Why Do We Roar in Tokyo Dome? — Hanshin vs. Giants, a War Beyond Baseball

🐯 A Little Note Before We Begin…

If you’re a Hanshin Tigers fan, this is all probably second nature.
But if not — well, there’s a lot you might not know!

I’m Lili, born and raised in Kyoto (okay, I did spend a little time back and forth with Hawai‘i, too 🌺), and I used to be part of the Hanshin cheering squad!
So I thought I’d share a Kansai perspective on the epic Hanshin vs. Yomiuri rivalry.

Of course, the real story is way more complicated…
but let’s keep it simple, shall we?
Maybe read it when you’ve got a quiet moment to spare 🐯✨

The Rivalry Begins

The matchups between Hanshin and Yomiuri are known in Japan as “The Classic Battle” (Dentō no Issen).
That’s because the Yomiuri Giants, established in 1934, were Japan’s very first professional baseball team—and the Hanshin Tigers, founded in 1935, were the very next. A clash between the two oldest and most storied teams in the country — of course it’s going to be called a “classic.”

But for Hanshin fans, these games go far beyond baseball.
They’re not just games between two historic teams.
They carry the emotional weight of something deeper — a symbolic East vs. West civil war, with centuries of regional identity and cultural pride packed into every pitch. For many in Kansai, supporting the Tigers isn’t just fandom. It’s culture. It’s instinct.

Let’s take a moment to unravel where that instinct comes from — and why this rivalry runs so deep.

Where It All Began: The Ancient Capital and the Birth of Identity

Japan’s documented history dates back to the Nara period, beginning around 512 AD.
At the heart of that era was the Kansai region—specifically, Nara. Even today, Nara is just about an hour away from Koshien Stadium by direct train via Kintetsu and Hanshin lines.

Due to natural disasters and political turmoil, Japan’s capital shifted several times nearby before Nara was officially designated as the capital in 701. Then, in 794, the seat of power moved to Kyoto. Around this time, Japan took shape as a unified ethnic and cultural identity, composed of individual regional “provinces” (kuni), each operating like autonomous states. These provinces, collectively governed under the imperial court (chōtei) and the emperor at its center, resembled something akin to the United States—where states with their own laws, industries, and cultures coexist under a federal government.

From 794 all the way to the Meiji period in 1867, Kyoto remained the imperial capital of Japan.


Today, Kyoto is one of the world’s most iconic cultural cities, steeped in over 1,200 years of uninterrupted history. The shrines, temples, and cultural traditions of that era still stand. Nara, too—often considered Japan’s first true capital—is home to architectural wonders like Hōryū-ji, the oldest wooden building in the world, and the Great Buddha of Tōdai-ji. Together, Kyoto and Nara form the historical and spiritual core of Japan, having been the center of both politics and culture for centuries.

Mountains of Memory — Osaka’s Ancient Power and the Rise of Kansai

Meanwhile, in Osaka, you’ll find massive burial mounds called kofun—some so immense that they’re often compared to the Egyptian pyramids. These keyhole-shaped tombs are surrounded by moats and formed from mounds of earth so large, they resemble actual hills. From the outside, they often look like simple, tree-covered forests… which, admittedly, don’t make for the most exciting sightseeing (unless you’re really into archaeology).

Most kofun date back to before the Nara period, and many are concentrated in what is now Osaka—suggesting that the political center of Japan once shifted from Osaka (until 511), to Nara (from 512), and finally to Kyoto (from 794 onward).

Noticing a pattern?

Osaka, Nara, Kyoto—these three cities form the heart of the Kinki region, also known today as Kansai.
And it just so happens that this region is where the Hanshin Tigers reign supreme—where Tigers games are broadcast from first pitch to final out every single day, without fail.

Coincidence? Not a chance. This is Hanshin country.

From Culture to Power — The Rise and Fall of Kansai’s Political Might

As time marched forward, Japan transitioned from an era centered on culture—defined by the cities of Nara and Kyoto (the Heian period)—to one dominated by military rule. This shift began with the Kamakura period in 1192. While the economic and cultural heart of the nation remained in Kyoto, political power moved eastward to present-day Kamakura City in Kanagawa Prefecture (incidentally, now the home of the Yokohama BayStars ⚾). And this shift? It happened by force.

The dynamic between Kyoto–Osaka–Nara (as the cultural and economic nucleus of Kansai) and Kamakura (as the new political center) might be compared to the relationship between New York City and Washington, D.C. in the U.S. — one city pulsing with economy and culture, the other wielding governance and policy.

Eventually, in 1336, this “Japanese Washington” saw the political capital return to Kyoto. But by the 1500s, a new era of upheaval began, as powerful feudal domains (kuni, or “countries”) vied for political dominance across the archipelago. It was during this time that the Kanto (Eastern Japan) and Kansai (Western Japan) regions began to solidify as two major centers of power.

Then came 1590.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a legendary military leader, succeeded in unifying Japan under a single regime — and where did he place his capital?

