Tomorrow will be my last official day at school.  For those who don’t know I am moving to Osaka in August to pursue a more urban living experience during my last few months in Japan.  As part of the ‘closing ceremony’ I will have to give a farewell speech.  I know enough Japanese for this to be not too daunting a prospect.  Whether my voice can stay free from emotion for the duration is of more concern right now.

For the past few weeks I have been saying good bye to my various elementary school classes, in itself a sad activity.  It is not made easier when kids give you letters saying “We will never forget you,” and so on.  But it is at the junior high where farewells will be most difficult.  Two years passes very quickly and everyone at this school, teachers and students, has given me such great memories - I will never forget them.

That I will be moving to two hours away makes the passing a little easier.  This is not a final farewell.  I am not going half way across the World.  I will return intermittently.  When my time in Japan does come to an end I will be able to leave quietly and at a time more of my choosing.  Slipping away is more my cup of tea than the fanfared farewell.  There is something about ticker tape that has always fascinated me though.

I am in the process of packing up my house.  Sorting through two years worth of memories and keepsakes is not something that I, as an emotive hoarder, particularly enjoy.  Letting go, leaving behind, looking forward, and moving on are all part of saying good bye.  Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier.  Tomorrow will be a sad day.  British stiff upper lip be damned.

Looks much better now.

Broken Hand

Originally uploaded by donsimon1980

This is what my hand looks like now.

I have to wear this brace for two more weeks.

Writing and using chopsticks are difficult. It is inconvenient.

I type this words with a brace on my right hand.  It is difficult.  I arrived at school on Monday with a severely bruised right hand.  My little finger was hanging at a strange angle and it hurt to straighten it.

By Tuesday the situation hadn’t bettered so I asked the school nurse for her opinion.  She took a look and shook her head.  She thought it was broken annd recommended a hospital visit.

My doctor in these parts has two sons at my school.  They are both on  the football team.  One teacher told me once that he thougt the older son ran like a ballet dancer.  In a way he does.  Light on his feet but rotund of body.  An incongorous sight.

The Doc took some x-rays and showed me the fracture.  It was small but clearly visible.  He then called in the nurses.  They placed my arm on a stole and grasped it tightly.  “This will hurt,” said the Doc.  He pulled my little finger forcefully as he pushed down on the fractured joint with all his might.  It was exquisitly painful.  After a minute of this purgatory the nurses bound me up and took some more x-rays.  You could clearly see the benefits of the Doc’s pushing as the knuckle looked much more like its neighbours.

I will wear the brace for three weeks.  I had told the Doc that when I was playing football someone had kicked the ball and it had bent my little finger back.  As I was leaving he said,”It looks like you hit your hand on something really hard just here on the knuckle . . . funny that isn’t it . . . oh well see you in three weeks.”

Doctors are clever people.  I respect them and the bounds of patient - doctor confidentiality.

Many years ago a Japanese scholar selected his top three places in Japan. This tradition has continued and the ranking of things in treble multiples continues to this day. I live near one of the top three panoramic views and one of the top three beaches with squeaky sand.

This is a picture of Steve, the Kyoto ALT football teams star striker, and a mutilated snake. Despite the look on his face suggesting otherwise the Bostonian ceramicist did not chomp his way through the mid section of the hapless serpent - he was merely removing it from the field ahead of our first game against Kochi (see below).

A Black Kite had apparently decided to disembowel the unfortunate slippery fellow on our pitch.

It proved lucky for us. We won the game 2-0. It is a good picture, maybe even one of my favourite three.

We came and were conquered, but it was fun.  There were too many of them.  They were too strong.  The Kyoto team didn’t win the ALT Football Tournament but we did get to the quarter finals and acquit ourselves to an extent where pride could justifiably be felt.

The trip to Awaji was uneventful – the team taking the time to get to know each other.  For many of us it was the first time we had met.

Hotels were basic but comfortable.  There were beds.

The weather on Saturday was English.  The grey skies and drizzle a definite blessing with the prospect of four games in quick succession looming.

Our first opponents were Kochi.  Clad in Yellow, looking and playing like the 118 boys, they were easily dispatched 2-0.  A pleasure to play against they brought the biggest, loudest, most vociferous, squad to the tournament. 

Our next opponents played in orange . . . where they were from I cannot remember.  The score: 2-2.  They were tougher than Kochi but much less fun.  Our keeper made there biggest player cry.  A rugby type tackle leaving him with blood in his mouth.  Nice one keeps.  Sadly their player had already kicked the ball goalwards before he got taken out. My recollection of the game is hazy, I do know that I gave the ball away for one of that goal. 

