Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Red & White

Heather recently informed me of a striking chromatic difference between Japan and North American/Western society.

In Canada, and America, and likely most of the European nations, it is understood that white and black are binary opposites: chromatically as well as philosophically. Were you to try to illustrate the concept of a binary to someone, it is likely that the first example to come to your mind would be “well, it’s like black and white, really.”

In Japan, however, it is white and red that are opposites, and not white and black. Such a chromatic revelation is not so shocking in a country that had to invent the notion of green—or midori—as the result of foreign influences (before green was just another shade of blue to the Japanese, and traffic lights are still considered to be red, yellow, and blue). However, the fact that red and white are opposites becomes necessary context when you realize just how often the two colours appear together in this society. The Japanese flag, of course, is the most obvious use of red and white. However, there are also the graduation ceremonies in the schools, wherein the rooms are ringed with white and red striped curtains. And in the day to day, my elementary students, from first grade to six grade, all have reversible red/white caps hanging from hooks on the sides of their desks: ready to be deployed in any activity that calls for splitting the class into teams.

One such activity occurred on the weekend of May 29th at my elementary Undokai (school sports day), which saw the entire student population divided down the middle into two teams: Red and White. Each team had representatives from every grade, and when certain grades were competing, the remainder of the team would form the cheerleading squad: maniacally waving their team’s colours and following along in the pre-set, full-body, preset, foot-stomping, hat-waving red or white cheer routines.

The closest approximation for an Undokai that we have in Canada is a Track & Field Day. And such a comparison would be apt when it comes to the Undokai’s X-meter-dash and relay events for the students. However, such a comparison fails to capture the importance of the Undokai as a community event that sees student’s entire extended families coming out to cheer them on (indeed it seems to be, in a way, mandatory for parents to show up for the Undokai, and they are encouraged to arrange vacation if they usually work weekends). The comparison to a normal Track and field day also fails to capture the rest of the Undokai events, which are best described as delightful madness. There are tug-of-wars, and piggy-back chicken fights, and yosakoi-like dance numbers. There are caveman races and weather races, family races and beer bottle races, koi races and ball races. And—my personal favourite—there were dress-up-like-a-sarariman-and-act-out-getting-sloshed races. It was that last that caused me to exclaimed, when I was finally able to get my laughter under control, “God DAMN, I love this country!”

But coming back to the Japanese binary of Red and White for a moment, I wonder if it might not be a purer binary than Black and White: if it might not be better able to illustrate the notion of a binary: of opposites.

I fear that our own western white and black has been too tainted by the associations with other binaries that we’ve muddied it in. White becomes associated with ideas like light and good and air and life. Black, in opposition, is associated with the conflicting notions of dark and evil and earth and death. Black and White, in western society in specific and, likely, in the English language in general, have become value judgments and no longer a simple chromatic binary. To assign either colour to someone or something is to risk contaminating it with these further binary associations or residual meanings.

In Japan, if you’re not white, you’re red. At the end of the day, those students at the Undokai are wearing white hats that are also red hats, and the others are wearing red hats that are also white hats. To change from one to the other is only a matter of inversion: of taking the hat off, changing it, and putting it back on. And, in the end, it’s just a hat.

To transition from Black to White in western society requires far more work. If you are black then you are the absence of white. You carry all of the negative, unclean associations with the black. Should you wish to change sides, to ascend into the white, so strong are our society’s peripheral associations with these two colours that, even if you succeed in changing, your previous colour will cling to you like a phantom miasma. It is like trying to mix white from black when dealing with pigments: no matter how much light you pour into the dark, all you will ever accomplish will be grey.

This is a theoretical discussion dealing with abstracts and is not meant to be a commentary on race. That being said, with the way that talking about someone being white or black aligns so easily with western notions of race, perhaps the race issue is the purest example of the implications of, and inherent dangers in, western society’s classification of the colours Black and White. Just as the Japanese arbitrary aesthetics decided that red and white would be opposites, so, too, did western arbitrary aesthetics draw race lines in Black and White.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Vancouver Twenty Ten

This Winter Olympics thing is finally catching up with me.

