Hawks vs. Marines, Part 2

Now that I was in the seating area, my mission to get a batting practice ball was finally underway!

I hurried over to the left-field bleachers and was happy to see that there was very little competition, i.e., very few other people with gloves. For a couple of seconds, I tried to scout out the area and figure out where the best place to stand would be. But the reality was, the batters can hit the balls anywhere, so I just parked myself in the front row and started the waiting game.

After about 10 minutes of nothing, a ball finally came my way. But it sailed well over my head and to my left, so there was no chance of me getting it. The weird thing was, nobody was scrambling for it. It was as if none of them cared at all about scooping up the souvenir, or, worse yet, as if everyone was actually trying to avoid the ball, like it was bad luck or something to touch it. And just as I was marveling at the fact that there no scrum battling for the ball, my radar told me that there was another ball on its way. Sure enough, I turned back toward the field and saw a ball heading right at me. Or so I thought. It landed a few rows behind me, basically right in the lap of this guy who was just sitting there with his friend, both of them minding his own business.

And that's when I found out what the restraint was all about.

You know why no one gave a damn about the balls?

Because as soon as the balls landed in the stands, ushers pounced on them and threw them back on the field. So even if I had caught the ball that was a bit out of my reach, an usher would have come over and taken the ball away from me. Heck, they even took balls away from kids who had caught some!

One word: Riiiiiiiiiiiiii-diculous!

(Before we headed to Fukuoka, I even asked my supervisor if I would be able to keep a ball if I got one during batting practice, because, for whatever reason, I was pretty sure I wouldn't get to keep such a ball. I have no idea where I had heard or read that, but that was my understanding. So, naturally, I was happy when my supervisor told me that of course I could keep it. Was something lost in translation yet again?)

So it was time to switch to Plan B. (Always have a Plan B.)

Plan B was to hound the players for balls. I was pretty darn sure that if I could get a player to chuck a ball my way, the ushers wouldn't take it away from me.

That thought was confirmed when a player threw a ball in the direction of a group of kids who were sitting in a special section along the left-field foul line. One of the kids caught the ball on a bounce, and the ushers kept their distance. So I knew I had a chance for a ball, too. At the same time, I was also kicking myself in the tush for not having a cheap ball in my glove that I could throw back onto the field if I did catch a BP ball. (Next time, I'm bringing one!)

The only players on the field were the visiting Marines, which probably hurt my chances of getting my prize, since they weren't as likely to be fan-friendly as the hometown Hawks. (The Hawks didn't come out of the clubhouse until about 20 minutes before the game started, so the fans had very little time to interact with them before the game. I find that rather odd, but I guess that's just one more weird thing about Japanese baseball.)

But I tried my luck, anyway.

This one guy, Ohmatsu (I had no clue he was the starting left-fielder), was in my area, so I yelled down at him, "Hey, Ohmatsu, let me get a ball, man!" But he just ignored me, as I suspected he would. Over the span of the next 15 minutes or so, just about every time he had a ball in his hand or glove, I yelled something like, "C'mon, Ohmatsu, whaddya say, hook me up with a ball, man!" I even tried softening him up by calling him "O" and even "Big O" at one point, but that didn't matter. And I know he heard me, because one time he even looked up at me. My charm worked on Ohmatsu about as much as it did on the gate-girls!

And then it was Ohmatsu's turn to take BP, so off he went, heading toward home plate.

So I switched targets and started picking on a pitcher who was running slowly back and forth from one foul pole to the other along the warning track beneath me. But he hardly ever came by and never had a ball, anyway, so that strategy was quickly out the door.

I wanted to pick on the guy who was throwing the balls over to the kids every few minutes or so, but he was wearing a jacket so I had no clue what his name was.

Time was running out. It was about 4:50 and I figured BP would probably only last another ten minutes or so. I was slowly losing faith.

I had to choose another target quickly. So I picked on this guy wearing a jersey with the number 107(!) on it. (I spotted another guy with 111. No MLB players in their right mind would ever wear such high numbers, but in Japan, from what I understand, those triple-digit numbers are often worn by benchwarmers or non-roster players or what not. I'll have to look into that a bit more closely.) His name: Ishinuki.

I had no clue if Ishinuki was a player or a waterboy or what. So I had no clue if he was even allowed to throw a ball to me. But I didn't care at that point. He was wearing a jersey with a name on it, so he was my target. And I was pretty relentless. Just about every time he touched a ball, I tried something.

"Hey, Ishinuki, can I get a ball, please?!"

"Come on, Ishinuki, toss me a ball, buddy!"

"Whaddya say, Ishinuki, right up here, man!"

"Ishinuki, can I please have a ball?"

For several minutes, my man Ishinuki pretty much ignored me.

But then, finally, he looked up at me and gave me the "okay" sign.

Holy crap! Was he really going to come through for me?

Or did he mean, "Okay, enough already."?

I got my answer about a minute later. A batter finally hit a ball to left and Ishinuki fielded it. He then turned to me, saw that I was waiting, and tossed the ball to me.

And I dropped it!

Just kidding! No way would I drop it.

"Thanks, man, thanks a lot!"

I finally had my ball.

When I peaked inside my glove, I expected to see something written on the ball like "Japanese Professional Baseball League" or "Japan Pro Ball" or whatever.

Nope.

Just a plain ol' "Sh," the SoftBank logo. Bummer.

But still, I got my ball. Mission accomplished.

(Next time, I've got to get a foul ball during the game so I can see if those balls are any different.)