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Wednesday, January 27, 2010

STAND by your team

NPO STAND, a non-profit organization run by a team under the management of Kazuko Ito, does live webcasts of paralympian sports events. The whys and wherefores are most interesting.

Yukari Shiroshita and Kazuko Ito have long been friends. Yukari was and is a member of Best Brothers, Kanazawa's powerchair soccer team. Ito's public relations company, Pastel Labo, headquarters in Kanazawa, the capital city of Ishikawa Prefecture on the Sea of Japan. That year, Best Brothers were in the regional finals, to be held in Osaka, a three-hour drive away.

Yutaka Yoneyama starred on the Best Brothers team, but he had bad news about the Osaka trip. "I won't be going," he said.

"If you have financial problems," Ito said, "I'll lend you the money."

"It's not finances," he replied, and fell silent for a moment. Then he added, "My doctor says I can't go."

Ito felt so bad about Yoneyama staying in Kanazawa by himself while the rest of the team went to Osaka that she decided to webcast the games with mobile telephone cameras. Later she found out that Yoneyama donned his uniform and sat in front of his PC to watch the games and lend his fighting spirit to the team.

Her eyes mist up as she relates how STAND got started. "Once we did the webcast, we had to do it again the next year," she said. "Word spread. I began to get phone calls from other disability athletes. They wanted their games webcast, too. I'd been footing the bills all myself, which I couldn't continue to do indefinitely. So I organized NPO STAND, using an English word to mean 'independence.'"

Kazuko Ito

Kazuko Ito with wheelchair tennis players
and sports writer Seijun Ninomiya
at a charity auction sponsored by STAND
and the Japan Paralympic Association.

Besides powerchair soccer, STAND and its Mobichoo (a combination of MOBI-le and chukei, or live broadcast, in Japanese) webcast wheelchair tennis, athletics, ice sledge hockey, and other sports events as they occur. Many of these events can be viewed at the STAND site. Check out the Athlete's Village site STAND runs.
And the Ice Sledge Hockey site, too.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

How to beat cancer and the competition

At 19, Mami Sato headed a varsity cheerleader squad at Waseda, Japan’s top private university. One summer day she hurt her ankle landing from a high lift and thought she’d sprained it. The ankle never healed. Not in a week, not in a month. But Mami was a grin-and-bear-it kind of athlete, so it was December before the pain got so intense she went to a local clinic.

“I thought it was a sprain,” she said to the doctor, “but maybe it’s a stress fracture.”

The doctor had her ankle X-rayed. His face was stern when he called her in to show her the film. The end of her ankle bone had dissolved. “You need treatment at a specialized hospital,” the doctor said. “Go to the National Cancer Center.”

Mami was diagnosed with osteosarcoma -- bone cancer.

“We’ll start you on chemotherapy right away,” the doctors said. “Nine months to a year.”

“You mean I have to stay out of school for a year?” Mami asked.

“Yes, and we won’t be able to save your right leg.”

“. . . .”

“There are really good prosthetics now. You’ll do fine,” they said. “You’ll even be able to participate in sports.”

Sports? Mami clung to the spark of hope brought by those words. She could be an athlete. She could beat this thing.

After three months of chemo, Mami lost her right leg to the surgeon’s knife. They left about four inches below the knee. Then six more months of chemo.

While in the chemo ward, Mami learned to stand up again. Then to walk. Frustrated by her seeming lack of progress, she’d cry into her pillow at night. I want to walk. I want out of this room. I want to go out into the fresh air.

The next day she returned to the rehabilitation room with renewed determination. Nearly ten months after she walked into the National Cancer Center, she walked out.

She learned to swim. At the pool, she saw a poster for the Tokyo Sports Center for the Disabled. I’m one of them, Mami thought, but can I run?

Through the center, Mami was introduced to Fumio Usui, Japan’s foremost maker of prosthetics for enabled athletes. She joined Usui’s Health Angels.

“Usui Sensei made me a prosthetic,” Mami said, “and I ran 50 meters . . . well, it was closer to a walk, but I made it.”

By the time she could actually run, Mami’s hair had grown back in. “I think my body remembered that I’d been a swimmer and a runner,” she said. “Sports give you tremendous power.”

As an extension of her sprinting, Mami began broad jumping. One of the staff members of the Sports Center had been a broad jumper and he coached her.

Mami entered her first track meet the summer after she left the hospital. She ran the 100 meter dash and broad jumped. “I only jumped a little over three meters,” Mami said with a smile, “but the length didn’t matter. I competed, and that thrilled me. I decided to see how far I could really jump, and I found myself wanting to compete in the Paralympics.”

Japan’s Paralympic trials were held in March 2004. To qualify, Mami had to jump 3 meters 55 centimeters. Up to that moment, her best jump was 3.44, but on the very first leap, she set a personal best distance of 3.65. Mami qualified to represent Japan in Athens.

At Athens, Mami failed to make the second round. But back in Japan, she continued to extend her jumping range. She’d already set her sights on the next Paralympics in Beijing. This time, in the qualifying track meet, Mami jumped 4.46 meters, a personal best and a para-long jump record in Japan. She garnered her ticket to Beijing.

