| February 19th
Monday was another off day, and I am not getting tired of these. Today was extra special; it’s the day the Hawks pitchers hold their annual golf tournament. Three separate teams of eight set foot on Hibiscus Golf Club to battle it out for some heavy yen.
There were three different bets: If your team lost the front nine you paid for breakfast and lunch for everyone at the golf club. If your team lost the back nine you paid everyone’s green fees. If your team lost the overall combined score you paid for everyone’s dinner.
Apparently my team was counting on me heavily because they somehow came to the conclusion that I am a good golfer. But I disappointed with a front nine score of 47. That hurt the team and we lost the first wager. So we split the $1,000 bill for breakfast and lunch among the eight of us.
Now, I don’t like playing golf for any significant dollars. First of all, I am just not good enough. Secondly, I am not comfortable by the thought of losing money by participating in an activity in which I have little confidence in my ability.
Every competitor hates to lose and I am no different. I was ticked, not so much about the lost money, but more that we lost the first round. I was determined to have a better back nine. The breakfast and lunch bill was the smallest of the bets. I didn’t want to lose again.
My back nine started great. I was even after three holes. Then came lucky hole No. 13. I don’t believe in luck, good or bad, but my adventure on this par-five hole may make me reconsider. A short but accurate drive left me a little more than 300 yards to the green. I hit a 3-wood next just off the fairway. But when I got to the general area of where the ball landed, I couldn’t find it. Eventually my caddie found it. How, I’ll never know. It was barely visible, having plugged into the side of the sand trap. I seriously missed clearing the trap by less than six inches. So I was in a real jam. I took a swipe at my ball and now I couldn’t even see it anymore. It was completely buried. Me being stubborn, I continued to hack at it a, uh, “few” more times until it finally reappeared. I eventually sunk a 12-foot putt to save nine! Quadruple bogey. You bet I was in a pleasant mood after that.
After that I mentally checked out of the game but still managed to finish with a 45 on the back and a 92 overall score. I was disgusted with myself. Of the 24 golfers (21 pitchers, 2 position players and 1 personal trainer), 10 of them shot 100 or higher with the max score at 125. Amazingly my 92 actually put me in the top 10. The rest of my team stepped up. Not only did we not lose, we went from worst-to-first to capture the title. I owed no more money, thankfully, and now would soon reap the benefits of my team’s good fortune.
Know who got a raw deal? My American teammate Adam Hyzdu shot 81, tying him for second best score overall. But his teammates floundered on the back nine and his team went from first-to-worst. His team had to pay for the entire group’s green fees and dinner, which came out to just under $600 a person. He was not a happy camper. The Japanese thought it was hilarious and kept calling him Hard Ruck Adam – it’s tough for them to pronounce those “L’s.”
We got back to the hotel just after 3 p.m. and planned to meet back at 5:30. Dinner was a blast. We went to a Purukogi Korean style restaurant. The restaurant was very small, with about four or five tables downstairs, but they had a private room upstairs for us all ready.
It was a real mom-and-pop style restaurant. The stairway leading to the upper room was so incredibly narrow that Buck barely fit. The room upstairs had enough space for about 30 people, which was good considering we had a party of 25.
When you go out to eat in Japan, you really roll the dice. While I’m fortunate to be surrounded by natives, you still can’t avoid foods that make you think twice. Thus, I can now add “pig leg” to the list of foods I have eaten here that I would probably not have had I stayed in the U.S. my entire life. It basically looked like mozzarella with prosciutto, but smaller. It was oval shaped and sliced about 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick. It came with a dipping sauce that was suspect. I looked at it for a while, trusted that the Koreans knew what they were doing and jumped in, throwing one whole piece down the hatchet. It wasn’t too bad. Some of the texture in the middle was similar to the yolk of a hard-boiled egg. The rest was just kind of fatty. I even had a couple of more. Buck tried it as well, but the others were not as adventurous. Still, it will probably be a one-time thing for me.
The pig legs were part of the appetizers that were already on our table when we arrived. We also had some kimchi, which I’m told is a traditional Korean dish of spicy fermented vegetables. I believe it’s mostly cabbage. One chop-stick full was enough for my taste buds. So Kimchi joined the ever-growing list of things I tried once -- and once only.
This place was not yakiniku, but we did have tiny grills at each table to cook our own meat. We were served raw shoulder meat with fresh sliced garlic. It was good. The way you eat the meat is by pulling some off the grill, dipping it in a soy-onion-garlic dipping sauce and then placing it in red-leaf lettuce. And, just like at P.F. Chang’s, you have your very own lettuce wrap. It’s a little messy but we crushed it and it was very good.
