This essay column is written by a longtime foreign resident of Japan.

It's fun to stay at the YMCA
It's fun to stay at the YMCA
They have everything for men to enjoy
You can hang out with all the boys
It's fun to stay at the YMCA

What was I doing? For Christ's sake, it was a Sunday, I should have been in church -- perhaps if I went more often I wouldn't blaspheme so much -- instead of standing in front of several thousand people singing and dancing to the Village People's YMCA. Admittedly, it was like a revival meeting and I could feel the spirit in me -- Asahi Super Dry beer I think -- and it was in a modern-day cathedral, although one dedicated to different gods. But what was I doing at a baseball game, and a Pacific League baseball game at that?

Some things will always be lost in translation into my English perception of the way the world should be and others will always insist on reminding me that I live in a foreign country. My trip to the Tokyo Dome to watch the Nippon Ham Fighters play the Kintetsu Buffaloes -- my son is a Buffaloes fan -- was both of these.

I'm not knocking (criticizing) Japanese baseball. I could have been at Yankee Stadium in New York and it would have felt just as foreign. The problem is there is just nothing in my experience to compare it to.

Growing up in the North of England, I was weaned on cricket, a game involving a bat and a ball, but there the similarity ends. And at school I played rounders, a game that involves a bat, a ball and running around four posts to score a rounder. But baseball remains a mystery to me.

As a sports fan I know that there's nothing like going to a game, match or race to soak up the atmosphere -- the colors, the noise, the lights, the rain coming down sideways, the hot Bovril at halftime (memories, memories) -- and the real essence of any sport. And I know there's nothing like going where the Japanese go to enjoy themselves and forget the formalities of life (tabi no haji wa kakisute) to gauge how, after 17 years, my assimilation is progressing.

This was my first visit to a ballpark, how was I supposed to behave? In this society of manners and etiquette, of tatemae and honne, would I embarrass myself and my son if I stood up and questioned the umpire's parentage?

From what I'd seen on television of Japanese and American baseball, much of the time at a game is spent eating, drinking and talking on cellphones -- don't you just hate those people in the sections behind home plate who ring someone on their cellphone and then wave at the camera?

My visit to the Dome didn't start too well -- we stood for the national anthem (like two nails sticking up just asking to be hammered down) while most Japanese around us were too busy with their bento to bother getting to their feet -- and gradually got worse. If it hadn't been for a group of American high-school students in our section, Tom and I would have been the only ones getting down with the Village People.

Apart from the noise from the orchestrated cheering sections and the PA system, the game was played in almost silence. OK, it wasn't the Giants vs. the Tigers, but most people seemed happy to eat, drink, read, chat or talk on their cellphones -- anything but get into the game.

I'd learned the words to Take Me Out to the Ballgame especially for the trip to the Tokyo Dome, but after the apathy and indifference that greeted the fifth inning rendering of YMCA, the PA system operators let the seventh inning pass peacefully. Perhaps they didn't want to wake anyone up or spoil anyone's digestion.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: Aug. 2, 2003
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