Sumo and Billiards

I’ve come to realize that if I want something to write about here in Japan, all I have to do is walk out my front door and turn left. Going straight runs me into a wall and if I turn right I’ll just walk into the back of my apartment building where a dilapidated bike sits among torn spider webs and withering weeds (more of summer place for writing inspiration).

The other night, Tuesday, I went out with some friends to play “biriyaado”. My friend, a 30-something guy with fatigue constantly battling his eyes and a light smell of cigarette smoke on his suit, asked me to play and while at first I didn’t know what “biriyaado” was, I soon learned through a round of “mime the word” that he meant billiards.

A half week later I found myself in a large van with three other Nihonjin, two of them being former sumo wrestlers. These men are massive and fortunately have friendly personalities to match their girth. Big smiles, big bellies, and lots of questions about my dating life greeted me when I arrived to meet them. They asked me if I like “playing women” and then told me that one of them “played his girlfriend three time” when she visited last. I smiled and laughed a little and then got into the van and off we went.

The billiards hall, located somewhere along a dark, rice field-lined road, had five pool tables and was dominated by a rough, thrown-together 1950’s American theme. Elvis was singing through the mounted speakers while posters of the King adorned the wood-paneled walls. Marilyn Monroe’s generous smile sat over the slot machines and James Dean took up position near the electronic dart board. Various paintings of vintage cars hung beside the front counter and an old metal relic with “Coca-Cola” across the front led the way to the bathroom. The place was perfect and I actually enjoyed listening to Elvis while I played my way to fourth place in our pool tournament.

Afterwards, the six of us went to Joyfull, the “western” style family restaurant, to eat dinner…at 10:30 at night. When I told them I usually go to bed at 10:30, they gasped and apologized for keeping me out so late. I shrugged and assured them that hanging with them was more important than sleep. When the waitress arrived, I caused them to gasp again when I confidently ordered my food in Japanese. Then, when the food came, I caused one guy to nearly pass out when I successfully took a bite of karage with a pair of chopsticks! They were amazed!

The night ended afterwards and my friends said we should “play” bowling next time. I agreed and felt good that I had been welcomed by this group of moderately young, unmarried Japanese men. They’re all eager to hang out and speak with me—even when the communication is pretty rough with a mix of bad English and bad Japanese.