The Insanity that is Koshien

I've had a big fascination with Japanese culture for some time. This is a place of domed, indoor beaches and electronic pets that will die if you don't "love" them enough; a place where John Coltrane can play an hour long version of "My Favorite Things" because he wants to and math-core giants The Dillinger Escape Plan can sell out a ten thousand seat arena in Osaka when they can't sell out a bar in San Francisco; a place that has given the world some of the most beautiful films (see Kurosawa's Red Beard) and some of the ugliest (see demon hentai "Angel of Darkness" and its even more disgusting live-action counterpart).

And then there's baseball. It's their national game, much more so than here, and they've been playing it professionally almost as long as Americans have, so it would only make sense that youth baseball, or Kokoyakyu, would carry a lot of weight. But I had no idea. A POV documentary on PBS last week opened my eyes to Koshien, the yearly 4000 team, single-elimination tournament that determines the best high school baseball team in Japan. This is not the Little League World Series. I thought there was pressure with Texas high school football, but winning state means very little compared to the stock people take in playing the final game on the sacred dirt of Koshien field. For them, winning Koshien is showing a true, ancient warrior spirit and not winning shows only one thing: a lack of spirit on a team's part.

What's most amazing to me about the whole thing is sheer amount of pressure the kids put on themselves, and eachother, seemingly without impetus from the coach. Moreover, each team has dedicated cheering (or screaming) squads who take their role almost more seriously than the players. The team only wins by one run, the captain of this squad berates the others for nearly allowing the loss and demonstrates what a real blood-curdling scream should sound like...scary. Then, in true Japanese fashion, the losing team sings a tearful "thank you" to the winners for demonstrating what a real dedicated team plays like, sending them to their next game imbued with the spirit of the defeated.

This quiet war never ends. A losing team begins practice for next years' tourney the day they get back to town. Most teams never make it to play on the sacred earth, but those that do are heroes of a nation. It is truly a beautiful thing.