Tug-of-War

Yesterday was the annual Gunma prefecture (similar to state) sports day. Each village, town, and city sent a strapping group of their finest young lads and lasses to compete in different events (note: the average age for the participants in my village was about 54). My village wanted me to be a representative on the tug-of-war team. I, of course, accepted their offer and trained relentlessly during the weeks and months preceding the event by doing hand-grip exercises and working on my technique. That sentence could also be read as: "I said sure, why not? I trained by typing on my keyboard and increasing my calorie intake, following the Newtonian equation for tug-of-war and sumo training (see E1)."

(E1): Strength Quotient, SQ = {[Gravity + Mass]/Hand-grip Potential} - Friction

Anyway, the day started early (~5 am) because we needed to round up "the gang" and head down the long, windy mountain road toward civilization, and the prefectural arena. Unfortunately, about half of the team wasn't coming due to the typhoon-like rainstorm prohibiting the track and field portion of the games from being held. We got to the arena early, found our spots, and put on our team attire. Our team attire consisted of a neon yellow, ultra-tight windbreaker (Uenomura in kanji on the back), and a baby blue logging cap with a small emblem of Gunma on the left above the ear. To be perfectly honest, our outfits were awesome....awesome in the sense that they were horrendous and I felt like I was transported back to the 1980s. We looked like we should be directing traffic at the county fair. We looked rag-tag--along with the awesome color combo of neon yellow and baby blue, about half the members on our team were grandparents and close enough to collecting retirement benefits, the other half looked normal and fit, and then of course there was me. Now, I have been in a lot of strange situations before, but never, EVER would I have pictured myself in the middle of an arena filled with 5000 strangely dressed Japanese people (many wearing some sort of "hot" or neon color), being intently stared at like a pendulating medallion, and being able to see over everyone in the entire building. It was euphoric, and what dreams (the weird ones) are made of.

Because of the rain, there was only one event at this year's sports day: tug-of-war. The opening ceremony took place, loaded with pomp and circumstance and the patented Hitleresque hailing of the prefectural governor. It was all window dressing for what was to come. Next was lunch and practice. This time was devoted to scouting the opponents and sizing up the competition. Things to note were how fat the other team was, how old, and what color of windbreaker they were wearing. Also, many teams payed special attention to our team because of the one and only foreigner in the building. I think both the competition and my teammates thought I was the secret weapon, the ace up the sleeve, the jack-in-the-box, the man, the myth, the legend, a certain "je ne sais quois." This was going to be the year that Uenomura brought home the trophy...and I was going to be the MVT (Most Valuable Tugger).

After about 4 hours of sitting around trying to speak Japanese with some old men, the main event began. It was tense...the arena was like a pressure cooker...the anticipation in the building could rival that of children sitting around the Christmas tree waiting to open their presents. It was that crazy. We were all set for our tournament run. We just had to win every match, a match consisting of the best out of three bouts. We had a first-round BYE because of Uenomura's impressive performance the year before. Eventually, we were up. It was quick, painless. We lost two bouts in the span of about 30 seconds. We were done. We lost. Our dreams would have to wait another year. There would be no tossing each other in the air like rag dolls. No hoisting of the MVT on the shoulders that pulled ropes like no others. It was an atrocity. It was humiliating. It was embarassing.

So, we packed up, high-tailed it out of there and did what anyone in that situation would've done. We drove the bus to the local hardware/everything store and bought cheap, bulk beer and drank all of it on the way back to Uenomura. It was a good trip back. We reflected on our time in the limelight. Old men snuggled up against the half-opened windows and smoked. People kept saying "rainen," or next year. Eventually we made it back to Uenomura. We went straight to the only restaurant in town and proceeded to party like I've never partied before. That's when I learned what the true meaning of sports day is: it's not whether you win or lose, it's all about the huge party afterwards.