Osaka.
Yes, the very same Osaka that now serves as home to the Hanshin Tigers.

Osaka Castle, Hideyoshi’s stronghold, still stands today in a prominent part of the city. If you find yourself in Kansai for a night game at Koshien, maybe arrive early and soak in centuries of history at the castle grounds before heading to the stadium. During this era, in name and in fact, Kansai was the undisputed center of Japan.

A Fragile Reign — And the Resurgence of the East

But the Kansai-led regime would not last long. The eastern powers — once seemingly defeated — quickly regained their strength.

Why?

Because civil war in Japan was, by design, a matter exclusively between professional warriors. It was not a war that directly involved the general populace. Battles were typically fought between castles, or across mountain passes and rivers that marked the boundaries of each domain. As a result, civilian homes were rarely affected, and ordinary lives largely continued undisturbed.

Even in defeat, responsibility was generally shouldered only by the ruling family of the domain in question—essentially the local royalty. Punishment rarely extended to their retainers, soldiers, or citizens. This approach reflected a core tenet of Japan’s agrarian society:

Politics and everyday life must remain separate.

Why?
Because if the people’s trust was broken, warriors could no longer rely on them for food or labor. Thus, preserving civilian life and maintaining stability were not just moral principles — they were practical necessities. This norm, a cultural constant, held true in both peacetime and wartime.

Moreover, Japan’s climate and geography demanded that warfare be seasonal. The warriors—samurai though they were—still needed to farm to survive. Most battles were waged only during the agricultural off-season, as even the elite depended on cultivating their own livelihoods. This wasn’t a mere tradition; it was a way of life deeply rooted in the land.

The Tide Turns: Sekigahara and the Rise of Edo

Ironically, the very act of unifying the nation sowed the seeds of reversal.

The ruling power, in consolidating its hold, poured human and logistical resources into the territories it had just subdued. But this also left their own bases depleted — and the previously defeated side, now untouched and unburdened, often found it easier to regroup and launch a counteroffensive.

Thus, in 1597, the so-called Battle to Decide the Nation — the legendary Battle of Sekigahara — erupted. In this epic East vs. West conflict, the Western Army, comprised mainly of forces from the Kansai region, was decisively defeated.

And with that, in just ten years, political control shifted from Osaka to Tokugawa Ieyasu, who ruled from Edo Castle — the very site of today’s Imperial Palace in Tokyo.

This moment marked the beginning of the Edo Period, and from that point forward — for over 400 years and counting — Japan’s political heart has remained in Tokyo.

A Cultural Capital, Left Behind

Even after political power shifted to Edo (Tokyo), the Kansai region — home to Kyoto and Osaka — remained the heart of Japan in other ways.

Kyoto continued to serve as the cultural and spiritual center of the nation, housing the Imperial Court, the symbolic core of Japan’s identity and sovereignty.

Meanwhile, Osaka flourished as the economic and logistical hub of the country. At its peak, Osaka’s influence extended across the Kansai region — even encompassing the area now known as Koshien, the home of the Hanshin Tigers.

And yet, despite these enduring strengths, a deep wound remained.

The Kansai region, having lost its grip on political power, carried with it a profound sense of loss, inferiority, and rivalry toward the rising authority of Edo, and later, Tokyo.

No matter how rich its culture or how powerful its economy, Kansai was no longer the seat of governance. It was no longer “the center.”

But the dream endured —
Someday, surely, Kansai would rise again.

The Dream That Slipped Away — The Meiji Restoration

But that hope would never come to pass.
Throughout the Edo period (1600–1867), the centralized political authority of the Tokugawa Shogunate only further deepened Tokyo’s dominance, setting the stage for the modern power structure that remains today.

Then, in 1867, the final blow came.
The Tokugawa Shogunate relinquished power, inviting the Imperial Court from Kyoto into Edo Castle —
and in doing so, handed over the reins of government to the new capital.

This moment, forever etched in history, marked the birth of the Meiji Restoration.

For Kyoto, It Was Nothing Short of Humiliation.

For the people of Kyoto, it was nothing less than a humiliation.
From the Heian era (794–) onward, the city had stood as the heart of Japan—home to the Imperial Court,
surrounded by countless temples and shrines, and steeped in tradition and culture.

Together with Osaka, the economic hub of the nation, Kyoto had remained a pillar of national identity—even during periods of east-west power division.
And yet, without resistance or recourse, Kyoto was stripped of its symbolic centrality, handed over to Tokyo.

Not only politics but economics shifted from Osaka to Tokyo.
Even culture, once preserved and celebrated in the Kansai region, became increasingly drawn to Tokyo’s global outlook, its hunger for the new.

Thus began the long, quiet decline of Kansai’s prominence.

Enter Baseball — Japan’s New National Passion

Meanwhile, baseball arrived in Japan in 1845 and quickly began to spread across the country.
By 1915,it had gained nationwide popularity, leading to the first National High School Baseball Championship held at Toyonaka Stadium in Osaka.

