GOL?

by Fahmi Fadzil

The Tokyo metro ends about 1am, depending on which part of town you’re at. “Let’s try Roponggi,” urged Zan Yamashita, my Japanese artistic collaborator and the main reason I’m visiting him, doing my best to speak nihongo. “Futari yo no tento des,” I said. “Uh, Fahmi-san, that meant ‘It is a two-person tent’,” came his rebuke.

Ah. Right.

We picked Roponggi mainly because, according to CNNgo, most of the sports bars here don’t have a cover charge. (WOMB, the Shibuya discotheque, charges 2,500yen or RM90 for entry alone, and we weren’t about to make it a clubbing night.)

So we were there by about 9.30pm, and with some six hours to kill we decided to walk around and found out that:

- the Aoyama Book Centre opens until 5am (wah!) and has a great selection of English and Japanese publications

- the nearby Roponggi Hills, an actual building rather than a geological formation, is home to some really, really, REALLY rich Japanese family

- most of the street hustlers I spotted were of African descent, constantly tried to shake your hand, and after befriending, you would lean over to say where the tittie bar was at

- the Japanese equivalent of the Thai “farang” is “Gai-jin”, which Zan tells me is the “not-so-ok way of calling foreigners. ‘Gaiko-sujin’ is better.”

After a quick bowl of ramen, we meet up with another dancer friend and head over to Charleston & Son just off the main Roponggi stretch to catch the tail end of the Slovakia-Italy game. Just after the third Slovakian goal, the two Italian supporters seated beside us left. Kesian.

As the Japan-Denmark match neared, we bailed on the joint to look up some free-entry sports bars. Nearby was the Australian Bar Quest. Since I didn’t like how the Australians apparently qualified for the World Cup through the Asian group, me and my fellow nightcrawlers agreed that our best bet would be the Irish Paddy Foley’s facing the main street (“More exciting,” urged Zan). And boy, did we hit that four-leaved clover!

Fifteen minutes to go before kick-off and the crowd was already in excellent spirits. Chants of “Nippon, Nippon hey hey hey!” and “Niiiiiipponnnnnnn! Niiiiiiipponnnnnnn!!” (you gotta hear it) kept the energy up. Many of the fans looked like they were students or salarymen. In any case, it was hard to tell with all that Samurai Blue gear (and other matching accessories, including a blue Goku-Dragonball Z wig).

The cheers of “Nakamura! (clap clap clap) Nakamura! (clap clap clap)” and all that singing really made me miss those damned vuvuzelas. Waitaminit… that’s what the World Cup sounded like before South Africa…

And then – GOOOOOOAAAAAAA… ANDTHECROWDGOESWILD-ICAN’TREALLYTELLWHAT’SHAPPENING-I’MTRYINGTOSHOOTEVERYTHING-OMGICAN’THEARMYSELFANYMORE-UNCLESTANDINGONSOFAWHYAREYOUBOWINGTOTHATGAIKO-SUJIN?? …AAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!

The crowd settles back into some semblance of order only to – GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA… OMGI’MTOTALLYREADYTOSHOOTMOREPICS-OHNOPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEDON’T-AAAAARRGHH-MYEARDRUMS-OKOKOKICANSHOOTNOW-UNCLEWHYAREYOUSHAKINGHANDSWITH-AHWHATEVERLA …AAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!

“World Cup is good chance for Japan to release pressures – of economy, society…” explains Zan as we head into half-time.

I step out, and discover that dawn has broken. Che-wah, macam Japan’s future looks bright. With this 2-0 lead, it sure looks like… eh, hold on, I spot policemen on the streets, manning the pedestrian crossing. Do they know something we don’t? Hmm.

The second half was slow-starting, reminding us that it’s 4.30am and other people were up and about getting ready for their daily two-hour commute across town. Tired. Feet ache. Zan and I have already been in Roponggi a good 7 hours, and this game better be damn wor-”BAAAGGGEEROOOO!!!”

Denmark managed a late goal. Hmm, maybe there’s a chance this game will be lively a-GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA… I’MJUSTJUMPINGAROUNDNOW-WHERE’SZAN??ZAN??!!-WHERE’SEVERYONEGOINGNOW?? …AAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That final whistle just broke nearly all of the famed Japanese public inhibitions. The Paddy Foley’s crowd had by now marched outside, singing, chanting, dancing, waving, throwing out beer and water from their containers, urging fellow Nippon fans across the street to come over…

And then, when the pedestrian crossing lights turned green, the celebrations was taken to the streets.

All the police could do was say, politely on their loudhailer: “This is a road, it is dangerous! Dangerous! Dangerous! Please step back on the curb!” (I can already hear our FRU boys pooh-poohing.)

As Zan and I made our way back to the metro, amidst the debris and debilitated bodies getting home or snoozing to work, I couldn’t help but think: “Kan best kalau team bola kita dapat main terrer macam ni…”

[Editor's note: Fahmi Fadzil is on a month-long performance residency in Tokyo, in collaboration with dancer-choreographer Zan Yamashita]

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