The Show Pony, Shohei, and the Land of Respect
How ADHD, baseball, and a trip to Atlanta turned into a full-blown Japanese cultural obsession
As you know—and as has been well documented—the Show Pony has ADHD.
And not the cute, “oh look, a squirrel” kind. I’m talking about the full-blown, lock-in, disappear-for-days, come-back-speaking-like-an-expert kind. My ADHD shows itself in hyper-obsessions. I am an all-or-nothing guy. There is no middle ground. I don’t dabble—I dive.
Broadway musicals? I go deep, deep.
Disney? Deep.
Grace Potter & the Nocturnals? Don’t even get me started.
Bourbon? I could probably run a distillery at this point.
The same all-or-nothing principles apply to my friendships, work relationships, family, etc.
When I latch onto something, I try to extract every ounce of dopamine from it. That’s who I am. It’s my superpower and my flaw. The good? I can hyper-focus like a man possessed. The bad? If I don’t care… I really don’t care. I’m gone. Mentally checked out. Lights off.
And lately?
My latest obsession is Japan.
More specifically—Japanese baseball, culture, food, and this deeper sense of respect for… everything.
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It Started in Atlanta… and with One Man
This whole thing started at SEC Media Days in Atlanta. Same week as the MLB All-Star Game.
My boss Olivia—who I’m convinced is a literal angel sent to manage chaos—hooked me up with tickets to the Home Run Derby and the All-Star Game. I was over the moon. Baseball guy. History guy. Nostalgia junkie. This is my wheelhouse.
But something else caught my attention.
Everywhere I went—hotel, lobby, streets, restaurants—there were Japanese fans. Tons of them. Not just a handful. A wave.
Why?
Shohei Ohtani.
Let me explain something: Ohtani isn’t just a baseball player in Japan. He’s not even just a superstar.
He’s The Beatles on Ed Sullivan times a thousand.
He is a cultural force. A national identity. A walking, talking symbol of excellence.
And watching that kind of presence unfold in Atlanta flipped a switch in my brain.
Down the Rabbit Hole I Went
So I did what I always do.
I went all in.
I started researching Nippon Professional Baseball (NPB). Teams, history, culture. Within hours, I was hooked. Within days, I was emotionally invested. Within a week?
I was a full-blown Yomiuri Giants fan watching games on an app like a guy who grew up in Tokyo.
And it didn’t stop with the games.
Now I find myself going down YouTube rabbit holes at all hours of the night—Tokyo walking tours, train rides through Shibuya, people just casually filming themselves grabbing food at convenience stores like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I’m sitting there in Nashville at midnight watching someone walk into a 7-Eleven in Tokyo like it’s a Michelin restaurant.
And here’s the wild part—it kind of is.
The egg sandwiches. The ramen. The presentation. The cleanliness. The efficiency. It’s not gas station food—it’s an experience.
Same with Lawson. Same with FamilyMart.
And don’t even get me started on Don Quijote.
I haven’t even been yet and I already know I’d spend three hours in there like a kid in Disney World. Snacks, random gadgets, baseball gear, neon chaos everywhere—it’s like someone took every ADHD trigger I have and put it under one roof.
I catch myself watching these videos thinking, “Yeah… I need to go there.”
Not want to.
NEED to.
And what pulled me in wasn’t just the baseball.
It was how they do baseball. Unlike in America, where everything is about “me”, in Japan, things are about respect. Sign me up!
This Isn’t a Game—It’s a Production
Let’s start with the fans.
American baseball is a vibe. It’s a summer day. It’s a beer, a hot dog, and a conversation that drifts in and out of the game. I love that.
Japan?
Japan is a full-blown, organized, high-energy, coordinated performance.
Every player has a chant.
Every situation has a rhythm.
Every inning has a pulse.
Think European soccer supporters—but more structured, more respectful, and somehow even louder. Trumpets, drums, coordinated songs. It never stops. Nine innings of energy.
You don’t attend a game in Japan.
You participate in it.
I have to go! I have to live this. I am dying to be a part of this energy in person!
Food, Beer Girls, and Pure Chaos (The Good Kind)
Then there’s the experience.
Beer girls walking the aisles with kegs strapped to their backs—pouring fresh beer right at your seat. And yes, it’s as awesome as it sounds.
Food? Forget peanuts and Cracker Jack.
We’re talking entire sections dedicated to cuisine. Ramen. Curry. Bento boxes. And here’s the kicker—each player has his own bento box based on his personal tastes.
Imagine walking into a stadium and ordering a meal curated to your favorite player’s preferences. It’s brilliant. It’s personal. It’s uniquely Japanese.
And then—this one got me—
They have full merchandise setups for visiting teams.
Think about that.
In America, we barely tolerate opposing fans. In Japan, they welcome them. Respect them. Make space for them.
It’s a completely different mindset.
Respect: The Thread That Runs Through Everything
This is the part that really hooked me.
Japanese baseball isn’t just about winning. It’s about respect—for the game, for your opponent, for the fans, and even for the equipment.
Players bow to each other. To the umpires. To the field.
They treat the bat like something sacred. Why? Because it comes from a tree. A living thing. Something that deserves acknowledgment.
Now think about that.
In a world where we snap bats in frustration and flip them like props, they treat them like extensions of nature.
That’s not just baseball.
That’s philosophy.
A Quick History Lesson (Because the Show Pony Did His Homework)
Baseball in Japan dates back to the 1870s, introduced by an American teacher named Horace Wilson.
But here’s the key: Japan didn’t just adopt baseball.
They transformed it.
By the early 1900s, it became the national sport. By 1936, NPB was established. And over time, the game fused with Japanese values—discipline, teamwork, precision, respect.
While American baseball celebrates individuality, Japanese baseball emphasizes collective identity.
It’s less about “look at me” and more about “look at us.”
And that difference?
You feel it in every pitch.
The Ohtani Effect Is Just Beginning
Now circle it back to Ohtani.
What he’s doing isn’t just historic—it’s inspirational on a national level.
A two-way player dominating in MLB? That wasn’t supposed to be possible. He broke the mold. And now?
Kids in Japan aren’t choosing between pitching and hitting.
They’re saying, “Why not both?”
That’s how revolutions start.
And here’s the thing most people don’t realize:
You see just as many Dodgers jerseys in Tokyo as you do in Los Angeles.
Ohtani is everywhere—billboards, trains, commercials, products. He’s not just an athlete. He’s infrastructure.
And the next generation coming up under his influence?
They’re going to be different.
More skilled. More disciplined. More versatile.
Why This Hit Me So Hard
This obsession didn’t come out of nowhere.
It hit because it connects to something deeper.
Japanese baseball is everything I love about sports—history, pageantry, emotion—but layered with something we’re losing a little bit in our culture:
Respect. Craft. Intention.
And maybe that’s why I’m hooked.
Because in a world that feels louder, faster, and more chaotic by the day…
Japanese baseball feels purposeful.
Final Thought from the Show Pony
Look, I know how this goes.
In six months, I might be obsessed with something completely different. That’s the ADHD roller coaster.
But right now?
I’m all in.
Watching Yomiuri Giants games.
Learning chants I don’t fully understand.
Craving ramen at midnight.
And honestly?
Loving every second of it.
Because every once in a while, an obsession doesn’t just entertain you.
It teaches you something.
And Japan—through baseball—is teaching me that how you do something…
matters just as much as what you do.