It started with a road block. Sachi's Nissan Laurel was resting (<-- get it? huh? huh?!) too long in front of Shereena's, and the delayed pickup disturbed a man in a home. He called the police. If foreignors gather in a parking lot in Japan, does anyone hear? Yes.
About an hour later, the group was an hour late to meet Dave, Charlotte, Chris, Kelly, and Kevin at a Chinese restaurant in Anayama. The on-time birds ate fried rice and gyoza and freaked out kids with the color of their skin. The irony of Kevin not having anyone to speak Chinese to in a Chinese restaurant is not lost on him.
With the complete caravan finally in tow, the JETs reach Nagano after two hours, two konbini stops, a 700 yen toll, and a lot of stopping at yellow lights. It's courtesy.
They discover that Nagano is cold. Nagano is wet.
In preparation for the following day's three games, the girls team goes to sleep. In preparation for the following day's four games, the guys gather in the lobby for beers. Excitement outweighs exhaustion.
Judging by this photo (taken by Lauren Cox), I am a soccer and human giant. I clearly scored 11 goals in six games and took home the beer trophy. This picture is not from the tournament. Do not judge by it.
In fact, the only goal I scored in six games was the one I put in right before game one started, when I managed to pull my right hamstring. It bothered me all weekend. Yamanashi was far from gigantic.
It is difficult to be giant-like or even giantesque when there are teams comprised entirely of 6-foot, 200-pound Irish and English men. It is difficult to win games when your team gradually falls to injury, player by player. It is. So at the end of day one, we were 0-2-2. Second division (read: loser's bracket), here we came.
But then it was night.
I saw white people dancing.
I had packed my shoes and my cripwalk, so I did that.
The DJ played Nelly but not Nelly Furtado.
I approached a girl and called her "Cauliflower." That is the name she put in my phone.
But then it was closing time. Finish your Suntory or beer.
Sleep was splendid, and Kim tried to slide open the wall in the middle of the night to pee.
Day two was a knockout round, and the dreary Irish climate made everyone want to get knocked out early. Everyone but Irish Dave, who flourished. For Yamanashi, trying to lose means you win 4-0. Onto the semifinals (of the, cough, non-winner's bracket).
We faced Saitama, who tied us in the last minute of a game yesterday. This time they beat us in the last minute. *Shakes fist to the northeast.* You are the Murdoch to our MacGuyver, Saitama-san.
The best cure for the soggy, cold blues? A plate of curry and a trip to the onsen.
In other news, the girls won the whole entire tournament and Shereena broke her ankle. They beat Saitama in the final. It appears anything we can do, they can do better.
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Technically related to soccer:
As I was taking the down escalator exiting Kofu station, a middle-aged woman was escalating upwards. She wore a navy blue shirt with no designs, just one word across the top in white: "BALLS"
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