi, my barber was Barber Ishii, an older woman of no determinable age whose hobby was taiko drumming. A haircut and shave from her involved first a pile of hot towels on your face for several minutes, followed by hot shaving cream and then a shave and a short face massage. Then came the haircut itself and then a shoulder and scalp massage. That’s when the taiko drumming skills and strong arms took over. By the time you’re done, the world is a great place and all your problems are just insignificant little things you don’t even need to ponder. All this for about 35 dollars, complimentary cup of coffee included. (And, usually, because I was a regular, free food of some sort to take home.)

Haircut: The last several years, the more expensive stylists have been competing with “Ten Dollar/Ten Minute” barber shops that promise a haircut cheap and fast. (In some stations, you can even get a haircut while you’re waiting for the train.) You get to give a few basic directions and the barbers go to town. If you time it right, you can sneak in a few extra minutes, and if you don’t like the results–they usually leave your hair too long, I suspect to keep you coming back regularly–they will take extra time and fix it. All that for 1,000 yen. I switched to them, partly because younger stylists have dropped the massage portion of the haircut but kept the price the same.

Still, whenever I get back to Nou-machi, if it’s not a national holiday, I head down to Barber Ishii for a haircut and some therapy.

All Your Summers Are Belong to Us

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Because the girls are finishing up school tomorrow, I’m in the mood to ramble about Japanese schools and a few of the odd differences between Japan and the USA.

First, a few boring details: Japan operates on a year-round school system with the school year starting in early April. The Spring/Summer term runs until the end of July. There is then a six weekish long summer “vacation” (more on that later). Autumn term runs from early September until December 27th or so, then there’s a ten dayish break for the new year. The winter term runs from early January until the end of March. Students and teachers then have about two weeks to prepare for the next school year–which for some teachers involves moving to new schools in new cities.

Elementary school is very laid back–although the students get way ahead in math compared to their Western counterparts by using rote memorization of times tables, speed drills and other techniques Western educators have proven don’t work.

Starting in junior high school, students in public schools put on uniforms and boys and girls begin to be physically separated more and everyone begins to study their “roles” in Japanese society. The boys will be the leaders; the women will serve tea and, hopefully, according to the Japanese government, start producing babies in order to keep Japan stocked with future workers whose future taxes will support the aging population. (Keep that in mind when someone tells you the US needs an educational system more like Japan’s.)

Extra-curricular activities are also taken much more seriously. At the beginning of the year, older students recruit 7th graders to join their clubs. The choice is important because once you’re in a club, that’s your club for the rest of the year. It is, for example, not possible to be in the band during football season and then play basketball and then go back to being in the band during track season. Many clubs also meet during the holidays.

I remember being shocked after we moved back to Kansas that football practice at Southeast of Saline High School had started over a week before school started. However, in Japan it’s normal for some clubs–especially sports clubs–to meet nearly every day of the year, including Sundays. My oldest plays the flute in the brass band club and in one year she’s probably already had more practice time than I had in six years of playing the trumpet. (She’s also much better at flute than I ever was at trumpet.) She did get in trouble, though, for missing practice while she was visiting her grandparents in the USA last summer. (She Who Must Be Obeyed wisely keeps me away from the teacher; although I serve as a kind of “bad cop” last resort.)

It’s also standard operating procedure for teachers to give reams of homework during holidays. The students diligently put all this off and finish it in a mad rush at the end of the holiday.

Complicating matters, especially for Junior high school, is the emphasis on entrance exams. In Japan students don’t simply move from the local public junior high to the local public high school. Instead, they prepare for rigorous entrance exams in order to get into the school they want and, hopefully by default, the university they want. Failing to get into an elite high school pretty much ruins any chance a student has of getting into the best universities. As a result, many parents send their kids to evening “cram schools” that prepare the students for the entrance exams. These classes, of course, can’t take place until after clubs let out which results in a lot of students dragging themselves home at 9:30 or 10:00 at night and then having to eat supper, take a bath and do their school homework.

Especially in public schools, many students consider “cram school” to be their real school and the school they go to during the day is their chance to have fun with their friends. Classrooms are therefore usually much more noisy than most Westerners expect them to be and the students a lot more rude to teachers.

I’ve never wanted to be a helicopter parent, but I am always hovering around the edges, ready to swoop in with my crazy Western ideas that holidays are supposed to be a time for the students to relax and recharge.

There Can Be Only One (Twice Each Year)

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Since there are no Kansas teams left in March Madness (the National Collegiate Athletic Association Men’s Division 1 Basketball Championship), and I am now reduced to shopping around for a new team to follow (Early candidates: Florida, out of respect for an acquaintance; and Louisville, or whoever plays Kentucky if Louisville loses.)

For those not from the USA, March Madness is one of the greatest sports spectacles in the world. There are teams full of young players who are there representing their universities and Kentucky, who’s young players are there auditioning for the professional draft. There are emotions and moral dilemmas (do I cheer for Kansas University if Kansas State and Wichita State have already been eliminated or do I want to watch them bleed? Unfortunately, as they are wont to do, Kansas University has been eliminated early, so we’ll never know what my choice would have been.)

All this madness, though, has got me thinking about Japan’s equivalent of March Madness: the Summer National High School Baseball Championship.

This is event, nicknamed “Koshien” because it is typically played at Hanshin Koshien Stadium near Kobe, takes place every August. After a long series of regional championships, each prefecture sends its best team–Tokyo and Hokkaido each get two teams–for a grand total of 49 teams. They then compete in a single elimination tournament, sponsored by the Asahi Newspaper chain, that’s been taking place since 1915 (with a few years off for things like World War II).

It’s no exaggeration to say that participating in Koshien is a religious experience. Every Japanese boy who plays baseball dreams of playing there. If one player on a team causes trouble before the tournament, the entire team is suspended. In 2006, a FORMER player of a Hokkaido team was caught drinking and smoking and the team was banned from the tournament. Teams wear predominantly white uniforms to represent their purity. There are no “home” and “away” uniforms so it’s common for two teams with nearly identical uniforms play each other which begins to play tricks on the eyes after a while. Players from losing teams tearfully gather bags of soil from the field after their loss to scatter in their home fields. Graduating seniors collect vials of soil to keep as souvenirs.

Any player with a chance to go professional gets shocking amounts of news coverage and scrutiny and, if they are a pitcher and the team’s ace, may find themselves pitching every pitch of every game. For example, Yu Darvish was forced to throw every pitch in a loss in 2003 and in 1998 we saw Daisuke Matsuzaka pitch an entire 17 inning game (I think he threw 250 pitches). It’s not unusual to see the ace pitcher pitch full games three days in a row.

I don’t even like baseball (which is basically just a bunch of people standing in a field watching two guys play catch) but I like watching Koshien. There really is nothing like it, at least in the USA. March Madness is close, but cheering for A team from Kansas, is not the same as cheering for THE team from Kansas. (Note: The FIFA World Cup has its moments, but is hindered by crappy play in the group stage and lots of flopping about in order to draw penalties.)

There is a spring invitational tournament held at Koshien (and sponsored by the Mainichi Newspaper chain) but it is a distant second to the emotion and spectacle of the summer tournament. The only suspense is if a team can become only the 8th to win both tournaments in the same year.

Unfortunately, after the boys of Koshien are gone, all that’s left on TV is Japanese professional baseball. The only suspense then is which player is going to bolt for the US major leagues. That’s when I start playing free games on the internet and, oh, yeah, writing something every now and then.