“Who comes to Japan to play basketball?”
While Kai, a worker at K’s Backpacker’s Hostel in Toyko, never asked me directly, his response to my question about basketball hinted at it. I (along with two friends, Chris and Mikey) was in Japan for 10 days, and I really wanted to find a place to hoop.
I didn’t travel to Japan to play basketball — Japan is far too fabulous of a country for that. It’s just that playing basketball wherever I can, in different cities in distant countries with people of diverse backgrounds, is a goal of mine. To me, it’s a novel dimension to a travel experience, a colorful flavor amongst the new sights and sounds.
Kai found a place a few minutes later, and wrote the details on a piece of paper. Every Tuesday, from 6:30 to 10 p.m., at a sports complex a couple miles from our hostel, the city of Tokyo reserves a court for full court play.
I checked our schedule. We were free.
Come Tuesday, we walk to the gym a few hours before 6:30 — a new city with territory to explore can make a 45 minute walk and a few hours to kill seem exciting. On our way there, we pass none of the scenes that make Tokyo famous. No lights of Shinjuku, no throngs of Asakusa. Only blocks of apartments and restaurants, the elements of life unadorned in Japan’s capital.
Our first stop was Kiba Park, a few blocks away from our gym. Inside the park, we find a few baskets, with kids shooting on each. So much for exploring — basketball would begin sooner than expected.
Mikey and I propose some 2 on 2 with two boys who look to be in middle school, and they agree. One joins my team, the other joins forces with Mikey.
When my teammate missed a shot, he would apologize. Many apologies were exchanged; I missed my fair share as well. We played for about 45 minutes, and I’ll recall those minutes fondly: a familiar game in a foreign setting, the two boys whose names I’ve forgotten but whose style of play I can easily describe.
Afterwards, we head for the gym that Kai had found. The court is well lit, the hardwood polished, squeaky clean, free of dust. It’s also jammed full of people of all ages — groups of energetic young kids, a man sporting a Brooklyn Nets jersey working on his mid-range jumper, a man teaching his girlfriend how to dribble.
At 7:30, a whistle blows. The shooting stops. Everyone lines up. A small scoreboard is plugged in. We would have been lost, without the help of Jay, originally from London, who moved to Japan 4 years ago and translates for us. He lives down the street from the gym and plays there every Tuesday.
True to their nature, the Japanese have turned pick-up basketball (at least in this gym in Koto Ward) into an organized system. As Jay explained, at the sound of the whistle, everyone forms their own teams. Each team plays for 5 minutes, and a referee keeps score and calls fouls. In order to accommodate all ages, the little kids play first. When their 5 minutes are up, the next adult teams play. This cycle — kids, adults, kids, adults — continues until everyone leaves having enjoyed their fair share of basketball.
While organized and efficient, the system has its shortcomings. The number of people present led to discrepancies in age and talent between two teams that matched up. I played one game, where our opponents included 3 young teenage girls and an elderly man. The game simply lacked the competitive urgency of a pickup game in the States.
With that said, I had a blast. It was refreshing to play with people playing for the pure enjoyment of the game. I found the entire experience to be a microcosm of Japanese society as a whole, held together by the same understanding that keeps its streets spotless, its trains reliable, and most of all, its citizens gracious and trustworthy.
It’s the society that makes me want to go back to Japan again, even though I just left a week ago. For now, I can only look forward to the tranquil sensation of a beautiful garden surrounded by an ultra-modern city. I can only look forward to the ramen that I stumble upon the next time I play basketball with the people of Japan, for 5 minutes at a time.