What the Japanese really think about English soccer fans

He moved there after marrying a Japanese girl he met at university.

Chris, aged 31, who went to Thornleigh Salesian College in Bolton, has sent this Boltonian perspective on World Cup 2002 from his home in Yokohama.

FROM the eighth floor of my apartment just slightly to the west lies the impressive Shin-Yokohama stadium soon to be home to the final of the World Cup.

Everytime I draw the curtains just before I go to bed I pause and give a respected nod toward it, dreaming of seeing the English Flag flying high on the pole outside the stadium.

Morning comes quickly, and my dream is still in my mind, only this time a Bolton Wanderers flag has somehow managed to be flying alongside the English one, no doubt a salute to how we survived in the Premiership! I think I will leave it flying there in my dream for a while.

It's Wednesday morning 6:30am and time for the office. My daily routine begins, like most Japanese salary men, fighting to get on the packed commuter train to Tokyo.

It gets so crowded they even employ "packers" to literally press people into the train carriages. Getting off the train during rush hour in Tokyo requires a different set of manoeuvring skills altogether.

An hour and 10 minutes later I land in Tokyo's Hibiya station to be greeted by the sight of four Irish fans snoozing on a train station bench.

work is another round of routine hacking away on the computer and fumbling my way through Japanese business meetings. Today I am determined to explain the intricacies of the beautiful game to my co-workers. A task which is not easy by any standards.

After an hour and a half of discussing various attack formations using chopsticks and salt cellars it is abundantly clear that the average Japanese person definitely has a finer grasp of the concept of the game that the Americans. The Yank camp is still resolutely convinced we are talking about American football!

At this point I have decided to throw in the towel, conceding the fact that the American way of thinking will never come around to the beautiful game, small relief, as they probably would have franchised it like McDonalds!

So content with my Japanese audience, (the Americans have left for beer and pretzels as it is half time) we discuss all the weird and wacky preparations they have been making in preparation for the invasion of the English hooligan -- strange that no other country seems to be adorned with that tag.

The Japanese have convinced themselves (largely through the NHK, the equivalent of the BBC) news programmes shown on TV that hooliganism is going to be a big problem. Daily bulletins show the police dressed up as hooligans pretending to cause chaos outside different football stations.

Unfortunately, this is well stage-rehearsed and the police seem to be causing polite (yes, polite) mayhem. After 10 minutes of arm waving and jumping around, their fellow policeman arrest them in an orderly fashion, pausing to bow before entering the white van. Again, I wonder if our fans will adopt this approach . . . bowing as they are about to be arrested? Anyway, Let's hope it doesn't get to that!

After work I pop to the nearest pub which happens to be five minutes from where I live. I know all the regulars in there and I am the only foreigner. The bar owner Teru San is a 40-year-old, who still likes to call me the English Foooligaaannn every time I walk in, leaving the Japanese regulars in stitches, and me not amused.

Today, he is smiling more than ever. Either he has put the price up on beer again or he is extremely pleased to see me. It is the latter thank the lord!

He points his chubby finger to the left hand corner of the bar where there is the biggest TV screen I have ever seen in my life.

Finally, I thought, he has actually understood the importance of the wonderful game.

My eyes well up with tears and I make to shake his hand for providing me with a place I can sit, enjoy a beer and watch my team make history.

As I turn and thank him, he abruptly interrupts me with a short burst of reality shattering Japanese: "Chris san, Ureshi nijikan Ja arimasen . . . World Cup Janakatee . . . Sono Terebi wa, American Baseball Deshoo!"

Translated: "Chris ! The TV is not for showing the World Cup, I got it for showing American baseball . . ."

I retort that the bar across the street (there are only two in my town) are pressing ahead with various events during the World Cup and maybe I will spend the next month hanging out there.

Japanese people never want to lose customers. I also know that the two bar owners are rivals when it comes to attracting customers.

So the following night in the bar across the street who should happen to be in there? Yes that's right -- Teru san, checking out all the so called frenzied preparations. It is a good thing I had hung some World Cup posters and my Bolton Wanderers top above the bar last summer.

Teru, convinced by now he is going to miss out on a lot of custom, hastily exits the bar and scuttles down the street -- not to be seen again for the rest of the evening.

The following night I see Teru outside his bar with what looks like an Indian mannequin he bought from some oddball knick-knack shop. More alarmingly it is kitted out in my Bolton Wanderers top. To the right of the dummy is a sign written in poor English saying: "Official World Cap bar of Tsunashima. Welcome all to football fooliganns."

Well, you got to give the boy points for a trying.

Shame I couldn't really communicate the meaning of the word fooligannns.

I suppose if he gives my shirt back and gives me a decent discount on the beer during the World Cup I might, just might, write him a better sign.

If he doesn't, I am going to put a letter 'r' in the word cap on his sign.

I'll let you know what happens during the coming month.