I was excited about seeing some live football after a drought of footie action since arriving in Japan. Football, or soccer as it is known in Japan, is not the most popular sport. Baseball and basketball hold the top position in the heart of the Japanese.
What was most disturbing was that there were no live football games in the bars of Iida. The only way of seeing a game is by going to Reuben’s house who has the luxury of Sky TV. But nothing can beat going to a live football match: The walk towards the imposing stadium, the smell of the terrible meat-based food, and the roar of the crowd. The anticipation, therefore, of seeing a live J-League football match was tantalizing. I had booked tickets to see a game along with two other football fans, Martin and Reuben.
The match was the opening game of the season between the home team Grampus Eight against Kyoto Purple Sanga. It was taking place in Nagoya at the Toyota Stadium - a cavernous, futuristic stadium that gives one the impression that it has just landed on earth from another planet. The visual treat of the stadium is further enhanced by the strange skeletal bridge that travels from the main expressway to the entrance of the stadium.
The drive to the stadium was two hours from Iida and when we saw the space-ship stadium silhouetted against the bright blue sky we made admiring grunts of approval. We had arrived over an hour before the 2pm kick-off, which was lucky because finding a parking space was a nightmare. Each car-park in the near vicinity had police patrolling the area, forbidding anyone parking in the spaces unless they were residents. After scouting for a space, we found one in a multi-storey car park outside a Jusco shopping centre about a 20 minute walk from the stadium. The only problem was that there was a policeman outside the car park, processing the comings and goings of shoppers. If he found out we were only here to see the game and not to shop, he would have told us to park elsewhere. Consequently, we walked past this unsmiling guard whilst giddily talking about the brand of toothpaste each of us were about to buy in the supermarket. The plan worked, not because of the shameless content, but because he probably couldn't understand English.
We arrived at the stadium forty minutes before kick-off, allowing time to soak up the pre-match atmosphere. Whilst Martin and Reuben were buying the ridiculously expensive Grampus Eight football shirts, I flicked through the official match-day program and discovered a few facts. Today marked the début of Grampus Eight's Norwegian signing Frode Johnson - a towering lumbering giant, with a lantern jaw and a huge scar across his face. I also feared for any of the Japanese Grampus Eight players who might transfer to the English league. I say this because the players had such fancy, girlish, peroxide hair that any meat-headed, slack-jawed cockney who happened to cross his path would immediately snap off their delicate little legs in a two footed tackle.
Once Martin and Reuben proudly pulled on their new Grampus Eight jerseys, we ambled to the food section and bought dodgy looking sausages that smelt and tasted of death. It was also imperative to stock up on beer which made Martin feel slightly peeved because he had to drive back. Reuben and I didn't help his alienation by taunting him as he ordered a fizzy-pop drink.
With our mouldy meat product in one hand and warm beverage in the other, we found our seats in the impressive stadium.
The pre-match banter was entertaining with the opposing teams goading one another. The outnumbered purple attired Kyoto fans were the most vociferous and had a relentless stock of chants. We listened attentively to see if anything witty was being said in Japanese. It dawned on us after a few minutes that the Kyoto fans were merely yelling: "La La La La." Such was the easiness of the chant that we joined in, until we realized we were sitting in the Grampus Eight section of the crowd. Perhaps singing la la la in the face of Grampus supporters was the ultimate sin. However, there was no need to worry about sparking off angry la-la related riots because Japanese football fans are incredibly passive. The fans cheered and clapped when they were supposed to. The clapping consisted of a quick burst of five seconds, before everyone unanimously stopped. And under no circumstances was booing aloud. Reuben tried to do it when a Purple Sanga player disagreed with the referee, and the fans seated near us stared with fury at Reuben and insisted he should be quiet. Even the football was devoid of any atmosphere. The passing was neat and tidy and the shots were clean and direct. It was a drab affair. We alleviated the situation by bringing some good old-fashioned English hooliganism to the proceedings. We figured no-one would understand our distinctly English swearing so we started to shout, "Geeeeeet up ya wanker!" to a Kyoto peacock of a player who flamboyantly fell down after being tackled and "You're shit and you know you are" to a woeful Kyoto striker's shot on goal. The final score was 1-1. But we were too bored to notice.
As we walked back to the car with Martin and Reuben still wearing their Grampus Eight shirts, we saw the same policeman still outside the Jusco supermarket. He surely must have seen Martin and Reuben wearing their football shirts. We had a quick think, and as we passed him smelling of sweat, beer and sausage-fat, we started to talk about the wonderful toothpaste bargains inside the super-market. He smiled and nodded as we walked past. He must have been a fan of that particular brand.
0 comments:
Post a Comment