Often times in the big leagues large groups of guys get together and go out to eat on the road. Some of my fondest memories in baseball are the nights in which anywhere from 5-to-15 guys get together for a meal at a nice restaurant. It usually ends up including a few drinks, several good stories and laugh-out-loud jokes. This night with my teammates was very similar to, say, a night at the Union Square Grill in Seattle after a day game.
The only major difference was the 15-second delay on the laughs passing through translation. This was a bonding night for the foreigners and their Japanese teammates. Relationships move to the next level when you share days like this: golf, competition, a couple of meals and a few drinks. It really is some of the best times you have as a player, at least when you are on a fun team. I have experienced nights like this with the Tigers, Yankees, Astros and Rangers, so it was really neat to see this with the Fukuoka SoftBank Hawks. While it was different in the details, this was very similar in overall experience.
Many players on the team smoke and a few lit up during our meal. I don’t like cigarettes but I do enjoy a solid cigar once in a while. And the great dinner and a couple of beers got me in the mood for a stogie. I had the translator ask our waitress if either they had any or if there was a smoke shop nearby, and this was one of those times where you really notice the difference in cultures. The waitress told us they didn’t carry any cigars but she thought there was a shop close. However, she thought they probably closed soon. She insisted to go herself, asking me to write a list of my favorite brands. Some 15 minutes later she returns with the first brand I listed – Cohiba. That means it was a Cuban.
You can forget about tipping the waitress in this situation. I offered to, but that was met with sincere resistance. I was quite appreciative of her efforts. Before she left I offered to my teammates to buy one for anyone who was interested, but there were no takers.
Surprisingly I get the impression cigar smoking is a novelty among the Japanese. I say surprisingly because of all of the cigarette smoking they do. As I lit my cigar, every Japanese eye was on me with keen interest. For the first 2-to-3 minutes my teammates seemed to be taking in most of what I was doing as if they were seeing a cigar for the first time. I know that can’t be the case but it seemed like it. One of my teammates even seemed surprised by how long the cigar lasted, even though I smoked mine quickly. I’m betting before the end of the season I’ll have a few of them enjoying the hobby like I do.
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February 21st
There’s only five days left in Miyazaki, which makes me think of only one thing. These three weeks here have passed pretty quickly.
Last night Buck wasn’t feeling well and asked the trainer for some Tylenol. Five minutes later Buck was in a cab en route to the hospital. But this quite possibly was the greatest overreaction in the history of medicine. Buck took some tests and all were negative. He took today off and might need another day off tomorrow, but he expects to be fine.
The Miyazaki vacation is nearly over. Once we get back to Fukuoka I will really experience what it is like to be living in another country on my own. No more hotels and no more three meals served daily. No more charter buses and taxis everywhere. No more translators in the next room over, no more onsen and no more of the four of us Americans on the same floor. It has been a real easy transition to this point. I almost feel as if there has been no adjustment period at all. How hard it is to live in the Sheraton Grande Ocean Resort as a member of a very popular sports team? The answer is, not very hard at all.
I’ll have to drive, eat and shop on my own when we get back to Fukuoka.
I suspect this about to get real interesting.
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February 22nd
Today we played an intrasquad game and I was one of the pitchers. With bad weather on the way, we stared the game immediately after stretch. That meant we didn’t have to go through a complete morning workout first, a nice surprise. The icing on the cake was that it never rained and our day still ended early. I’ll take that break any day of the week.
My two innings went pretty well. I gave up no runs, no walks and three strikeouts. The coaching staff seemed happy. Only one problem: I was called for a balk, which really ticked me off. My pitching coach, Sugimoto San, has been concerned by my lack of a stop before delivering a pitch to the plate. His concerns are warranted, it seems. My stop has always been a borderline balk back home, but the umpires here in Japan are more strict.
It happened in my first inning when there was a runner on first with two outs. I knew it was a good time to try my pickoff move to see what I can get away with. So I made four straight pickoff attempts before pitching. The first two were pretty good and I actually picked the runner off on my third attempt, but the first-base umpire ruled that time out already had been called. That, of course, was completely erroneous. The batter was in the batter’s box. The runner on first took his lead. And I was on the rubber looking in to my catcher for a sign. I shook off a pitch and made a snap throw to first base. I knew right away I had the runner out. For lack of a better term, the umpire’s decision pissed me off.
After I got back on the mound, I made an average move over to first and the umpires called a balk. They say I did not stop. I don’t know how to describe what emotion comes after being pissed off, but I sure felt it. After the inning I was told these specific umpires were minor-league umpires, so I shouldn’t be concerned by their bad calls that inning.
Still, it ate at me.
