(They did print a correction, without apology, the day after.)
Yuichi was a very happy Fighter Fan, and indeed, as honorary
members of the fraternity, so were we.14 August Shibuya,
looking down on ourselves, a look forward to 2002, and our boys
win!
Apart
from a trip to the convenience store round the corner for milk,
bread and a copy of the Japan Times, we didn’t really get
going until the afternoon. We travelled on the subway to
Shibuya, where there is a vast underground station. Stephen
guided us to the right exit and we stepped out into the seething
crowds. There was one of the political megaphone pedagogues
bellowing his message from a podium erected on the pavement.
Ignoring
him, like (so far as I could see) the rest of humanity, we joined
a crowd of some hundreds of people waiting to cross the road
towards the shopping area. Dutifully waiting until the
crossing lights flashed and the “cuckoo” beeper beeped
cuckoo-like, we seethed across with everyone else. Coming
in the opposite direction was an equal but opposite mass of
people. I had visions of a massive pile-up in the middle of
the crossing, the two rivers of people pressing against each
other so that those in the middle were raised high above the
masses, as if two tidal waves crashed into each other. However,
such was not the case. Somehow or other we passed each
other without clashing. It must be something to do with the
proximity that Japanese people live in that enables them to glide
past each other without touching. I now know what it’s
like to be a salmon fighting my way upstream to spawn. (I
wasn’t going to spawn; it was just a figure of speech.)
A
cafe provided welcome refreshment (and a restroom). We
found an official World Cup 2002 shop. Japan is gearing up
to co-host one of the big two sporting events –
football’s 4-yearly World Cup (the other biggie is of course
the Olympics, which Japan has already hosted in both its summer
and winter varieties). The shop provided us with the opportunity to buy some
suitable gifts to take back home. We bought some good
tee-shirts and various knick-knacks.
Stephen
wanted to see if there were any good new records in stock at
Tower Records. This is a large record and magazine store.
The external lift that took us up to the 5th floor
(“I’ll take the fifth, judge”) had a television
camera concealed in its roof. There was a monitor on the
wall. We saw ourselves from above, which in my case was
slightly unnerving. From above, I could be mistaken for a
monk in mufti.
Time
was pressing, and we moved on to the Tokyo
Dome and its surrounding funfair. The Dome is a
colossal indoor arena, used for baseball and rock concerts.
We met up with Yuichi, one of Stephen’s teacher colleagues.
He had obtained tickets for us to watch a baseball match. Yuichi
is a born-and-bred fan of the Nippon Ham Fighters. Sadly
the lads were languishing at the foot of the table, and today
they were to meet the Kintetsu Buffaloes. The Buffaloes not
only were at the top of the table, but have a reverential status
rather akin to Manchester United’s in another field. Yuichi
seemed to be rather sad about this relative state of affairs.
Val confidently stated that the Fighters would no doubt win, in
our honour.
This
was the first live baseball match I had been to, so I was not
sure what to expect. There was a curious atmosphere, which
I guess was an expression of Japanese-ism. The fans
belonging to each team had well-defined seating areas, and of
course the home team, the Fighters, had the numerical advantage.
Unlike any other competitive sporting event I have ever
experienced, the fans cheered their team vociferously (not to
mention singing the team song and chanting the team chant) but
– and this is the curiosity – remaining completely
silent when the other team was batting.
While
the match was in progress, various people came around to sell hot
dogs. We had already had our “included with the
ticket” hot dogs (presumably sponsored by Nippon Ham
itself). However, we availed ourselves of the mobile draft
beer sellers (mainly young women paying their way through
college) who visited each seat four or five times an hour.
The
game of baseball itself is, frankly, a bit feeble. There is
a lot of secret signalling between the pitcher and the bloke that
stands behind the batter (this may be the “catcher”,
but I am not sure). This involves much tipping of the
pitcher’s cap and various signals from the team coach, and
much adjustment of the groin guard sensibly worn by the catcher.
The ball, having been thrown, is either struck by the batter or
caught by the catcher. An umpire makes a signal and a
strange hoot, and either the batter walks to the first base, or
trots there, or runs there flat out, or waits for another ball to
be pitched, or throws the bat down and stalks back to the dugout.
And then someone else becomes the batter and the process is
repeated. If the batter manages to hit the ball (about one
time in ten), and if he puts enough oomph into the stroke, it can
travel out of the playing area. So long as it is in a
permitted arc from the batting point, he can then trot round the
diamond and score a home run. This is the most exciting
thing that can happen, except where there are already batsmen who
have managed to run to the other bases round the diamond, when
they too, can complete their runs. After nine episodes, the
teams change places. A typical baseball score after an
evening’s play is 2-1, or 3-2.
Let
us now proudly state that, in pursuance of Val's prediction, the
Nippon Ham Fighters trounced the Kintetsu Buffaloes by –
wait for it – 17 to 3!!!!! This is an unheard-of
score. Such was its unbelievability that the following
day’s Japan Times printed the score as 7-3 to the Buffaloes.
(They did print a correction, without apology, the day after.)
Yuichi was a very happy Fighter Fan, and indeed, as honorary
members of the fraternity, so were we.
Thus
we celebrated in the “British Bar” a quarter of an
hour’s walk away, where we had some hot food and raised a
number of libations to the lads.