For some reason I hadn’t been that excited about it until right now. I think it had something to do with being in the complete wrong time zone for it and being utterly convinced that the Japanese media was only ever going to cover Japanese athletes.

But I’m thinking maybe all of that was a defensive snowjob. You see, I’ve been a big fan of the Winter Olympics for as long as I can remember (Albertville? Lillehammer?). I think it was an outgrowth of the infatuation with snow I’ve seemingly had for my entire life. However, it also might have been that I was young and impressionable at that wondrous point back in 1992/4 when the IOC decided that it would stagger the winter and summer Olympics, meaning there would be a games every 2 years, and in ’92 and ’94 there would be back-to-back Winter games.

I remember trying to emulate the bobsledders on my GT Snowracer. I remember all the guys using the minitramps in elementary school to emulate the acrobatics of Canadian Aerials/Moguls Freestyler Jean-Luc Brassard. I remember being amazed at the chimeric fusion that was biathlon, with the combination of guns and snow seeming to be tailor made for the mind of a kid like me. And names like Myriam Bédard, Ed Podivinsky, Kerrin Lee Gartner, Elvis Stojko, and Alberto Tomba still hold places in my head that should probably be reserved for hockey greats.

Where was I?

Defensive snowjob. Right.

For all my love for the Winter Olympics, my spirit has been pretty lackluster this year. That seems like madness as Canada is hosting the games in the city that I keep describing to people over here as the most beautiful one in our nation. What’s more, the second half of the games is taking place in a mountain town that competes with Pacific Rim and Algonquin for the title of one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in North America. Not only do I love both locales dearly, I have fantastic friends permanently located in BOTH cities. Hell, I’ve even got a pair of those phenomenal red Canadian Olympic mittens that were sent over from my aunt to make sure I could be a part of the Olympic spirit.

It all stacks up to a pile of Olympic fever on paper. So why haven’t I been into it?

I think my disinterest must have been a vain attempt to guard against the remorse I’m feeling now. As I read Allison and Amy’s facebook updates and stare at their pictures from the two raging hearts of the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympic games, it becomes clear what I’m missing and just how close I could have gotten to the games. The two of them are a couple of my closest friends, and to share my very favourite of sporting events with them, at home in Canada…calling it something as highfaluting as a “once in a lifetime” opportunity still fails to capture the all of it. Never again will this opportunity arise.

Never Again.

But I suppose I should take heart. It would seem that my bread and butter these days is Never Again. I likely couldn’t have had both the Olympics and Japan. To trade two weeks of patriotic Canadian wonder for two years of hedonistic Japanese adventure may not be such a bad bargain.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Adventure The Second: Friends Board


This second instalment of the “It’s February: GET OUT!” series features our intrepid group of JET adventurers hitting the hills at Niseko United for some snowboarding. The lion's share of our group were doing it for the first time, so when the already-reluctant Japanese snow school told us that their morning classes were full, it fell to Perry and I (but mostly Perry as I'm still a newb) to get The Ladies up on a board for the first time.

There's something simple and fulfilling in helping your friends.

No matter how many times I had to haul one of the Ladies up on their boards this weekend; no matter how many board-knee collisions I had to endure; it was worth it. At one point I sat on the slope just below the An'nupuri gondola in the blowing snow for what must have been half an hour to make sure each of the girls got up and got going. It was exhausting, it was cold, and it might have been a high point of the weekend. Every time they got up and got going on their snowboards, I felt good about it, and I got a decent amount of practice in myself from having to shadow/avoid them. I'm not sure I truly taught them all that much, but I know I kept them practicing.
What's more, boarding with Perry and Random Aussie Andy, who we met at The World's Greatest Hostel, pushed me to try harder at this whole snowboarding thing. You try chasing someone who is better than you down the hill, and all of a sudden you're cutting faster and roving wider across the surface of the mountain. Hell, I followed the two of them down a black diamond mogul course and into an old narrow riverbed strewn with trees. I handled neither gracefully, but they were the kind of places I never would have ventured without Perry and Andy pulling me on.