After our day ended, Rick and I went to Aeon Mall. I wanted one final visit before we depart Miyazaki in a few days. Basically we just browsed a few stores and grabbed a bite at the food court. I was surprised to find a KFC there and I was intrigued. I had to try it. Here’s my review: It’s pretty much the same as home. It’s not that great and not healthy.
While I was emptying my tray in the trash, I noticed a young mother manning a stroller with one hand and holding a tray filled with garbage with the other. So I just reached my hand out and took care of her tray. I think she was surprised for two reasons. A tall white foreigner approaching her out of the blue … and that stranger was doing her a favor.
I get the impression that the Japanese treat their wives differently. There appears to be a higher of level of submission on the part of women, generally speaking, and men aren’t expected to do as much in the way of what we would call common courtesy. I was just doing what I thought I should be doing -- or what my wife would be yelling at me to do.
After I got back to the hotel I decided to take a trip to the onsen. I am really going to miss the onsen. On my walk back from the men’s onsen, I noticed that there were at least 10 pairs of shoes outside the door to the women’s onsen. That means there were 10 or more women in the onsen pool. I couldn’t help wonder what exactly was going on in there.
Can you tell it’s been nearly four weeks since I have seen my wife?
I sure can.
You might remember my strong negative feelings toward one of my teammates, Ohmura, from earlier in camp. But he has done a complete 180-degree turn in my book. Now that I think I understand him a little better, I am beginning to like him. He reminds me a lot of my former Tiger teammate, Bobby Higginson. He’s a consummate ball buster who might tick you off a few hundred times if you didn’t know him well enough. The thing about Higgy -- and what I am seeing with Ohmura -- is that he can take it as well as he can dish it. So he’s probably just testing you out to see what kind of guy you are. I have had a few laughs with Ohmura since the day I wanted to drive a four-seam fastball in his ribs.
We had a meeting at 8 p.m. for the pitchers who threw in today’s intrasquad game. The catchers also were there, as was the pitching coach, bullpen coach and catching coach. We watched each pitcher’s outing on tape, stopped the video and made comments about the performance. The catcher started with what he saw, the good and the bad. It was kind of funny to watch a young catcher with very little time in the majors try to talk about how a veteran struggled and what he could do to be better. Overall, though, I think the format of the meeting was good. I have never done anything like that in the States before.
When it was time for my outing to be discussed, I heard the same two critiques that I’ve been hearing all camp: make sure you stop when runners are on base (so I don’t balk) and throw inside to lefty hitters more. My pitching coach even suggested after my first inning today to say my wife’s name after I came to the set position. That would force me to slow down and not balk, he said. “How about I say your wife’s name,” I asked him. But, alas, the interpreter refused to pass that message along to him. Filters really are great. I wish I had one my whole career. If I did, more people probably would like me.
I was going to suggest that I pay ¥10,000 (about $85 USD) every time I balked this season just to assure my pitching coach I wouldn't do it. But Sugimoto San beat me to the punch and said I had to pay ¥50,000 every time I balked and at the end of the year he would give the money to my wife. Now I’ll have my wife rooting for me to balk. Sweet.
I told him we’d have a deal finalized if only he agreed to buy me a Rolex after I went the entire season balk-free. But he said he didn't make that kind of glue. Can’t hurt to ask.
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February 23rd
So I did not to tell the media yesterday about how the pitching coach recommended I say my wife’s name after I come set. But apparently my pitching coach chose to give it up. So you can understand my surprise when I opened today’s paper and saw my photo next to a huge heart, which covered at least a quarter of the page, maybe even half the page.
The graphic said my wife’s name, Megan, and Nitkowski in huge Japanese letters. The article, which was placed inside the huge heart, explained to the readers that I express my great love for my wife by repeating her name before I throw each and every pitch.
This discouraged me for several reasons. If this happened in the States, it would be a total embarrassment. I would be laughed right out of the clubhouse. I’m already wondering whether my new teammates are laughing behind my back. This is already my second embarrassing newspaper photo this spring. The other was a shot of me in front of my computer in my hotel room pretending to write one of my AP articles. I have taken this type of picture a few times in my career and I absolutely hate it. I look like such a dork.
My other problem with the CJ loves Megan piece was that any Japanese girl who was even thinking about giving me her phone number will more than likely be discouraged now from doing so. I couldn’t help but think of what poor Lisa thought when she saw it. "That could have been me." Or, more likely, her thoughts were, "This guy is a dweeb."
The worst part is I don’t even get brownie points with Megan for declaring my love all over the Fukuoka newspaper. She knows I was using her name to help me avoid a balk, and not simply professing my love. This was a complete lose-lose situation for me.
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