The Hanshin Tigers’ fan club cheers for its team during the exhibition game against the Boston Red Sox in Tokyo Dome. Coverage of the Red Sox in Japan begins in Projo Sports on Page C1.

The Providence Journal Bob Breidenbach

TOKYO — Like many things exported thousands of miles overseas, baseball emerged from its transoceanic journey in a slightly different form.

The basics remain the same, naturally — the bases are 90 feet apart, the plate remains exactly 60 feet, 6 inches from the mound, and the games are contested over nine innings.

But after better than a century, America’s pastime now bears an indelible Japanese stamp, informed by the culture and reshaped by the locals.

It’s not as if you wouldn’t recognize the game, but it’s impossible not to notice the changes — some subtle, some not — that baseball has undergone. In Japan, the game remains instantly recognizable, while still bearing its own decidedly Eastern imprint.

Reflective of the culture, it’s more precise and efficient. Power is de-emphasized while strong fundamental play is mandated. In much the same way that European basketball features passing and teamwork that suggest the NBA of the 1960s, so it is with Japanese baseball.

Sadaharu Oh may lay claim to being baseball’s all-time home run king, but value is still placed on such quaint notions as advancing base runners and executing the sacrifice bunt.

It’s the same with pitching, where velocity is less prized than command and location. Strikeouts might not be considered fascist — as mythic minor leaguer Crash Davis alleged — but they are seen as somewhat wasteful, especially if they result in additional effort.

The attention to detail is visible in preparation. While American players often pass the time idly in the outfield during batting practice, casually tracking down fly balls and chatting, there’s little down time for Japanese players.

Red Sox players yesterday watched with awe as the Hanshin Tigers managed to use two batting practice cages at once. Two pitchers threw simultaneously as balls rocketed throughout the Tokyo Dome.

Dave Magadan, the Sox’ hitting coach, was asked about the prospect of the Sox conducting a similar two-for-one exercise back home.

“We’d run out of arms pretty quickly,” he said, shaking his head.

Even the tempo of batting practice is different. While Major League teams employ coaches who throw 70 mph fastballs from a half-windup, Japanese pitchers throw an array of breaking pitches from out of the stretch delivery — the better to simulate game conditions.

In the United States, the inviting pitches are designed in part to enhance a hitter’s confidence; in Japan, the pitches are thrown with a purpose and serve as a challenge.

If the players’ approach is more disciplined, the fans’ relate to the game in a more festive way.

Entire sections are reserved for particularly exuberant rooters, who sing and chant from the first inning through the ninth, like European soccer crowds — minus the hooliganism.

Though less raucous than baseball fans in the Caribbean, their enthusiasm is infectious. As if endlessly repeating a player’s name for an entire at-bat isn’t enough, they channel additional energy into banging together inflatable bats.

“It was interesting to see how they get into the game,” remarked Red Sox first baseman Kevin Youkilis. “Their cheers are all in synch. It was different than what we’re used to, but they really get into it and know the game.”

“I don’t think we knew what to expect,” said Sox manager Terry Francona. “But we got to see the local flavor and it was different. They were beating [the bats], yelling and singing. It was quite an experience.”

In a country where teams are geographically close and rivalries are strong, it’s not unusual for the fan base to be split down the middle: Traditionally, one team’s followers occupy one-half of the stadium and the opponents fill the other half. Over the course of the game, they trade chants and cheers back and forth, the way college basketball supporters in the United States might during a neutral-site game.

Game presentation borrows heavily from the West. Hip-hop and rock music blares between innings and sound effects punctuate down time. For reasons no one could quite explain, the public address system supplied a door-bell sound when foul balls landed in the seats, followed by a prerecorded warning — seemingly after the fact — for fans to be aware of errant baseballs.

The common between-inning scoreboard distractions are offered. In the familiar follow-the-hidden-baseball contest, the Tokyo variation features fast-moving pagodas.

In the stadium, signage dots the concrete walls and advertises everything from electronics to beer — another sure sign of pervasive American influence.

On the concession concourse, choices abound. Hungry fans can select from innumerable sushi options or sample traditional U.S. ballpark fare like pizza, hot dogs and fried chicken.

Thirsty? There’s soda and beer to be sure, but also sake and honest-to-goodness hard stuff such as whiskey, the very thought of which would make the Fenway security detail twitch with anxiety.

And still, as the Japanese strive to make the game their own, the comparisons to the original model can’t be avoided.

Following yesterday’s exhibition with Hanshin, Japanese reporters peppered Francona and Red Sox players for their impressions of Tigers closer Kyuji Fujikawa, a 28-year-old with designs on a career in Major League Baseball.

It was evidence that, even after the shape-shifting that baseball has undergone across the Pacific, America’s blueprint is the original and remains the game’s standard-bearer.

smcadam@projo.com