Poured to order: Inside the world of NPB fans and their beer vendors

At Japanese baseball games, the beer comes directly to your seat — poured fresh from kegs strapped to vendors’ backs as they weave through packed stands.

While roaming vendors at MLB ballparks typically hawk cans or bottles out of insulated tubs, Japanese stadiums are famous for this portable draft system and the vibrant subculture built around the workers who operate it, known as uriko.

Most are college-age women who shoulder rigs weighing around 15 kilograms, navigating steep concrete steps while pouring foam-topped drafts and calling out over the roar of the cheering sections.

For regulars who buy from the same vendor game after game, the appeal goes far beyond simple convenience. A familiar face, a quick greeting and a cold pour can become an essential part of the game-day ritual.

Yet because vendors earn a cut per cup, customer loyalty can easily turn into aggressive patronage — raising concerns over just how far some fans will go to buy a vendor’s favor.

The vendor

For 21-year-old Mana Kato, selling Kirin draft beer at several NPB stadiums was exhausting work, but the commission-based pay appealed to her competitive streak. She left the job this month as she prepares to graduate from university.

“It was really hard work, but honestly, so much fun,” Kato said. “You’re running on adrenaline, feeling the energy of the stadium and getting to be part of it all.”

Kato applied in 2022 after watching videos of beer vendors on TikTok. At the time, she knew almost nothing about baseball — not even how many innings a game lasted or how many teams played in the league. The job simply looked glamorous and exciting.

The reality was less glamorous.

Depending on the length of the game, she spent three to five hours climbing up and down the stands in sweltering conditions, with only brief breaks to drink water.

Having worked as an uriko in several NPB stadiums for three years, Kato recently left the job. | COURTESY OF MANA KATO

“The physical strain is real, but you learn to pace yourself,” Kato said. “At first, I could barely make it past the third inning without feeling completely spent. But as you build endurance, the thrill of competing against your own records takes over.”

She started out selling around 100 cups per game. Eventually, she poured a personal-best 369 cups in a single game, driven by a combination of speed, stamina and relationships with regular customers.

“Building a regular client base in your section is everything,” Kato said. “When I sold someone their first beer, I’d introduce myself as Mana and ask for their name. The next time I saw them in that aisle, I’d call them by name. Seeing their faces light up when they realized I remembered them turned one-off buyers into loyal regulars.”

She enjoyed the work enough to persuade her younger sister to join the vendor crew at the same ballpark. Kato notes she was fortunate never to have a frightening or uncomfortable encounter with a fan, making her departure after three years feel all the more bittersweet.

“What I’ll miss most are the regular customers,” Kato said. “When the whole ballpark unites behind the team, you feel like a real part of that experience. Walking away from those faces and that collective energy is definitely the hardest part.”

The fan

At 56, Yuichi Ito has been a Seibu Lions fan for more than four decades, attending nearly 30 games a season during his busiest years. The long commute from Chiba Prefecture to Belluna Dome in Saitama is part of the ritual, as is a cold beer from a familiar vendor.

Rather than buying from whichever vendor happens to pass by, Ito chooses a favorite. He once stuck with the same vendor for three consecutive seasons.

“When a vendor recognizes your face, you don’t have to chase anyone down — they come right to your seat,” Ito said. “Having a go-to vendor makes game day so much more enjoyable. It’s a nice, simple rhythm: a quick hello, a cold beer and you just watch baseball.”

Ito can go through seven or eight draft beers during a game, but he sees being a regular customer as more than knowing whom to buy from. It also means knowing where to draw the line.

“They aren’t idols or celebrities — they’re college kids hauling 15-kg kegs along concrete stairways,” Ito said. “I buy what I actually drink, usually no more than 10 beers, and leave it there. I don’t sneak photos, I don’t follow them into the concourse like some people do and I don’t make things awkward.”

Ito once built personal rapport with his regular vendors, but as stadium culture has shifted, he now believes it is essential to keep interactions strictly casual.

“My rule is simple: enjoy a quick chat from your seat, drink your beer and watch the game.”

The controversy

Earlier this month, a viral video from Yokohama Stadium laid bare just how extreme the vendor-fan dynamic can get.

The clip showed a fan standing beside a beer vendor, repeatedly buying freshly poured drafts and emptying them straight into a drink-disposal box — more than 10 times in a row, wasting cup after cup simply to boost the worker’s sales numbers.

Ito recognized the behavior immediately as tarugai — the practice of buying an entire keg’s worth of beer from a single vendor. It is particularly common at Tokyo Dome, he said, where many vendors are aspiring talents looking to break into entertainment, cultivating followings akin to idol fandom.

The Japan Times contacted representatives for the Yokohama DeNA BayStars, who said they were aware of the footage and that a policy response remained “under consideration.” The team declined to say whether its primary concern was the deliberate waste of beer or the practice of tarugai itself.

Beyond extreme spending, teams have also stepped in to regulate fan interactions.

In recent years, at least five of NPB’s 12 teams — the Seibu Lions, Yomiuri Giants, Chiba Lotte Marines, Fukuoka SoftBank Hawks, and Tohoku Rakuten Golden Eagles — have published official rules restricting photos of beer vendors. Many also prohibit fans from giving vendors gifts or exchanging contact details.

For Ito, who looks at the ballpark partly through the lens of his work in the travel industry, the recent controversies risk overshadowing a tradition that showcases Japanese culture at its most welcoming.

“The uriko experience is a mix of Japanese hospitality, freezing cold draft beer, and a dash of kawaii pop culture — right down to the uniforms,” he said. “I hope visitors to Japan get to experience that side of the culture, too.”