Mami didn’t win or place in Beijing. And the Japanese para-long jump record has gone to a rival jumper. “I’ll be at London,” Mami said. “And I aim to be back on top.”

# # #

Monday, January 18, 2010

Powerchair Soccer

The opening ceremonies begin at 11 a.m. The athletes enter the gym, one after the other. The captain finds the team placard and leads his teammates to it. They line up behind the placards, which are held aloft by volunteers. Sixteen teams, some with twenty players, some with half a dozen. The names echo the ferocity of the competition. Red Eagles. RC Crashers. Fine Friends. Best Brothers. Nanchester United. Rainbow Soldiers. The teams are here for the 15th Japan Power Chair Soccer Championships, hosted in Kanazawa by the Best Brothers. A surprising number of fans fill the stands.

The athletes come in all sizes and shapes. Their eyes flash with anticipation. Their teams have won their way through regional competitions to earn a berth at the 15th Japan Power Chair Soccer Championships. Some lean there heads against special rigging that helps keep their eyes on the playing floor. They operate their chairs with joysticks. One player can only move his head. He controls his chair with his chin. He’s a power midfielder for the Red Eagles.

Yukari is the captain-coach of Best Brothers. Her legs are tiny appendages to her body. Her eyes are big and round and her voices booms across the court. She’s the wife of the Head Coach of the Japan national team. Power Chair Soccer now has a World Cup.

“The American’s a tough,” says Ayumu, Yukari’s son and midfielder. Japan was instrumental in bringing together the Americans and the Europeans and the Japanese and forming a set of International rules for the World Cup. Last year saw the first ever Power Chair Soccer World Cup, played in Japan, and won by Team USA.

The players handle their power chairs like F1 drivers handle their racing machines. Speed is set at no more than 10 km/h, but the special-built power chairs whirl and brake and reverse and dodge with exciting alacrity. The chair operator may be unable to move on his or her own, hardly able to say a coherent word, fight at the constraints of their noncompliant bodies, but they play their power chairs like maestros, joysticks positioned to respond every command, no matter how small. I watched a young woman lying aslant in her power chair, head against a support apparatus and joystick positioned beneath the fingers of her right. She roamed the backfield, helping protact the goalee. She had an uncanny ability to judge where the oversized soccer ball would go, and she and her joystick and her power chair were there to cut it off, knock it out of bounds, or bounce it off to one of her team’s forwards. It seemed she could play for only a few minutes at a time, but the coach would send in a substitute, she’d come off to the sidelines, close her eyes and rest for a few minutes, then when the pinch came, back she went, using her interceptive skills to keep the enemy ball away from her goal and send swift passes into the other team’s forecourt where her power forwards waited to shoot for the goal.

Kato lies flat on his back. He surveys the playing field through a parabolic mirror. He’s learned to match the reverse images in the mirror with reality. His joystick commands are swift and precise. He guards the goal for Nanchester United, and no competitor on the floor is fiercer than he.

Kazuko Ito, a statuesque woman of 47 (she’d hate me for giving away her age), runs NPO STAND, the organization that promotes enabled sports in Japan. Thanks to her, millions of fans were able to watch the recent Asia Youth Paralympic Games from Japan. Ito set up an internet system called Mobachoo through which live action webcasts of the games were shot and uploaded from onsite mobile phones. Mobachoo webcasts of the 15th Japan National Power Chair Soccer Championship semifinals and finals helped spread the sport across the Internet. The day of the finals, Ito could hardly speak. She wore a surgical mask to keep her germs from others. But she was there, and her team picked up the fever of the competition and webcast it to the world.

The first day of competition is over. The team Best Brothers sit in a semicircle around me. They were eliminated in the first round, 3-2, by the Red Eagles. BB was in the tournament because it was the host team. They just lost their coach to the national team. Yukari does her best while playing midfielder. Son Ayumu adds the enthusiasm that only comes from a 16-year-old. The team shows no disappointment with the loss. “We didn’t expect to score,” says Ayumu. “We came close to picking up a third goal. We totally outplayed ourselves.” Strange things happen in national tournament competition.

Yamazaki travels to Kanazawa from Niigata, more than 100 km away, just to play with Best Brothers. Yamazaki used to be a motorcycle rider until he had a terrible accident. Now he rides power chairs and plays a powerful game of soccer. His smile and enthusiasm lights up the whole gym.

Kyoko can hardly speak. I ask her what soccer means to her. The smile tells the story. “We need every player,” Yukari says. “Kyoko does more than her part.”

Granpa is the oldest player on the team. He plays a patient forward. While Ayumu and Yukari pass and dribble down the court, Granpa carefully positions his chair for greatest advantage. In the second half, he took a hard pass from Ayumu and caromed it past the Red Eagle goalie and through the uprights for the team’s second goal. His joy is catching. He can’t stop talking. His wife Keiko tends goal at the other end of the court. She grins when asked what power chair soccer means to her, and looks at Granpa. “We’re a team,” she says. “A real team.”