2007-04-15 04:00:00 PDT Tokyo -- It was a typical Saturday afternoon Giants' baseball crowd. But as the throngs of fans entered the ballpark in their orange and black jerseys, something felt odd.

Perhaps it was the sumo wrestler in his robe watching batting practice. Or perhaps it was the people buying dried squid instead of peanuts with their beer. I grabbed a whiskey highball from a bowing vendor in a neon uniform and went to explore Tokyo Dome -- the "Big Egg" -- to find out more.

I wanted to see what cultural insights could be gained at the Japanese version of that most American of activities, a professional baseball game. To do so, I studied both the crowd and the players at a game between Tokyo's Yomiuri Giants and the Fukuoka Soft Bank Hawks.

Each of the teams had their full allotment of "import" players, four per team, usually fringe major league players from the United States. The players were easily accessible interview subjects, given that every other reporter in the area spoke only Japanese.

"It's baseball, for sure, but it's different," said Pedro Feliciano, a relief pitcher for the Hawks when I talked to him last year. He told me, "You catch the ball, you throw the ball, but man, things aren't quite the same. They never give you a day off, for one. The Japanese, they like to work all the time, so they have us sweating every Sunday morning, fielding ground balls till we drop."

"And tie games," added pitcher Brian Sikorski, who came to the Tokyo Giants via Detroit. "All you get is 12 innings, max, then you go home, no matter what the score." Paraphrasing Tom Hanks in "A League of Their Own," he added, "There's no tie games in baseball!"

But what better metaphor for the Japanese ideal of wa, or harmony, than a long contest culminating with the conclusion that both teams are equal? It's like a Zen riddle: "What is the sound of no team scoring?"

The sounds of the stadium are loud. The syncopated whistling and singing began an hour before game time. The left field bleachers were packed by the Fukuoka booster club, which had traveled 1,000 miles to see the game. They beat drums, waved flags and sang a song tailored for each player, even for batting practice. When a player stopped batting the crowd would go silent, obediently waiting for the appropriate time to begin the next cheer. It was like a cross between a South American soccer game and junior high pep rally.

Like the U.S. major leagues, Japan pro baseball is trying to increase the entertainment quotient at the stadium. Prior to the game, no fewer than seven costumed team mascots cavorted around the field, accompanied by pom-pom girls, a wandering Little League baseball team and random fans wearing the bright orange bunny ears of the lead Giants mascot, "Giabbit," a bloated-head giant rabbit-person of unknown origin.

And like their compatriots in the States, Japanese major leaguers are well known for off-field misadventures. One Japanese Giants' player is nicknamed "The Father of Our Nation" for the number of illegitimate children he has allegedly sired. And the previous season, the Japanese league was hit by a players strike, shifting fan loyalty to the increasingly popular "J-league" pro soccer circuit.

But for this game the stadium was packed. Tokyo's Yomiuri Giants are the New York Yankees of Japan. They have won 23 out of the 50 championships in Japanese pro baseball history. Their games are televised across the country, and the stadium sells out on a regular basis. They have the most money, spend it on the best players and, according to some local conspiracy theorists, rig the draft and the free agency rules to ensure they continue to get the top talent. During my visit last year, the team was mired in last place, but the stadium echoed with cheers from the standing-room-only capacity.

I wandered away from the pre-game preparations to check out the food stands. As a visiting American, I couldn't decide what was the biggest shock: that the most popular food item was the dried squid, or that it was strictly cash and carry -- as in much of Japan, none of the counters took credit cards, and there wasn't a single ATM in the stadium. I used the last of my yen to buy some beer and a flattened squid tacked to a board. The squid tasted like a combination of beef jerky and day-old sushi, but I have to admit it did go well with beer.

Back in the stadium, I took my seat on the third base line to wait for the game to start. Just before the first pitch, dozens of brightly colored, heavily burdened women sprinted down the stairs to the front of the crowd. The women, averaging about 5-foot 1-inch in height each carried a small keg of beer on their back, dispenser hose in a holster at their side. They were dressed in an assortment of wool baseball uniforms with short-shorts, or matching disco outfits. At some hidden signal, every one of these miniature vendors simultaneously bowed to the crowd. Once the first pitch was thrown, they began their chant: "Biiiii-ruuuuu, ikaga desu ka?" -- "How 'bout some beer?" It's as if they were calling my name, "Bill," which in Japanese sounds almost the same as "beer."

With my squid and beer, I sat back to enjoy a close contest. Late in the game, Sikorski sprinted from the dugout for a relief pitching outing. He gave an exaggerated jump over the foul line to avoid bad luck. He stood on the mound and windmilled his arm as a high-speed warm-up. The crowd went crazy for this eccentric foreigner. Sikorski allowed a couple of Hawks to reach base, but fielded two short ground balls and threw out both runners to end the inning. He sprinted back off the field, showing a "fighting spirit" which the Japanese enthusiastically applauded.

Sikorski's yearlong performance in Japan was rewarded with a long-desired relocation to the United States, where at press time he was the Indians. Kenji Jojima, the Japanese catcher in the game for the Hawks, has joined Ichiro Suzuki on the increasingly import-dominated Seattle Mariners.

It isn't every player's ideal to move to America. After the game, I spoke with two long-term visitors who were perfectly satisfied with their stay in Japan. Julio Zuleta and Karl "Tuffy" Rhodes are former Chicago Cubs who split time between the U.S. minor leagues and majors. They never managed to find a permanent place in the Major Leagues, but have definitely found their stroke in Japan.

"I'll never go back," declared Zuleta, who at 6-8 towers above even the other foreign players. "I love Japan, I play every day, I do very well here."

Tuffy Rhodes, who chatted in Japanese comfortably with fans after the game, is the all-time home- run leader for foreigners, with almost 350 in his 10 years in Japan. He stayed in Japan long enough to gain citizenship and thus was no longer counted toward the four-player import limit imposed on Japanese teams.

When asked what makes for a successful import player to Japan, the Hawks' scout Hiroaki "Rocky" Hirano replied, "They do best when they don't insist on everything being the way it was at home. Here the strike zone is different, the food is different, the training is different. The players who embrace the Japanese way, they will be more successful, and will enjoy their life here more."

And for travelers visiting a Japanese baseball game, the lesson is the same: Embrace the Japanese way. Sing along with the songs, don some Giabbit ears, sample some squid and embrace this unique interpretation of the quintessential American export.

If you go

When to go

Baseball season in Japan, as in the United States, lasts from April to October.

Getting there

Tokyo Dome can be reached on the Red Line (Maronuchi) subway, stopping at Korakuen station, which connects to the stadium directly over a bridge. The stadium is also a short walk from the Japan Railway's Suidobashi Station. Clearly marked English signs help the visitor.

Getting in

Tickets range from 1,700 to 5,900 yen (about $15-$55 US). Tickets can be bought at the box office on game day (assuming the Giants are still doing poorly). You can also buy them at Lawson's convenience stores in Japan or through a hotel concierge. One U.S. Web site offers a ticket service, but with $60+ service fee per order (www.japanball.com/tickets.htm) Note there are no ATMs within the stadium, and none of the vendors takes credit cards, so bring some yen if you want a snack or a souvenir.