Dubious Quality

It's been like this all the way back to his 3.5 days, and it's never changed.

We were looking for a place to eat dinner in Kyoto, and the first two places we went to were closed. Since nothing in Japan is closed on Sunday, lots of places close one day during the week. Eli kept looking, and we went down a side street and wound up in front of a bar he said had very high ratings. 

We could see inside, because there was a wall of windows running along its length. It was small, with just a counter that would seat 8-10 people, and no one was inside except the bartender. In the corner was a nicely-sized television, and a Nippon Professional Baseball game was playing. "Japanese baseball," I said. "I'm in."

"Me, too," Eli said, and we went into the bar.

I have an unusual relationship with Japanese baseball. I played the NPB baseball game Pro Yakyuu Spirits (Konami) in the early 2000s and it was far better than any sports game released in the U.S. I'm also fascinated by the national high school championships held at Koshien each year, which have a legendary history. Add in  Chrysanthemum and the Bat, and I know enough to know a little.

The bartender looked surprised when we walked in, since this wasn't a tourist bar. He was in his early forties and didn't speak much English, but let us know through gestures and a few words that the menu was in Japanese only. We also found out there was no food, but it was so pleasant inside we decided to stay for a drink. 

We turned toward the game in the corner. 

"Who's playing?" Eli asked.

"One of those teams is the Hanshin Tigers," I said, because I recognized them.

"You know Hanshin?" the bartender asked, clearly surprised. 

We then went through a halting conversation where I explained how I played Pro Spirits and he was even more surprised. He's played it, too, he said. He grew up near Osaka (Hanshin's home city) and had been a fan his whole life, but they never win. This year, though, they were in first place in their division. 

He served our drinks and then it was just three guys watching a baseball game. 

Hanshin loaded the bases, but the batter struck out. Two outs. The next batter walked up and the bartender flexed his bicep and said, "Strong." 

The count reached 2-1, and then a pitch drifted over the plate and there was the crack of the bat and we were all yelling at the same time. It went ten rows into the stands and all three of us were fist-bumping and the bartender laughed and said, "Very strong."

We stayed for another half hour, talking the whole time, even with the language barrier. When we walked out, I looked at Eli and said, "That's going to be the highlight of the trip, no matter what else happens."

"No doubt," he said.