Out at the Ballgame

Reading: Waiting, Ha Jin / Gilead, Marilynne Robinson
Listening: Love Me After 12AM, m-flo loves Alex
Craving: nachos

Saturday, March 31

Chris and I caught an early train into Osaka, making our way to Kyocera Dome, the home of the Orix Buffaloes, for a little ol' baseball game.

Hanshin Tigers v. Hiroshima Carp

At the gate, we met up with a group teachers from Chris's school (one of whom acquired our tickets to the sold-out game), and we joined a pre-game tour of the dome.

We found lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken, where everyone shared a bucket (basket) of bird along with a round of beers. We also sampled the new garlic pepper chicken, with each piece served and eaten out of a thin paper package.

Despite our large lunch, I bought myself a (horrible) corn dog, a cup of onion rings, and another Coke. We were packed tightly into our seats, but no matter. We were at a Tigers game.

From our seats, we had a clear view of the section of the stadium occupied by the hardcore Hanshin Tigers Fan Club. (See the large yellow banner?) These fans hold season tickets, emphatically wave flags, commit the team song and cheers to heart, and sacrifice their first born children all in honor of the Tigers. I want to be like them.

I could by no means call myself a baseball fan, but after years of attending games of all sorts (be it for Scott or for UH), I've somehow come to enjoy the game. Cheering in a packed stadium among infectiously-crazed Tigers fans can't help either.

The Japanese have truly perfected the art of fandom. Tigers fans wrote individual cheers for each player, accompanied by sturdy rhythms on plastic batons, thunderously clapped together in unison by thousands of fans across the stadium. These men and women, young and old, match every strike, every ball, every hit, and every out with cheers and groans.

Toward the bottom of the sixth, it appeared that tall, multi-colored mushrooms were emerging across the stadium seats. Tiger fans everywhere were slowly inflating balloons, which they would release into the air just as the Tigers successfully finished the inning, giving the impression of a crazed New Year's celebration. We saw a repeat of the release as the Tigers beat the Carp, and the dome burst into a chaos of yells, clapping, and balloons.

Provided that we can find tickets, Chris and I will definitely attend another game, though this time, we'll arrive in full Tigers gear, carrying batons and balloons.

Following the game, our group caught a bus into the Okinawan district of Osaka, where the streets are lined with Okinawan shops and restaurants. We ate on the recommendation of a shopkeeper (who sold goya juice and large packages of andagi), who directed us to a mom-and-pop eatery. We packed in around two small tables and sampled a variety of dishes. I hadn't eaten much Okinawan food, and this meal was a culinary adventure. I loved the champuru, composed of stir-fried goya (bittermelon), tofu, spam, and eggs, as well as the Okinawan noodles, made with feather-light somen. The taco rice--seasoned ground beef, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese over white rice--surprised me: it was delicious! The atmosphere was casual. The other customers, elderly men who were obviously regulars, smoked their cigarettes over small dishes and called out for "Mama" to bring more. As we were ready to leave, they offered tastes of a strange meat dish that hadn't been brought to our table.

"いるかです。"

It was dolphin. Our group timidly went over to try a piece ("It's chewy," Chris commented.), but I stubbornly refused and stood on the side. When asked why I wasn't eating any dolphin, I explained that I love dolphins, earning me a round of laughter from the others. Despite the dolphin disaster, I left feeling full and happy.

I had thought that we were heading home, but we instead walked to yet another mom-and-pop Okinawan restaurant. For this round, however, we would be seated cozily on floor cushions for a taste of Okinawan music. I ordered a tall glass of fresh guava juice as we waited for our orders of assorted tempura (whole fish, squid, and onion) to arrive. The music soon began, with two of the waitresses accompanying the kimono-clad singer.

Okinawan music is cheery and light, leaving the listener with the impression of sitting beside the ocean. We clapped happily from our seats, but once the group began an upbeat song, we were all encouraged to join in and dance. The genki group of older women at the next table danced with more energy than even I had! We left after two rounds of dancing, having to make our trains out of Osaka. We thanked everyone profusely and headed into the line-up of taxis that would take us to the station.

Everybody loves Rody.