Asics Must Have Made A Fortune

School Sports Day works nicely as a nifty little metaphor for Japan. The group dynamic, competitions, clear goal of ‘trying hard,’ impressive artwork, distinct division of boys and girls, strict adhesion to a schedule and the bizarre group synchronized calisthenics all work together to paint a cultural picture. But more importantly, I have never seen so many pairs of the exact same white with red-trim Asics sneakers all completing identical motions in one place simultaneously (I want to know who the trend setter was who got them first).

At long last the day was finally here. After many days of arduously rehearsing goose-stepping in circles it was finally time to don the matching gym uniforms and march proudly back onto the baseball field to do it one more time. This time there would be spectators, vibrant banners and an all around feeling of excitement.

The artwork done by the students was stupendous. The backdrops for the four teams made anything I saw at my high school look like unsophisticated dribble. It also makes me think twice about ever trying to draw my own pictures on future handouts, as they are no doubt horrified by the mediocrity of my stick figures.

I didn’t have a clue what was going on. I was given a program with the various activities that I would have to sit there and watch for the next six hours but I wasn’t told anything beyond that. I asked the English writing teacher, who is more than happy to explain kanji and various cultural aspects to me if I show the slightest bit of interest:

“What is this event here?” I inquired.
“Eeeeeh to…. That. Yeah, that one, hmmm I don’t know.”
“How about this one?”
“Eehhh to… That is… ok, not so sure what they mean by that.”

Clearly the program included a wide range of activities, titled in such a bizarre fashion that not even their own kind could figure it out.

I watched the kids in the school run like maniacs in circles, flop around in rice sacks, run in a formation that can only be described as centipedal with all their legs tied together (if one pair of legs messed up – they all fell – the group dynamic rears its head once again), walk on each others’ backs, slither up poles like spider monkeys, clutch at a tire as if their life depended on it, hold a twenty kilogram tub of some mysterious substance over their heads, tug the hell out of a rope, play a seemingly never-ending game of leapfrog and play some strange form of basketball that deserves further commentary.

A wastepaper basket was tied to a long stick. The stick was then hoisted up in the air and one member of the team stayed stationary holding it. Then a series of HUNDREDS of tiny little beanbags were tossed out onto the damp (it was drizzling) ground. All these beanbags, I was told by the teacher sitting next to me, were handmade. I’m sure whoever made them would be pleased to hear they were being tossed into the middle of a wet, gritty baseball field. The groups then spread out and as soon as the music started playing they collected as many of the little bean bag sacks as they could and then began tossing them helter-skelter towards the elevated basket.

It was like a form of lower-budget Olympics.

From where I was sitting it appeared that not a whole lot of these things made it into the basket, but I was wrong. After the music stopped playing the student announcer proceeded to start counting. She doggedly went through the numbers and each team would take out the beanbags one by one. I was completely incorrect in assuming that they had sucked at that game. More than two hundred of these things were in there and instead of just quickly counting them in a rational manner, everyone had to slowly marvel at each and every individually hand-made bean bag as it was removed from the wastepaper basket and triumphantly exhibited for all to see.

Ostensibly the kids seemed to enjoy the day. However, when I was placed in the awkward situation of sitting alone next to a first year girl who spoke pretty much no English, in my (declining) Japanese I asked her if she enjoyed Sports Day. She refused to say yes, but she also refused to say no. So then I asked her if she disliked it. Once again she refused to say yes and refused to say no. I have a feeling that if I had asked anyone’s opinion on anything I was doomed to get a wishy-washy, innocuous, boring answer. We finally settled on the fact that she was somewhere in the middle.

If anything I felt like an observer or an overlooked guest at this thing. I sat, watched and chatted with the home economics teacher whose stellar English had been hiding somewhere, probably in the kitchen. She was entertaining to talk to as she had traveled quite a bit and was eager to see more of the world. In passing she asked me what I did in my spare time. In my response I included the fact that I’ve been trying to explore Niihama… as best as I can on the tiny-tired non-bike that is in my possession. She laughed. “Yes. I have seen you before. I have seen you… pedaling away on your bicycle.” She made a strained face distorted with pain as she mimicked my pathetic biking motions. “But I didn’t know then that you were a teacher.”

The entire event was sandwiched between warm up and cool down calisthenics routines. In this case I was thankful that I was being treated as a guest because no one told me to get up and engage in what can only be described as coordinated assmonkey buffoonery. A man’s voice is teamed up with stringently counted, yet light-hearted, brightly struck piano tones. For the next five minutes all those standing complete a series of ‘exercises’ which are counted off by the man on the tape consisting of ever strenuous and constructive arm reaches, back stretches, and bending towards your toes. I guess we did do similar things in elementary school, but when you combine the probably pretty meaningless motions with cheesy music, it just becomes a bit hard to swallow. I was waiting for the man to change intonations and bellow at everyone to drop down and give him twenty.

There was a closing ceremony at the end where students who had excelled were given certificates for their achievements. At least I think that’s what happened. They could have been accepting awards on behalf of their grade, or for sucking the worst but I’m inclined to think it’s the first thing. About half of these kids on the platform were wiping away tears during this ceremony. I don’t know if these were tears of pride, joy or simply because they were still in pain from functioning as a human staircase which their teammate had to walk across in muddy sneakers. One girl was presented with a trophy which has been sitting in the staff room since I got here. It’s not a new trophy. In fact, I’m pretty sure they use the same exact trophy every year. It just goes to show you it’s all about the ceremony.

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Published:
9.13.06 / 5pm
Category:
classroom antics, what i call life