Burt the Board performed magnificently. When I told Andy that I'd picked him up, bindings and all, from a recycle shop for the equivalent of $100 CDN, he was floored, which I guess bodes well for my uninformed snowboard impulse buy. Andy told me that Burt was likely a 2000-model Burton Charger that looked like it'd seldom been used. I think Burt was one of the main reasons this weekend went so well. I find myself all the more invested in snowboarding now that I have my own gear. The fact that a lift ticket is the only cost keeping me from the hill makes this whole thing rather addictive.

Or maybe it's the conditions that make it so addictive. Before I got here, I was informed that Niseko, one of the closest mountains to where I live, is known world-wide for the quality of its powder. My limited, uninspiring time spent skiing years ago left me clueless about the significance of "powder." It sounded like some snotty word ski bunnies used to illustrate their prowess.

However, it would seem that our area of Japan is subject to nothing but powder snow. Gone is the slushy, sleety, damp mess that falls from the skies in and around Toronto. Everything that comes down here is light and fluffy, and Niseko seems to be at the heart of the light and fluffiest of it. Granted, I've only spent two weekends on the mountain, but it snowed every one of those four days. Niseko gets so much quality, consistent snow that they don't own snow making machines—devices that seem to be requisite at all the Canadian ski hills I've ever been to. With the snow dumping down day and night on the mountain, you're hard-pressed to find an icy patch on Niseko. When you rove out to the edges of the runs, as Perry and Andy taught me to do, you find deep, essentially unspoiled drifts of powder snow. And's that's on the shoulders of the runs, mind, not the treed sections between runs where the powder is so deep as to stop you dead if you're not ready for it.

Long story short, in the four mountain days since I started snowboarding, I feel like I've progressed exponentially. And for that progression, I mostly have my friends to thank. Over the course of this board weekend, my extended ALT/JET family made the times off the hill as enjoyable as the times on it. I'm glad we all found each other in this northern, snowy outpost of Japan, and I'm glad we were all able to take the time to do this thing together.

Adventure The Next: we all descend on Furano, another skiing destination in Hokkaido, for a little work and a lot of fun on the hills. Maybe the snow at the geographic centre of Hokkaido will be even more epic than that at Niseko?

Maybe, but I'm not holding my breath.

Mountain Days 3, 4

Saturday, January 09, 2010

Snowy Mountain Rider

You wouldn't believe what I was up to if I told you. There are perfect snowscapes and looming mountains and me slowly getting the hang of toe-side on my first day on a board. There are vistas of seas of hills, seen from on high when the blizzards rolling around in the heavens part for short spells. There are schools that have been converted to hostels, where everything is Winnie The Pooh (more Milne than Disney), and you wind up staying in the Eayore room, which--hilariously--translates to "iiyoo" (or, for the un japanified, "it's alright") in Japanese. And these magical little schoolhouse hostels are staffed by kind Japanese couples who will pick you up from the Niseko train station, and truck you to the mountain and back, and truck you to the onsen and back. And when they're not trucking, the wives are whipping up sumptuous, elaborate Japanese meals worth far more than the ¥1260 you paid for them, and the husbands are playing the accordion in the parlour, eyes closed with intensity, beside cast-iron, wood-burning stoves. They set their keys alight with polkas or see-sawing carnie waltzes while you eat your clementines and your cookies, rapt. With their last warbling notes, the husbands slump back into their chairs: marionettes with strings cut or earthen golems with the last archane Warsaw magiks of animation ebbing from their now-inert frames.

I'd tell you these things, but you wouldn't believe them--just as I'd never believe they could happen to me at this afterthought tail ending of my holiday.

Mountain Days 1, 2

Thursday, December 24, 2009

'Twas the night before Christmas...

...and all through the town,
every creature was stirring
even the Jones clowns.

With Craig in his bandana
and me in my gi,
we'd just arrived at the dojo
to do Kendo for free.