My poor distribution was to prove costly in our next game.  Fukuoka provided us with our first loss, 1-2.  We went a goal up after their keeper who was otherwise excellent put a corner into his own net.  We were under almost constant pressure there after and with only a few minutes remaining had only conceded one goal.  Heartbreak was not far away though.  Another terrible pass from yours truly leading to a last minute goal from the Fukuoakans.

Our final game on the Saturday was against Real Osaka – a team, rumours suggested, thought they would beat us 7-0.  They were a strong team.  Fast, well organized, fit.  They were ahead 2-0 at the break but had enjoyed almost constant possession.  At 13 players our squad was the smallest in the tournament – by this stage we had gone beyond knackered and were fast approaching exhaustion.

At half time it emerged that Osaka had two Japanese semi-pro players in their ranks. They enjoyed differing second halves.  One went off injured after I tried to get the ball from him (he was too fast, but I don’t show pain on the pitch); the other scored a great goal – ball to the far post, ghost behind full back, side foot volley into the corner of the net. 

We had played four 30 minute games, the same as a professional would play in a game that went into extra time.  It is not often that I experience the feeling of giving complete physical effort.  When I was younger I played football, and not much else, but was easily fit enough to cope with two hours of play.  I stopped playing at 16 and promptly lost my fitness.  I have never really regained it.

By Saturday evening I ached.  Even muscles in my neck and chest I had not communicated with before were talking to me. 

After a most hearty and welcome buffet dinner and some delicious cake provided by our English supporters it was time for drink.

The first sip of beer tasted good, but before it had even reached the back of my throat I felt ready for slumber.  Earlier in the day I had lent some insoles to a member of the Wakayama team, who now repaid me with beer.  Soon I had consumed a fair few drinks.  By the time the quiz (football and Japan questions) had started I was almost sleeping.  For the record Junichi Inamoto did not score Japan’s first World Cup Finals goal.

There was a club-like party going on downstairs, more drinks, some dancing, some idiot telling me he liked my style and I was real smooth just because I was dancing with some girls.  Time flew.  By 12.30 sleep was all I could think about. Leaving the dance floor I passed a Kochi girl wearing hot pants.  She looked good.  We stood smiling at each other, her eyes twinkled, mine said “Sorry you are fit but I am about to fall asleep standing up.”  

I woke up with a slight headache, feeling like anything would be preferable to playing football.

Our results on Saturday meant Kyoto were one of six teams who had to contest passage to the quarter finals.  Multiple tiredness and sporadic hangover did not stop us beating our friends from Wakayama 2-0.  We were safely through to the last 8, our last minute adversaries Fukuoka blocking the path to the semi finals.

This time the game was decided long before the final whistle.  We lost 3-0.  Fukuoka were a good team, full of energetic running and movement, with a brilliant goal keeper, but they were not 3 goals better than us.  The previous days’ 2-1 was a truer reflection of our relationship, and that game we were unlucky to lose. 

So we were out.  Fukuoka went on to reach the final where they were beaten by Real Osaka.  We could hold our heads high, even though it was painful to do so.  Considering the team had only just met, we acquitted ourselves well and had fun doing so.  As we trudged off wearily off the pitch my eyes met those of the hot panted Kochi girl.  She was not as hot as I had thought the night before.

I was playing left midfield, or hidari half as it is known here. The former professional passed to me. I dummied as if to go back toward my own goal, drew in my opponent, knocked it passed him and was gone up the line. He was quick to get back at me though, but I held him off and he slipped to the floor, the ref ignoring his shouts. I cut inside. One of their centre backs was coming out to meet me but I slipped the ball passed him and into the path of our centre forward. A lovely pass. He comfortably beat his marker, cut back onto his right and smashed the ball high into the net.

That made the score 1-1 but sadly it was the last good thing that I, or the rest of the team, would do. We eventually lost the game 4-1.

After about the first 10 minutes I was absolutely knackered. As the game wore on I struggled to keep up with the play. When I had the ball I was fine. Sadly this was not often and I spent the rest of the game chasing and kicking shadows.

The game took place in Amino at a pitch I have previously described as the most beautiful I have ever played at. Last year we won this game 2-1.

This weekend I will play for the Kyoto team at the ALT Soccer Tournament. My legs hurt but glory beckons. Something wicked this way comes.