Dear Friends and Family,

Near sunset one Friday night, five women fled the responsibility of being teachers, piled into a car, and magically turned into a bunch of giggly, hair-flicking girls. As we wove the streets of through Daegu, Chinese scattered with Korean could be heard from backseat, while English dominated in the front. We parked in a dusty soccer field, pulled our handbags and ramen cups from the car and strolled, hand in hand, to the baseball stadium. The Championship Samsung Lions were warming up to play their main rival, the Hyundai Unicorns, and we were there to take in the action.

Outside the stadium, street vendors were promoting their inflatedly-priced wares, including boxes dinners of fried chicken, meat roasted on spits, roasted corn and other foods. I spotted the usual baseball caps and tees but unusual to me were sets of hard, inflatable bat-shaped toys – that my friend informed me were clapping together at exciting moments. We lined up to pay 4,000 Won (about $4) each our tickets and strolled into the stadium to select our seats.

I’ve always loved the pre-baseball game feeling of making our way through concrete hallways, up darkened stairs and stepping into brilliant light to find a green baseball diamond spread at our feet. I find that there is a magic to this moment and Citizen Stadium in Daegu proved no exception. As we emerged, I swung my head from side to side, avidly noting the similarities and differences while my friends decided which seats would be best. We seated ourselves on the third base line, just behind the home team dugout topped with fenced off newspaper reporters, who alternately typed on their laptops and shot game photos with long lenses, and television cameras. Not long after we girls settled and were passing bowls of spicy rice cakes in red sauce (I know this dish but am yet uncertain how to spell it!) and long sushi rolls with pickled veggies & tuna fish, four plump mascots made their first appearance and the first pitch was thrown at 142 kilometers per hour.

An immediate run was scored by the opposing team during the top of the first, while I learned that baseball games in Korea are much the same as their State-side counterparts, with exceptions. Pitchers throw a max of 3 strikes or 4 balls, 9 innings are played, there is one umpire per base, there is a crouching catcher, and there are 4 infielders and 3 outfielders. Vital stats such as batting average, RBIs, homeruns and ERAs are flashed on a big screen with posed player pictures. Star players are greeted with applause and the audience gasps at any hit that remotely resembles a homerun. Amusing music is played, fans cheer and chant. Coaches use hand signals. On the mound, pitchers take the time to contemplate each pitch. Batters hit into double plays. Homeruns are wildly cheered. Rivalry spices up the games. Besides the fact that every person and word around me was Korean, I was perfectly at home, sitting beside my new friends, eating with wooden chopsticks, watching my favorite game.

And yet, I could only keep a cursory eye on the baseball because I was fascinated by my surroundings. My eyes wandered the stadium, which was a great less flashier and had approximately one third of the seats than our stadiums in the States, by my estimate. Run-down ladies in aprons slowly wandered through the stands with one plastic bucket brimming with dried fish and crackly packages and the other with iced juices and beer. Cheerleaders, with amazing shiny hair that was mirrored in their blue satin outfits, lead cheers and provided entertainment during the breaks. And there was the usual assortment of fans: the passionate, the disinterested, dating couples, and men in business suits. But the majority of the audience was actually comprised of husbands and wives and their children. There were kids everywhere. The most noticeable were the just-past toddler aged kids who couldn’t keep still and instead raced around empty seats, ducking or jumping or playing peek-a-boo. A little girl in pigtails and 3 sparkly barrettes was completely fascinated by me… she kept coming to stand near my head until I’d turn around to smile, which was when she’d run back to her mother. Most Korean toddlers react to me this way. Anyway, the children were adorable and I thought it quite wonderful that baseball was a common family activity versus an expensive outing.

Time flew by. At one point I returned my full attention to the field and was startled to realize that the man at bat wasn’t Korean. In fact, with a paunch like his, the guy had to be an American. And once I spotted him, I realized that the man pitching to him was also not Korean. I immediately became curious as to why these men ended up playing baseball in Korea: how did they end up here? Did they like it? Had they adjusted to Korea? Did they have problems playing on a team while not speaking the language? Do they like Korean food and culture? What did they think of Korean baseball? What were their lives like? Did they have Korean wives? I was fascinated by this line of inquiry and mentally began writing a request to interview a player until I became conscious that curiosity and a Western appearance alone wouldn’t get me an interview. Hmm…

Anyway, the game did not go well for the Samsung Lions, the home team. As more and more children sank into sleep against their parents, it became apparent that the score of 0-8 was not going to be recouped. In the bottom of the ninth, we girls returned to the car. As we slipped on our teacher mien and returned to school, I couldn’t help ask: “when can we go again????”

Chaaarrrrrge!!!!!!

--Laura

PS: A night later, I had an accident. In a fit of illogical cleaning, I deleted all the pictures that I took at the game and the day after. Today's pic is thanks to http://www.blue-worlds.com/zboard/data/article/1100320615/IMGP5725.jpg.