When out on the floor
there arose such a clatter
we sprang to our feet
with hopes of making it louder.
Children did run
and hurl balls with glee
screaming their lungs out
for Kurage and Me.
Shinais were laid
round the centre with care
in hopes that some violence
soon would be there.
We stretched and we armoured
we men'd and we do'd
Children with Miura
and Shinkai with we.

Okay. Maybe I should just let the photos tell the rest of the story.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Soft What Now?

Today I was introduced to the Japanese sport of "soft volleyball." Its a wonderful little athletic aberation like Park Golf (something not quite golf and not quite croquet), and apparently it is very popular in Hokkaido. I was told it was a favourite sport of obachans and ojisans (grandmas and grandpas), so, of course I laughed the game off as I had previously tried to do with ultimate frisbee and badminton (both of which have since kicked my ass).

But I should have thought back to our Rishiri climb on the Two Points tour; I should have remembered that on that hike we only saw 'bachans and ojisans. The old fogeys of Japan have previously shown themselves to be made of sterner stuff than the soft little nannas and pop-pops back in North America. And, of course, it was no different in soft volleyball.

In terms of rules, soft volleyball is almost identical to 'hard' volleyball. However, you play with four on a side, and the ball you're playing with has more in common with those big, red dodgeballs of old than it does with a traditional volleyball.

Also, there is absolutely nothing soft about that ball when you get cracked in the face with it, as me and my Junior High JTE discovered today (though she has a good deal more to lose in the face category than I do). For a sport that's played with a glorified dodgeball, the players are surprisingly ruthless, and me and my Sensei weren't the last to get cracked in the face.

It was all fully worth it, though, as we were rewarded with CURRY for losing all our games. The first place teams won beer and nihoshyu (sake), while the second place teams won a box of ramen noodles and garbage bags. I have never seen someone throw such a substantial freak-out over garbage bags. You'd have thought they were stuffed with 1-man bills or something. They even displayed the garbage bags prominently when taking their victory picture!

I guess it should be noted that you pay for your waste collection when you buy garbage bags over here, and for the prices they charge, the bags might as well be stuffed with 1-man bills. But more on that in my next posting which will deal with the very exciting topic of WASTE DISPOSAL! (I can sense you salivating already, Thede)

However, I've got some Junior High students who have to rock an English Speech contest tommorrow, and I have to get up at the ungodly hour of 5am to escort them to it, so time for sleep.

P.S.: HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMILY!!!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

School Snippets

A number of people have been asking me how the whole teaching/school thing is going, and I realized I’ve mentioned very little about it on here. Mostly, that’s because I have only been visiting the schools for four days, and that doesn’t seem like enough experience to base any sweeping statements on. That being said, in those four days I have managed to happen upon some salient moments, so I can pass those on.

So, in chronological order…


Elementary / Shoogako

You haven’t properly lived until you’ve experienced the unmitigated wonder of a round little first grader in chef’s hat and apron serving lunch to you and his classmates—one concentrated ladleful at a time.


High School / Koko

One of the girls in my third-year class looks familiar, and, to make matters worse, she keeps looking at me and laughing behind her hand. Eventually, question and answer period roles around, and—through my JTE’s translation—she asks me if I remembered her from the Kombini in town—the ONLY Kombini in town.

And the only thing going through my mind is “oh crap. Did I buy beer from one of my students?”


Middle School / Chyugako (blogger ate the formatting, and I'm too lazy to try to fix it, so I apologize)

Junior High School kids
Playing badminton
with the ferocity of Tennis Pros.

Me, I thought it was a good idea to play with them.

And

Just like when I agreed to join an Ultimate Frisbee team,

back before I’d ever properly played the game

and I still wondered why Overly Athletic Ally was so into it,

when, already tired from running the length of the field,

direction of play switched on me,

and I had to run all the way back.

Just like then,

I realize I have severely underestimated

the potential intensity of this game—

nay

—this Sport

And all I have to look forward to today
is having my ass handed to me

by a fourteen-year-old

girl.