From the late Meiji era, through the Taishō era, and even before the dawn of the Shōwa period,
baseball had already become Japan’s most beloved sport, woven deep into the cultural fabric of the nation.

Then came a new chapter.
In 1934, the Tokyo Giants (Yomiuri Giants) were founded—Japan’s first professional baseball team.
The following year, in 1935, the Osaka Tigers were born—the team we now know as the Hanshin Tigers.

More Than Tradition — 1,500 Years in the Making

So when Hanshin and Yomiuri face off, it’s not just a battle between two historic baseball teams.
It is a clash rooted in the very history of Japan—a continuation of a struggle that began long before the Nara period,
back when Osaka was the heart of the nation, before power gradually shifted to Nara, Kyoto, and eventually, after 1600, to Tokyo, which is now considered Japan’s unquestioned center.

For over 1,500 years, this East-West dynamic has shaped Japan’s culture, identity, and pride.
Today, that legacy takes the form of a ballgame—a fierce rivalry on the diamond, as Kansai places its hopes in the Hanshin Tigers
to challenge their eternal nemesis: the Yomiuri Giants, the pride of Tokyo, and yes—that cursed army in orange.

In every game, Hanshin fights not just for victory,
but for something deeper—a symbolic rematch in an age-old struggle for identity, pride, and place.

Hanshin as Culture — A Battle Etched in Blood

This is why, in Kansai, Hanshin isn’t just a baseball team—
it’s a living part of the culture.
Its “tradition” is far more than a franchise legacy;
for the fans, each player carries the hopes of ancestors who once wished for the West to prevail in the Battle of Sekigahara.

When Hanshin faces Yomiuri, it’s not merely a sporting rivalry.
It’s an inherited instinct, a blood-deep drive, passed down through generations—
a call to arms embedded not in conscious thought,
but in the unspoken, ancestral memory of resisting Eastern dominance.

Hanshin vs. Yomiuri—The Clash of Tradition—
is not just a game.
It’s a modern-day East-West war,
where both players and fans fight together,
with full-hearted chants and all their soul,
in a stadium that becomes their battleground.

The Front Lines — Tokyo Dome’s “38th Parallel”

In Tokyo Dome’s outfield stands—which, in Japanese baseball culture, are the true battlegrounds for die-hard fans—there lies a zone known as the “38th Parallel.”

The Yomiuri Giants, as the home team, claim 16 out of the 20 outfield blocks, spanning from the right field all the way to center-left.
There, their sea of orange towels sways, hands clap, and cheers thunder in unison.

Into this territory marches Hanshin, allocated only three narrow blocks at the far edge of the left field—right against the foul pole.

And the remaining one single block?

That’s the buffer zone—Block F04—wedged between the Giants’ orange-clad supporters and the roaring army of Hanshin fans.

It is this “38th Parallel,”
a neutral zone born out of necessity,
for without it, the tension between the two factions would risk combustion.
That’s just how real this “war of cheering” is for the fans.

…Though, to be honest, F04 is about 90% under Hanshin’s effective control anyway. 😉🐯

Roar Beyond Numbers — Hanshin’s Unshakable Spirit

For many, watching their first Hanshin vs. Yomiuri showdown at Tokyo Dome is a shock—
the sheer force of the Giants’ home crowd can be overwhelming.
An entire stadium wrapped in orange, pounding with chants, applause, and synchronized cheers.

But then—
something happens.

Despite the Giants’ overwhelming numbers,
it’s the Hanshin fans—crammed into just a sliver of left field—
whose voices cut through the dome.

With thunderous cheers,
song rising like battle cries,
and megaphones drumming out heartbeats,
they don’t just match the volume.
They surpass it.

And that moment—
when the Tigers fans ignite the air with nothing but passion and pride—
hits harder than anything numbers could ever offer.

The War You Must Witness — 12 Games of Destiny

The Clash of Legends.
Each year, the Hanshin Tigers, standard-bearers of the West, march into enemy territory — the Tokyo Dome — for 12 to 13 blood-stirring battles against the Yomiuri Giants.

These are not just games.
They’re wars waged in the outfield stands.

If you ever get the chance—
go.

This isn’t just fan advice. It’s a life experience.

In the Kansai region, these Tokyo Dome games draw a TV viewership of 25%.
Not peak ratings — average ratings.
From first pitch to final out.
Every inning. Every pause.
Every single game.

And if you find yourself in the stadium, even if not in the roaring outfield front lines —
even from the infield —
you’ll feel the tsunami of cheers, the thunder of clashing chants, as if it were shaking the seats beneath you.

We at TORA-NEKO attend almost every Tokyo Dome battle in person — and we’ll keep sharing the view from the field.
But above all, we hope…
you’ll come stand among us.
To feel the fury, the heartbreak, and the ecstasy —
right where it happens.

And Finally… From TORAMARU, Our Tiny Furry Warrior

Here’s a message from TORAMARU,
our battle-ready plushie at Tokyo Dome, looking serious and fierce:

…Yeah, buddy.
You always disappear the moment Hanshin starts losing, don’t you?😂