Friday, November 24, 2006
Real football
For football fans who, like me, despaired of the abundance of violence, conniving and gamesmanship during the World Cup; here's the chance to see the real thing.
The first weekend of December will see Real Osaka attempting to defend their trophy for the second time on the green, green grass of Awaji shima.
And here's our group draw!
Group A
Osaka Cinquecento
AC Kokusai Nagoya
Shimane
Real Osaka
Ehime/Kagawa
The most interesting point about this is the grudge match it allows us with Osaka Cinquecento (a collection of gaijin from the multimedia centre, named after a particularly squalid bar in Shinsaibashi.)
To scout out the opposition, I went drinking with a couple of them last night. Unfortunately, my espionage was not at its best; I got very drunk and kept insisting that they kick our manager, Tricky.
In order to redeem myself, I hauled ass to the gym this morning and ran off 10 km on the treadmill, spiced up with varying degrees of steepness (the machine has a button which says "hill" in Japanese) and the effects of the previous night's liquid dinner sloshing about in my stomach.
Dan passes 5.5 km, breathing hard. Sudden panic registers on his face as gas levels reach critical. Glancing around, he confirms that the other patrons of the gym are all wearing earphones. Then, without, breaking stride, he lets out a horrendous fart that sounds like a dinosaur's dying breath.
The stench also has much of the Jurassic about it, but this is of no concern; it is unlikely that anyone would be bold enough to pass comment and even if they did, the chicken that crows loudest is the one that has laid the egg, ce n'est pas?
The first weekend of December will see Real Osaka attempting to defend their trophy for the second time on the green, green grass of Awaji shima.
And here's our group draw!
Group A
Osaka Cinquecento
AC Kokusai Nagoya
Shimane
Real Osaka
Ehime/Kagawa
The most interesting point about this is the grudge match it allows us with Osaka Cinquecento (a collection of gaijin from the multimedia centre, named after a particularly squalid bar in Shinsaibashi.)
To scout out the opposition, I went drinking with a couple of them last night. Unfortunately, my espionage was not at its best; I got very drunk and kept insisting that they kick our manager, Tricky.
In order to redeem myself, I hauled ass to the gym this morning and ran off 10 km on the treadmill, spiced up with varying degrees of steepness (the machine has a button which says "hill" in Japanese) and the effects of the previous night's liquid dinner sloshing about in my stomach.
Dan passes 5.5 km, breathing hard. Sudden panic registers on his face as gas levels reach critical. Glancing around, he confirms that the other patrons of the gym are all wearing earphones. Then, without, breaking stride, he lets out a horrendous fart that sounds like a dinosaur's dying breath.
The stench also has much of the Jurassic about it, but this is of no concern; it is unlikely that anyone would be bold enough to pass comment and even if they did, the chicken that crows loudest is the one that has laid the egg, ce n'est pas?
