If you’ve found your way to this page out of curiosity about Japan’s boat races, it seems only fair to offer a basic overview first.
Known originally as kyōtei (競艇) since its inception in the 1950s, Japan’s boat racing is a longstanding form of government-sanctioned gambling. Even today, it remains the second most popular public betting sport in the country after horse racing, with an annual turnover of over 2 trillion yen.

So why the two names—“Kyōtei” and “Boat Race”?

The answer is simple: Kyōtei didn’t exactly have the best image.
The keywords associated with it might have included: blue-collar workers, cigarettes, shouting matches, dimly lit venues, a lack of cleanliness, and an air of self-destruction.
In order to distance the sport from this rough reputation and attract a wider demographic, the governing association initiated a major rebranding campaign in the 1990s.
They cleaned up venues nationwide, built infrastructure for online betting, launched ad campaigns with well-known celebrities, and eventually adopted the name “Boat Race.”

There are 24 boat racing tracks across Japan, with races being held daily at about half of them.
In Tokyo alone, you’ll find three—Heiwajima, Edogawa, and Tamagawa—all of which are now surprisingly accessible and welcoming, not just to locals but even to overseas travelers.

Of course, there are aspects of the Boat Race ecosystem—particularly where the money goes—that remain less than transparent. Domestic discussions around that are still ongoing, but that’s a topic for another site.
Here, I’d like to focus on why the sport—or perhaps the gamble—is so compelling in the first place.

Each race features six boats, all starting almost simultaneously. They complete three laps around a 600-meter course.
You might assume that makes for dramatic back-and-forth racing, with nail-biting moments of overtaking and fierce competition until the finish line.
Well… sorry to disappoint you.
In fact, most races are practically decided within the first quarter or half of the initial lap—essentially, right after the boats round the first corner.
From there, the order rarely changes. The boat in front usually stays in front.

So how could something that’s over so quickly possibly be entertaining?

That’s something I encourage you to discover for yourself.
The real battle begins before the race even starts—with the tuning of the engines and hulls.
Boat Race has a unique starting system that demands split-second timing, creating intense psychological pressure.
The moment of truth comes within roughly ten seconds after the race begins, where everything—strategy, reflexes, nerve—gets condensed into one breathtaking exchange.

Is it worth watching?

I’ll say this: the thunder of the engines, the shouted encouragement (or insults) from the crowd, and the razor-thin margins that separate victory from failure all combine to create a spectacle unlike anything else.
Even if just to witness that ten-second showdown with your own eyes—and heart—I’d argue that Boat Race is worth a visit.

Now, Hirosawa stood at the entrance to a boat race track somewhere in Tokyo.
Normally, he’d never dream of leaving the office before 6 p.m.
But today, he simply hadn’t felt like staying.

It had been about fifty years since his last visit to a race track—he’d come once as a child, brought along by his father.
His father, a serious man who had devoted himself to his work, had only one guilty pleasure: the races.
Maybe it was the memory of that man that had drawn him here, without thinking.

Not knowing quite what he was doing, Hirosawa followed the crowd and eventually found his way to the grandstand.
Clutching a race tip sheet he’d picked up on the way in, he turned his gaze toward the water, where a thunderous roar of boat engines filled the air.
The eleventh race had just ended. The twelfth—the final race of the day—was about to begin.
The racers were performing their warm-ups, testing their boats and getting a feel for the water conditions.

He glanced at the section for Race 12 on his tip sheet.
One name caught his eye:
Boat #4 – Takimoto Hiroshi (Age 58).
No special markings next to his name.
Meaning the writer didn’t expect him to win. Probably not even place.

Fifty-eight?
Hirosawa was surprised.
He’d known boat racing was a brutally competitive, merit-based sport.
Could someone really keep racing that long?

He had no particular reason to care.
He was just a beginner, and all boats looked the same to him.
So he figured: why not bet on the one racer who’s the same age as me?

He bought a ticket with Boat #4 in the first-place position.

As the race neared, the boats were lined up in the pit area, waiting for the drivers to climb aboard.

Behind Hirosawa, two middle-aged men were chatting.

“It’s gotta be Nakai in Lane 1.”
“Nah, I’m seeing a sharp move from Fujimoto instead.”
“What about Takimoto in the outside lane? If the conditions line up…”

“No way. He used to be decent, but let’s be honest—he’s done. Doesn’t matter what happens.”

“Yeah, I figured. Left him off my ticket too.”
“Right? Me too.”

Hirosawa turned his gaze back toward the boats.

The driver in the blue life vest with the number 4 on his helmet was just stepping in.
His face was hidden by the helmet, but even through the bulky vest, his frame looked thin—frail, almost.
Not the kind of figure you’d expect from someone ready to go to war.

Hirosawa let out a soft, self-mocking chuckle as he glanced at the ticket in his hand.
What had he expected?

The final race’s fanfare blared across the venue.

In unison, the six boats shot out from the pit.
Then, just as quickly, they slowed to maneuver around the buoys, easing into position at the starting line.

A moment of stillness.

Faint shouts from the stands, cheering on the racers.

Hirosawa could feel their tension.
He could feel his own.

The strong wind from the left rustled the blue vest of Boat #4.
And somehow, it didn’t look fragile anymore.
It looked like something alive—a creature, ready to burst free.

His fist clenched around his ticket.
He whispered to himself: Relax. Just run your race.

Ten seconds to start.

Boats 4, 5, and 6 in the back row began to move.
Then 1, 2, and 3 in front followed suit.

Where’s #4?

Not bad. He’s in rhythm.

The crowd’s roar swelled.
The engine noise merged with their voices into something wild—
A vortex of heat and chaos that shook the air, the walls, the water itself.

The boats charged forward.
The distance to the starting line vanished by the second.

Hirosawa’s body tensed.
His temperature rose.
The world blurred.

What are you going to show me?
What kind of race are you going to run?

His eyes locked on the patch of blue.
He couldn’t look away.

Without realizing it, he had begun to shout.
His voice, swallowed into the storm of sound, soared upward into the night sky.