My student volunteer Kenta had invited me to play a football match with him when we first met and game-day arrived. After meeting at Kyoto station, we took the trip on the JR line to Osaka, then on to Umeda to meet a few of his friends, before our final stop at Totsuyou. No idea where the hell it was, so don’t ask me to point it out to you on a map.
The pitch isn’t your typical grass playing field, but is actually a floodlit baseball ground with a goal at both ends and some basic football markings painted into the sand. As a result, the sand is somewhat slippery to play on in my trainers and there’s a big mound where the pitcher would be which gets tripped over a couple of times during play (but at least you get an advantage if you stand on it when going for a header).
We get changed into our assorted kits outdoors on a bench by the pitch and I don the clothes I hastily purchased the day before at the local sports goods emporium. Our team is a ragtag bunch of friends, acquaintances, locals and me. In particular, I get on well with Kenta’s pal, nicknamed Uza, who is quite the character. Dressed in hip-hop gangsta garb, I wonder if ‘Uza’ is actually short for ‘Yakuza’. Throughout the evening, he takes off his shirt, puts on a pair of boxing gloves, assumes a fighting pose, and then wobbles his knees in cowardice. He had just got back from the Philippines and showed me a few of his pics – including the Filipino girl he bedded, lying completely starkers (of course, I could see everything). He also has a copy of Playboy with him and later promises to take me to a brothel (at least, I believe that’s what he was getting at).
Our opponents are far more professional. Harder, better, faster, stronger. Hell, they even have their own kit – we just slip on some orange vests they brought along! They got here before us and brought their girlfriends along to watch them trounce us poor saps. As we wait for the rest of our team to arrive, we practice a bit and I’m not as bad as I thought I’d be. It seems the rest of my team are of a similar ability – bad, but by no means useless. At least we all know the ball has to get into the opponent’s goal and to do so it needs to be kicked.
The officials line the pitch; it’s time to talk tactics. No-one’s particularly forthcoming picking their positions, except Kenta going up front. I choose to play right mid-field, but it turns out I chose poorly; five minutes of running back and forth and I’m already knackered. I can’t ever remember being this tired at school! Regardless, when the ball does come my way, I do okay. Make a few good passes, keep control of the ball, with only a few slip-ups (including one literal slip-up, in which I tumbled backwards off the pitch, grazing my knee). However, once the opposing team get the ball, wrestling it off them is nigh-on impossible, as I fail to intercept every pass they make or time my tackles. Unfortunately, the ball keeps being played on the left – our opponent’s right, so they have little difficulty picking it up, making long passes and hitting the back of the net. A break after 15 minutes and a swig of Lemon Water does little to improve my condition, and after 30 minutes of play the score is 4-0.
We head benchwards while the other team continue to play amongst themselves. I examine my knee, but it’s not as bad as that of one of Kenta’s friends, bleeding away, so I don’t make a fuss. Then suddenly, it’s the second half – I thought that was it! Well, we’re more determined this time, and we create more opportunities and actually have some shots on goal and corners! This half we only let in one more goal, but it is clear that lack of ability, communication and technique are to blame for defeat and a final score of 5-0.
While everyone else smoothes the pitch with big brooms (this being sand, not grass, I didn’t know what was going on at first), I examine my shin injury (or shinjury). I picked it up in the second half, but can’t remember how – I think maybe from a tackle I made. It consists of a separate bruise and cut, which is bleeding profusely. As someone who doesn’t really get into fights nor have dangerous hobbies, such wounds are somewhat alien to me, so I try to mop it up as best I could with a towel, then roll up my sock to cover the damage and avoid running red all over my pantaloons.
Tired and aching, we make our way back to Osaka, and go our separate ways. It takes about two hours total to get back to Mukaijima after some train-hopping. After picking up some food and drink from the nearby convenience mart, I get to my room after 11pm, flop onto my bed, peel back my sock and clean the cut with antiseptic wipes. Over a week later, the scars still show, but are scabbing nicely.
Other than that, I’m ship-shape and Bristol fashion. Well, except for usual ailments and mosquito bites, that are fading away gradually now I have bought and applied Kayumi Bye Bye (though I must remember not after applying the tingly medicine to not rub my eyes immediately after). Plus, I still have these strange lumps in my armpits that won’t go away. The doctor I went to see before I left for Japan just said they were swollen glands under the hair follicles that will soon vanish, but if anything they’ve gotten bigger and increasingly tender. My armpit is looking more and more like Lemmy from Motörhead with every passing day.
And on that delicious thought, I bid you adieu. I will leave you with a quote from a French-style patisserie window nearby the football/baseball ground. Again, it’s not the spelling, but rather the grandiose wording that takes the crêpe…
“A completely new flavour combining in perfect harmony chocolate and custard.”
I’m going now, bye!
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