Doubted

I often watch Shohei Ohtani games on TV in Japan. I played baseball as a student, so it still feels wrong to me when MLB players spit on the field.

Past sixty, more things frighten me. The big bridge, a hill in a car with a manual transmission, a glass floor. Everyone else looks fine. Is it just me?

A ball hit on the sweet spot flies straight back to the pitcher. I wonder if that is not luck, but the same habit that makes me care too much about people.

At a drinking night in Japan, someone said beer is good and happoshu is not. I am in my 60s, and I am not sure I could tell them apart with the labels hidden.

My house is one step short of a gomi-yashiki. I can pay for a cleanup company, but I cannot let a stranger see how I live. That is where I keep stopping.

McDonalds coffee is 190 yen in Japan and about 490 yen in America. I am in my 60s, and I looked up why. The coffee is the same. The pay of the workers is not.

The ball used in Japanese baseball and the MLB ball are not the same. Uehara, Iwakuma, and Ohtani all said one word about the American ball: it slips.

The Shohei Ohtani mandala chart is famous now. But which came first, the chart or the success? A Japanese fan in his 60s says what bothers him.

A Japanese orthopedic doctor told me not to come if it does not hurt. My internist says the same three things every visit. No doctor sees the whole of me.

A money book says I do not need earthquake insurance. I pay 1,073 yen a month for my wooden house in Japan. I know the numbers. I still cannot cancel it.