Flashback: Stadium Adventures

When I went to Japan for the World Cup, I kept a journal. It was the only journal I'd ever kept. I wrote in that thing religiously. When I was at games, I made sure to write in it. When I was in a shinkansen, I'd make sure and write in it. When I was walking, I made mental notes about what to write in it later.

I was still three years from buying a digital camera, still years from keeping a blog so I didn't have a way to capture memories in pictures or on the web. So most of the memories I have from my 27-day stay in the Land of the Rising Sun are stashed away in my illegible penmanship. But I did write some journals on my computer, Stadium Adventures I called them. My intentions were good but my follow through was terrible.

I wrote only one of these and I had intended on writing one on each game I went to. Most of those memories are sadly gone and I will regret that I didn't follow through with my intentions in the future.

This journal I wrote has sat in an old laptop for years. I blew off the electronic dust from it, put it on the laptop I use now and decided to throw it up on here. I've been meaning to do it for a while but I didn't have any reason to and thought it would look awkward if I just threw it up in the middle of something important. So while there is a lull out here, before the MLS season starts and well before the madness of Beckham ensues, I figured to slap this on here on this trusty blog and get it out to the world.

Or at least our trusty and loyal readers. Enjoy.

(warning: it's a bit long!)
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June 22, 2002

The best part of my Japan experience was attending World Cup matches. During my stay, I attended 10 matches in person. Of the 10 venues in Japan, I was fortunate enough to have visited seven.

SAITAMA

Matches attended: England-Sweden, June 2.

My first World Cup match was an attractive affair between England and Sweden. I had been in Japan for five or six days at this point and it was very refreshing to go to an actual match. I was welcomed into the world of the English football fan.

At this point in my trip I was unaware of media shuttle buses and still thought the media was responsible for finding its own way to the stadium. Not until after my next match did I become aware of the “luxury” of media shuttle buses.

Anyway, I was staying in Tokyo those days, so I had to get to Saitama from Tokyo station. At Tokyo station, there were signs and fliers pointing the way to Saitama Stadium. It seemed easy enough; catch a train out of Tokyo, change at Akebane station and head toward Urawa. The trip turned out to be that simple, and it took a little less than half an hour. But I had been so anxious to get out of my hotel room that I left really early, so I got into Saitama City about five hours before the match.

I walked around the city, following a pack of English supporters. Since I had to do some reporting for a story I was writing on English fans for The Press-Enterprise, I figured then would be a good time to do it. But instead, I found a seat inside a store/restaurant and relaxed. I had done a lot of walking and I was kind of worried about getting to the stadium.

After about 30 minutes, my stomach forced me to go find some food. Unfortunately, I had no cash and nobody accepted credit cards, so I would have to wait. I decided then to walk back to the train station and catch a shuttle bus to the stadium. I waited in line for about 30 minutes, then walked a long ways to catch a bus. Again, I did not know there were media shuttle buses, so perhaps that would have saved me some time. Instead, I stood for the duration of the 25-minute bus ride to Saitama Stadium. But it was okay, since I chatted with some England fans and ended up interviewing them for my story.

Once at the stadium, I concluded my interviews. All of the people I approached were rather friendly, even the tattooed fellows I talked to. But after awhile, I was really tired and I just wanted to get into the stadium. I walked to where it said “Staff” figuring my credential would be able to get me through that gate, but I was wrong. After some confusion amongst the workers, I was told to walk back to the main bus parking lot, hang a left and walk about half a kilometer to the media entrance. I tried for a second to try and talk my way in through the gate where I stood but could tell it would be a losing battle, so I bit my lip and obliged.

The guys weren’t kidding when they said half a kilometer. Now, here I am in this spiffy outfit: new slacks, a nice shirt and my Skechers boots. Nevermind the heavy and expensive laptop slung around my shoulder. Needless to say, I was sweating and tired. The laptop felt like it weighed 50 pounds and my boots felt like bricks. Mind you, at the beginning of my stay, I did not expect so much walking. I was unprepared. After this day, though, things would change.

Anyway, I walked through what I thought was the media entrance and saw a free buffet and was excited. Free food! I was very hungry and dying of thirst, so I was pleased to see a little oasis. Unfortunately, I was at the wrong place. That tent was for VIPs only, not scrub reporters like myself. No, I was shuffled through the main media entrance along with a pair of irate Korean reporters and was told to walk another half-kilometer.

So at this point, I was wondering why everything had to be so difficult. I was upset that I was walking so much. FIFA should have told us reporters to bring some walking shoes and comfortable clothes. But I guess since they are well taken care of, they could probably not care less about the media. They did provide media shuttles (which again I did not know at this point) so I guess that was their way of throwing scraps at us journalists.

So while I was walking and hating myself for dressing up, I finally spotted signs pointing me toward the media center. After an x-ray search of my laptop bag (lucky for me I left my Glock at home) I was let into the media center. Finally.

So I was sort of lost. I did not know what to do. I remembered something about tickets, so I went to the ticket place and asked if I had a ticket waiting for me. I did not, of course, so I put my name on the list. Then, I walked to the main media center and was sort of overwhelmed. There were more than one hundred people in there, pounding away at their laptops, talking on their cell phones, hunched over the computers FIFA had provided for World Cup information or just hanging out and talking away the day. I nabbed a seat near the television so I could watch the Paraguay-South Africa match.

Then, after about an hour, I saw a familiar face. I saw Mark Zeigler walk in. I said hey and we talked for a bit. He asked me about a ticket, I told him I put my name on the waiting list and he said cool. He went his way and I stayed and watched the match on television.

At halftime, I went to see if there was a ticket waiting for me, and there was. I saw Zeigler again and told him I had gotten in. He was on his way up to the press tribune, the seats where they put us hacks in, and we walked yet again. But this walk was much worse than the other walks I had gone on. This one made those look like a stroll in a flower patch. We walked up about 14 flights of stairs. So again, as unprepared and out of shape as I was in at that point, it seemed like we were climbing Mt. Fuji. It was hard keeping up with Zeigler. He was talking and strolling up those steps like they were clouds and I was drudging up each one, trying not to huff and puff while I was at it.

After what seemed like an hour, we reached the top. My calves were shouting at this point but there was nothing I could do. My shirt was drenched and my forehead was dripping with sweat. Zeigler helped me find my seat, and guess what? I had to walk up more stairs. These came with an added bonus: they were cement and steep and the aisles were narrow. Nice. So after giving my calves a brief rest, I called them right back into action. I walked up more steps, and finally reached my seat. I thought it amazing that I had gotten there because I had thought I had little energy. I was barely eating those days, so I still don’t know where I managed to get the juice I needed to make that long trek.

The journey spoiled “The Moment.” I thought it was going to be cool when I reached the tribune and saw the mobs of fans in their seats, probably all chanting and all excited about their teams being there, the field more green than any television could ever portray, the flags and banners draped across the stadium making it feel like a true football palace. Instead, when I saw the fans and the field, I was breathing heavily and not in the mood for anything except a big bottle of water, which I had alertly stuffed away in my backpack.

Once the match started, it was a rather pleasant experience. But it took awhile for my day to finally pay off.