Growing up, I didn’t watch baseball. Nobody else in my family had much of an interest, either. The entire sport was written off by my mother as “a bunch of guys pickin’ and scratchin’”. This sentiment received little pushback from my father who preferred to watch football or golf. And so it was that I adopted an indifferent stance towards America’s pastime.

Building off of the lack of enthusiasm for baseball in my family, team fandom of any kind in Wyoming is a fickle thing. Support tended to be doled out piecemeal and given to those clubs that had national relevance. I knew a lot of Cowboys, Bulls, and Yankees fans who had never set foot in Texas, Illinois, or New York.

When I finally landed in my first “big city” Denver apartment, I wanted to avail myself of a measure of the local sporting culture. It was primarily a financial decision that I led me to follow the Rockies; a team that was longest on both supply and value. Four dollars bought a nosebleed bleacher seat 81 days a year. Before too long, I became a legitimate fan not only of the Rockies, but the game of baseball.

Me meeting a couple of Rockies legends at AT&T Park. Please excuse Todd’s bat placement.

In 2009, I moved to San Francisco. Living in the Bay Area meant having direct access to a team in each league (the A’s in the American League and the Giants in the National League). This bounty of baseball allowed me to take in a greater variety of competition and helped to expand my interest in the sport and the culture surrounding it.

Before too long, I began travelling to other cities specifically to visit their ballparks. If the Rockies happened to be playing, so much the better. If not, I never had trouble finding something to cheer for.

In the spring of 2013, I got my first taste of Japanese baseball when AT&T Park hosted the semi-final round of the World Baseball Classic where Puerto Rico faced off against Japan. Throughout the game, the Japanese fans were as one. They cheered, clapped, and sang in unison for their squad and never wavered even as the tide turned in their eventual 3–1 loss. Their enthusiasm was infectious.

My second chance to take in a Japanese ballgame came in the spring of 2014. I was returning to San Francisco after a work trip in Asia. Even though it was my first time in Japan, I had baseball on the brain. I got my first full taste of Nippon Professional Baseball watching the Yomiuri Giants host the Hiroshima Carp in the Tokyo Dome. I sat with the away fans and joined in their revelry as the Carp emerged victorious. The experience made an impression.

We snuck away from the cheap seats.

My next NPB outing came a year and a half later. My then fiancée (now wife), Yalina, was dispatched to Tokyo on business and I tagged along. I made arrangements for us to see a game at the home stadium of the city’s second team, the Tokyo Yakult Swallows, as they took on the Yomiuri Giants. Predictably, we had an absolute blast cheering, singing, dancing and chanting.

Hyped.

While the product on the field was much the same, and the crowd was as raucous as ever, I was struck by just how different it was to attend a baseball game in Japan versus the US. There were so many little traditions, completely alien to me as a baseball fan, that I wanted to understand.

Japan is uniquely unknowable. As a westerner, you arrive essentially illiterate, adrift, and utterly at the mercy of people who instantly recognize you as an outsider. There is no blending in. One could dedicate their life to immersing themselves in Japanese culture and never come close to fully comprehending it. Walking out of that Swallows game, I decided to learn as much as I could about the one, tiny corner of Japanese life that was closest to home: baseball.

After much planning, finagling, and good fortune, I took the first big step towards what I hope will be some level of expertise in Japanese baseball culture. This summer, I spent the last two weeks of July on a road trip through Japan. By plane, train, and automobile, I attended nine games in nine different stadiums. I was joined on this adventure by Yalina and our friend Clint (both of whom I owe a debt of gratitude for indulging my habit).

In the posts to follow, I’ll tell the story of each game and the small delights that made these experiences so memorable. Even if you never make it to Japan, or if you feel that baseball is a boring mess of “pickin’ and scratchin’”, my hope is that these recaps will inspire you to recognize that the thing you think you understand is worth a deeper examination.

On deck Japan Ball: Basics and Observations