Japan 2002 - Episode 8

And so to bed...

'Good Luck!' the man dressed in a dark blue coat with matching homburg offered.

'Thank You' replied MacDonald with a friendly grin.

And then the game was up.....all the planning, all the expectations and all experience down the shoot in one cruel moment. Was it luck or was it deliberate? Did the man the dark blue coat just try it on or did he know something we did not? We will never know, but for now the great game was over.

MacDonald the trusted right hand man to Bartlett 'Big X' (the genius non-English tactician -  we are going to devote our energies to sports and all the cultural activities, we are going to put the enemy to sleep. Meanwhile, we DIG. As  you know  it is my duty to harass and hinder the enemy at all times' ) had been tumbled. MacDonald of all people. A trusty pair of hands.

And so ended The Great Escape.

Friday 24th June had started in bright, warm sunshine. Only the day before it had been pouring with rain and the temperatures had been more like Wakefield in April than Shizouka in June. The following day it was back to drizzle and modest temperatures. Those who decide which way fate will twist, obviously felt that England vs Brazil should be fittingly played in 30 + degrees searing heat and intense humidity, much like that day in Guadajarhara 32 years ago. Let's face it if we were going to beat Brazil, and you knew my thoughts on that before the game, then we may as well play their full team and on their terms and conditions.

When you're smiling...

I decided to travel to the match on my own. As you will recall, I had been joined by a fairly large group fresh and bullish from England, but such is my superstitious nature, I wanted to do this on my own. Funny how you think that wearing a certain shirt, or eating a special pre-match snack will help the team, of course it will not but some of us 'kids' still think it will be lucky to do so.

The atmosphere all the way to the ground was nothing short of amazing. Instead of there being less England fans than at the Denmark match as is normal at tournaments with the 'originals' running out of cash and being forced to return home, there were thousands more. Apparently a 1000 a day had been flying in since the weekend. The Brazilians were out in force also, bedecked in the famous yellow and green regalia (even though they play in blue shorts?) and the sound of the samba was everywhere. In keeping with all the previous matches the Japanese authorities organised the thousands of fans impeccably ensuring that their passage to the stadium was kept to a minimum and without any unnecessary 'herding'. 

The stadium at Shizouka, like most of the stadia in this World Cup, was brand spanking new. Set in the most beautiful rolling green hills and beseiged all around by water features,  it was a paramount of Oriental architecture.  From the outside it looked simply magnificent. There was a fantastic 'Wembley Way' style concourse leading to the front of house, complete with escalators for those who did not want to walk. Inside the atmosphere was even more intense. I was sitting/standing in the nominated Brazilian end, just behind the goal (that Michael Owen scored into) next to the huge Brazilian flag. Any thought or need for segregation was irrelevant, as it had been from the day I arrived in Japan, more so since there were as many English fans in this end as there were in the nominated English end. The bloke next to me introduced himself. He had been watching the Denmark match in the pub the week before, and before he could say 'Nicky Butt' he was flying out to Japan, along with thousands of others. Omens I thought to myself again, I had watched the first 4 matches side on in Category 1 seats now I was behind the goal in Category 3's. I hoped the boys in white did not get to hear of this, surely it would put them off their game!

You will all have seen the match. Sheer excitement when Owen scored, incidentally that must be the maddest I have ever been at a match, jumping all over a group of Japanese men in front of me who seemed disinterested in the match, but jumping all over them in any case, because they were there ( I later sussed out that they were plain clothes coppers!) . Sheer excitement, followed by sheer awe at the Ronaldhinio/Rivaldo goal 3 minutes in to injury time. Awe faded to sheer disbelief when the same Ronaldhinio scored that 'wonder' goal from 40 yards. For me it was the equivalent of the 'good luck' utterance at the top of this piece - was it meant or was it just a lucky break? It ended up breaking all of our hearts that is for sure and the Great Escape was over! 

The end of a wonderful tour - next stop Portugal

The game sadly petered out to a 2-1 defeat and a hint of sadness crossed me. It was over, but it had been the best ever. Nothing has ever come close to this tournament and losing to Brazil can only spur our talented group of young players on to better things next time.The players did a  lap of honour - David Beckham leading his men impeccably as he had done throughout. Rio was visibly disconsolate. David Seaman was in tears. I felt for him. He had been outstanding in all of our matches and now took the whole responsibility for our exit. That is unfair and unfitting for a great such as he. Incidentally stick your David Seaman jokes where the sun don't shine. Give him a break and don't lower yourselves.

I met up with my best mate after the game - we talked our selves in together by mobile phone, eventually meeting on  an empty road to the left of the thousands of fans trailing back to the railway station. For once, I  ignored police cordons and policemen waving light sabres to greet my friend. It was a little like two men greeting each other in no man's land. He was distraught, blaming himself as the Jonah on this day.

'That's it. I am never coming again. It's me. Because I am here we lost. I never went to Munich and we won. Argentina the same!'

Probably like a few more important consolation sessions going on in the England dressing rooms at that moment, nothing I could say to him would make any difference. Like thousands here he had been in Japan just over a day and now faced a long haul back home.

'No way you are going home Rob, we are going to have the biggest F***ing party of all time mate, trust me.'

Next time we'll drive...

On the train back home I met with one of the two lads who had carried/kicked a football all the way to Brighton to Seoul and Tokyo (see the Spirit of Football website) across land. They had been on the road for three months. Fantastic achievement to carry the 'Olympic Torch' footballs from football's home to the home(s) of the World Cup this time round.

Straight off the train and into a bar to watch the Germans squeeze past USA and then a hundred mobile calls later the whole band of brothers was together again. We rocked through the night until 10.30am Saturday morning. A brief rest, watching the S Korea vs Spain match (controversial) and the Senegal vs Turkey match. In between I packed my bags and left them at my hotel reception. There would be no need for a room on my last night, that was for sure. Off again for an all nighter finishing up at 9.30am with three of the other lads,  we were the last men standing. A taxi to my hotel reception to collect said bags and then off to the airport for the 1pm flight home. Then only way to end this epic Odyssey.

Now as I write this in  my office in England, I feel like Hilts, the Cooler King from the said Great film. Locked in a cell again, bouncing  a ball and planning the next Great one.

Portugal anyone?