CONFESSIONS OF A SWISS "SPORTS ENTHUSIAST"

Every weekend, I stroll along the Tamagawa River separating Tokyo from Kanagawa, where locals are passionately engaged in baseball. As a European, I watch in bewilderment, pondering why anyone thought a round bat would be a good idea — it seems designed to make hitting the ball as challenging as possible. To be honest, the charm of the sport is a bit lost on me. But in my defence, European countries simply don't have a history of playing baseball.

Growing up, I was reluctantly drafted into the world of football (or soccer, to avoid any confusion). Every boy aspired to be the next Beckenbauer or Maradona, while I was more interested in perfecting the art of dodging the ball entirely, or finding an excuse for not having to participate in the first place. Sure, I grasped the basics — kick ball, avoid using hands, pretend to understand the offside rule — but a football fanatic I was not.

My family shared my enthusiasm — or lack thereof. Whenever a match flickered onto the TV, my mum would joke that they should give each player their own ball to prevent all that needless chasing. Honestly, I thought she was onto something revolutionary there.

Lately, I've been spotting members of the foreign community partaking in cricket along the riverbank — the latest cultural import to Japan. If baseball is a mystery to me, cricket clearly takes it up to the next level. I think you need to have it in your blood to understand it, and I can certify that it's not part of my DNA.

But skiing — that's a different story. I grew up with Alpine skiing, both on the slopes and in front of the telly. Planted firmly on the couch during the Winter Olympics or the World Championships, I'd cheer on Swiss skiers as if my life depended on it. When an Austrian dared to win, I'd react as if personally betrayed. The Swiss-Austrian rivalry was alive and well in our living room.

Every January, my family embarked on our sacred two-week pilgrimage to the Alps. Initially, we stayed in hotels, but eventually, we upgraded to our own holiday flat — literally our "home away from home".

As a kid, my parents would enroll me in ski school while they indulged in leisurely winter walks, worked on their tan or soaked in thermal spas. They weren't skiers, but they were gold medalists in relaxation.

When I was old enough to brave the slopes solo, I'd tackle them with reckless abandon, enjoying the freedom and the speed. I would rocket down the mountain on even the most difficult terrain, and while it might never have looked very graceful, I always reached the bottom intact, which I considered a resounding success.

Then adulthood happened, I stopped holidaying with my parents and traded snowy peaks for sandy beaches. It's been about 35 years since I last strapped on skis, and to be honest, my knees thank me for it.

In conversations with people in Japan, the topic of winter sports inevitably surfaces. "You must be an absolute ace on skis!" they exclaim. Apparently, being Swiss means I was born with ski boots on my feet, and with our home leading straight onto the slopes.

When I admit that I haven't skied in decades and have never graced Japanese slopes, they look at me like I've just declared that the Matterhorn is in Japan. "Surely you're joking?" they protest. Alas, I'm as serious as a Swiss watch.

So let me set the record straight: not every Swiss citizen is a stealth Olympian poised to claim gold at a moment's notice. Some of us prefer our adventures to be less... downhill.

And if you ever bump into me and the conversation shifts to sports, trust me when I say my skiing prowess is more myth than reality. Just like my grasp of the baseball rules.