Am awoken by the sound of Cian scampering down the stairs and into the toilet for an exceedingly early morning 'poo'. Today is his undokai, his first in elementary school and the boy is literally shitting himself with excitement. However, outside the rain is pouring down. I tell Sanae not bother getting up as its bound to be cancelled.
Saturday, 5:30am
I'm just drifting back to sleep when Sanae's alarm goes off and the girl gets up. It's still pouring outside. I point this out to her. In Japanese. But no, until official confirmation is received, she is in full on preparation mode. Should you live long enough in Japan you become painfully aware that following the rules too often triumphs common sense.
Saturday, 6:00am
I am just crossing over that fine line between drowsy wakefulness and pleasant slumber when the phone rings. It is the school telling us the undokai has been officially cancelled. The rain continues to pour down. Cian has started singing the 'shake samba' to Sanae's mother who is staying with us for the weekend. I give up and get up.
Saturday, 11:30am
The rain ends, the clouds clear and the sun comes shining through. Low tide is just after midday, so I grab my Bruce Jones and head for the beach. In life, my friends, you just have to play the hand that's dealt you. And if that hand is an afternoon's worth of surfing, then them be the (left-hand) breaks.
Sanae's alarm goes off. There's no rain this morning. She has to be up at the school ground to claim a viewing place.
Seriously.
Parents queue up to bag the best spots around the track. By rights this is the father's job but I claim cultural ignorance of such bizarre oriental customs. Sanae told me later that when she arrived there was already a queue of 20 people ahead of her. When the school principal let them into the ground they sprinted, yes sprinted, to stake out the prime viewing spots.
Sunday, 6:00am
There is the sudden onset of an artillery barrage. Or at least it sounds that way. In Japan schools notify parents and residents that 'sports day is a go' by letting off a series of deafening fireworks. At six in the morning. As several schools throughout Muroran were holding their undokais on the same day, this resulted in a barrage of early morning explosions across the city, not unlike, I suspect, Sarajevo circa 1994.
Sunday, 8:00am
The Takahashi members of the Gaynor-Takahashi family set off for the school, a good hour before events begin. I begin eating breakfast.
Sunday, 8:30am
I am still eating breakfast but have to field an exasperated call from Sanae as to why I'm not there yet. Because, I reasonably reply, things don't begin for another half hour and it's only going to take me about 8 minutes to walk up there. Reason, however, has no place on undokai day. Only emotions are welcome, especially those that run high.
Sunday, 8:52am
Arrive at the ground. They haven't even begun the speeches yet.
Sunday, 9:00am
Speeches begin.
Sunday, 9:16am
Four speakers later, the speeches end. I have no real idea what the School Principle, the head of the PTA, the representative from the city's Board of Education, and the local residents' association said, but I'm feeling pretty fired up all the same.
Sunday, 9:20
Events begin with some blood curling speeches from the leaders of the red and white teams respectively. Unlike back home, sports days in Japan are all about the collective rather than the individual. The entire school is divided up into red and white teams and results in the various activities go towards a points total. The team with the most points wins which ensures that individual glory is subsumed into the greater good. (If only some of the Clare hurlers could buy into this philosophy).
After the near hysterical rallying of the bán and dearg troops, 6 representatives of each team come forward and engaged in a dance off.
No, seriously.
A dance off.
I was so taken aback by the sheer Zoolander like awesomeness of it all that I forgot to take a video. And I will regret that till the day I die. It was like everybody was Kung Fu fighting, but to really, really bad Japanese pop music. Still, there kicks were indeed as fast as lightening. And yes, for some of us, it was a little bit frightening.
Huh!
It took a while for both the crowd and competitors to calm down after that display of expert timing, but then it was on with the games.
And the highlights were:
(1) Musical: the 'Shake Samba' was finally revealed in all its legs-and-arms-akimbo-purple-pom-pom glory. I have previously blogged about Cian's nascent talent as this century's Nureyev, but to see it begin to bloom into its full carnival like splendour... I tell ya, he'd kick Michael Flatley's arse any day of the week.
(2) The tug of war. Despite Cian's hackle raising roar of defiance - a sort of one man Haka - the white team were out muscled by the communist Reds. Too much individualism, not enough collective state socialism was Sanae's take on it.
(3) The 60 metre dash. I think the dancing took a lot out of him. That or his body was still caught up in the samba rhythm. How else to explain his unique 'windscreen wipers in heavy downpour' sprinting style.
(3) Thankfully by the time of the relay race he had managed to get his arms back under control. Ahh the relay. For sheer, heart stopping drama the only comparison I can make is with the '94 All Ireland Hurling Final between Offaly and Limerick. This race had everything - a seesawing change in positions throughout, deft baton passes, spills, falls, amazing turns of speed, and a photo finish.
You can, if you can take the tension, watch it in its entirety here.
11:30
And it's all over. At least for Cian and the rest of first class. The rest of the school has to plough on until half two, but after the relay everything else was just anti-climax. Emotionally we scaled the heights and then the sparse, wind blown tundra stretched before us and, well, I have no idea where I am trying to go with this analogy.
"We choose to build this human pyramid here today and do other things. Not because they are easy, but because we are Japanese".
Where's the sweet shop? Every sports day has to have a sweet shop!
ReplyDeleteWell, well, well...it's taken you only 15(?) years but you're on the road at last. And look at what you have to aspire to - London in the Connacht final next week! It can be done. And as if to give ye all some words of encouragement from the oul' sod, I quote that coach of coaches, that sage of sages, that bald man of the fine testosterone-loaded race of bald men (of course I am one), let this be your rallying cry, "We are GOING to do it!!!"
ReplyDeleteI look forward to umpiring at one of your matches!
Ps. Reason this GAA post is here, is I need your email for this bloody new configuration reply system! Ffs! you're only the other side of the world - how hard can it be to make it easier for us technophobes to send you abuse???