On recent trip to Japan, I was told arcades are on the decline. But that'd be a shock to any passerby.

There are towering game centers everywhere here, filled with rhythm games, fighting games, light gun shooters—a more colourful, decadent expansion of what little remains of North American arcades. Unique to Japan are the pachinko parlours, pseudo-gambling institutions where mechanical games that look like upright pinball machines fill the air with the deafening sound of falling metal balls. It's a game I still don't entirely understand.

But with so many arcades, and an abundance of pachinko's little silver spheres, where was pinball? Where was that familiar arcade staple? Those roaring cabinets of bumpers, dings, points, and flashing lights? For much of the world, it's hard to think of an arcade without it, and I am an addict to this strange, stupid thing. From London to San Francisco I'm cursed by an inclination to seek out the game. Pity me.

In Japan pinball never seemed to find its place—the only kind of game that isn't easily found amidst everything else imaginable. Where could this junkie wizard get his fix?

When I hit ​Amerikamura—an "American Village" named after shops that had high US influence, and opened in the 1970s—I found where pinball was hiding. Across the street from a Burger King and within arms reach of an Uncle Sam statue is BIGSTEP, a shopping plaza with a concert theatre, a taco joint, a gothic lolita department store and a spiral escalator. Most importantly, the third floor has ​The Silver Ball Planet, a pinball-only arcade.

"Pinball is one of the icons of American culture," BIGSTEP manager Yuske Namba told me. "So we thought it makes sense to have a pinball arcade in BIGSTEP. We imported about 100 pinball machines from the US and built the biggest pinball arcade in Asia, maybe outside of the US."

Only a year old, The Silver Ball Planet is a tribute to one of America's most beautiful, space-eating games. Dozens of tables are grouped by themes: music licenses, Arnold Schwarzenegger films, Playboy models, and games by Pat Lawlor—1990s pinball's most well-known designer. A projector played videos made by arcade staff alongside variety show clips. There is a mural of Marty McFly, and even an old Coca-Cola machine, with bottle crates stacked up next to it for your empties.

I got my hands on a bunch of personal faves: Tales from the Crypt, Twilight Zone, Elvis, and Creature from the Black Lagoon. There were machines I had never seen in the wild, just in pictures: Space Jam, Time Machine, Guns & Roses, Batman Forever. Even the recent Wizard of Oz table by Jersey Jack, which may not be the best machine I've ever experienced, was certainly the most decadent. Maybe even the loudest.

In Harajuku, Osaka, and other places in the country, pinball mostly exists as a sort of Americana homage

"I personally like (pinball) because it's the game you use your body and physically feel yourself playing," said Namba. "Also, I like their visual appearance. Each pinball has a theme. Graphics and lights are beautiful. It represents design trend of certain periods of time."

Pinball is also known for having incredibly specific rules. For example, Twilight Zone's main jackpot is "the piano," a target out of view, tucked under a zodiac clock. To get Attack from Mars' skill shot, you have to start by holding down the left flipper before launching the ball. It's not always intuitive, or entirely welcoming to newcomers. I watched players keep the ball alive without knowing why, and spare credits and replays, shrieking to be used, were left up for grabs throughout the day.​

There are instructions on the machine itself, as well as audio and visual cues. Because everything is in English, I asked Yuske if that put Japanese players at a disadvantage. Not everyone at The Silver Ball Planet really seemed to know what to do.

Inside The Silver Ball Planet. Photo: Zack Kotzer

"Yes and no," said Namba. "Just simply hitting the ball, you don't need to read instructions in English. However, we want people to know how to play the game and enjoy each machine, so more people may get hooked on pinball. We want them to know how you can get more points, get credits, multi-ball, etc. Therefore, we provide instructions in Japanese." By the counter there was a row of cute, printed booklets to better explain how, for example, Indiana Jones: The Pinball Adventure worked.

Yuske believes that Japan's love of video games is part of the reason why pinball has had trouble taking hold—why the game is more of a foreign curiosity for most than a cultural mainstay. In the 1960s and 1970s, when pinball was first taking off in the west, a burgeoning industry for electromechanical arcade games was already present in japan. In Harajuku, Osaka, and other places in the country, pinball mostly exists as a sort of Americana homage. It probably doesn't help that machines are difficult to ship and an even bigger pain in the ass to maintain.