In the express lift in the hotel this morning we came down from floor 40 to the lobby at the speed of a dropping stone. After a long day yesterday the last thing the heart needed was to be catapulted upwards into the mouth. The lobby of the hotel is about the size of half a football pitch and was this morning like the arrivals area of an airport. Huge crowds stood in orderly herds behind thick ropes waiting to see who would step out of the lift next.
Come to see the cream of the western media intellegencia, we thought, as we gave the little Sonny Knowles wave and marched gingerly to the minefield that is the Japanese breakfast buffet, hoping not to have a repeat of yesterday's experience where we picked a harmless looking omelette only to discover a full-scale Mexican meal hiding inside.
We were wrong, of course. The punters are here for the only thing which really captivates them. The rivals of the local baseball outfit were pitched up (sorry) in the same hotel as us, and in Japan if you can swing a bat you get the Beatles treatment wherever you go.
You've never seen such orderly hysteria. A chap in charcoal grey baseball uniform would step out of the lift and cross the lobby with that insouciant air of the sporting superstar who can see the large crowd but pretends he can't and there would be a delirious outbreak of polite applause, there would be wild outburst of surpressed giggling. If beaming faces could give you sunburn the baseball fellas would be done to a crisp now.
This has been an odd World Cup, steeped in the character of the places which host it. Somebody who lived in Japan for a long time years ago told me that as you get to know the language and understand the nuances, the overwhelming politeness towards foreigners reveals itself as somewhat insincere and mocking.
I don't know if that's true or not, or at least if it's anymore true for Japan than it is for any other country, but you can only speak as you find.
The welcome and the helpfulness here has been as charming as it has been overwhelming. Everyone is keen to make a good impression and to have as good and orderly a time as possible.
"The teams will play a good game and then we will have good clapping," said the PA at the Republic of Ireland's friendly last weekend against Hiroshima, and that sort of encapsulates things.
At France 1998 the Japanese fans startled everyone by staying behind after games to clean up the section of the stadium they had been in. They must find us beery and boorish by comparison.
Our hosts have a way of doing things and appreciating things which is so buttoned down and inhibited that at times you can watch them watching us with scarcely disguised horror.
On Saturday afternoon in Niigata as we unsophisticated herds of sunburned micks wandered the plains the Japanese sought to get us into neat lines. They succeeded through their sheer polite insistence and seen from above the stadium must have looked like an octopus with great queues of people extending like arms from it.
Inside the ground, during the first half when the Irish looked as if they were going to keel over in need of resuscitation, the fans at the Irish end went silent for a while, leaving it up to the neutral Japanese to make noise. However, that isn't in their nature and a hypnotic silence descended on the place, a silence so pure that you could hear the players calling to each other as plainly as you can when they are on the practice field. There was a shudder and then The Fields of Athenry started up again. Silence followed by the best argument for bringing the silence back.
The Japanese find us loud and baffling. We must appear to them as check-trousered Americans appear to us when they roll off their tour buses in little Connemara towns.
In Izumo, as here in Chiba, there was a range of fine Japanese eateries in which to take off one's shoes and sample the local cuisine. They stayed empty. You couldn't fight your way into the Italian restaurant behind the media hotel though.
We amuse ourselves in all sorts of ways. In Izumo we were looked after by a lovely girl called Yoshiko who hugged us all desperately as we left her behind with her newly-expanded English vocabulary. Langer! Gobshite! Hoor! Go on ouddadat ya bollix! And then there are the Japanese camera crews who follow the team most of the day but turn their attention to the fans and the media when access to the stars is denied. They are fascinated by us. On Friday night there was a round-up of fans' activities from around the country. It was great stuff.
An Argentinian spoke some words of Japanese, some Germans held up a sign with Japanese lettering which we took to mean they were glad to be here, some Nigerians were performing a dance in a square and then a big red face with a green, white and orange wig and bad need of dental work filled the screen roaring "You'll never beat da Irish, you'll never beat the da Irish" and the camera pulled back to reveal a whole galaxy of similar red faces all roaring the same thing.
The best of Irish manhood, full bosomed, lusty-throated wanderers, clutching pints and swaying in several different directions at once. We got more airtime than any other country.
And then yesterday the lighter side of Stalinist purging. The rear end of the team coach is adorned by a group snap of the Irish side from which Roy's picture has been tactfully air-brushed so that the little mascot girl who was present for the shot stands in front of an empty space with just a ghostly disembodied hand resting on her shoulder. Wonderful.
As for us hacks - we're getting by alright thanks. The linguists among us have mastered the two phrases necessary for survival. Thanks: arrigato. Receipt: rishito onegai shimas. We have yet to learn the Japanese for "How much? Jaysus you can keep it", but by and large we are able to convey the sense of that thought.
To that end, in Chiba there are many restaurants of the golden arches which call to the adventurous souls among us. But that's just us, we come in a spirit of learning. We're lucky to be here. The Japanese are lucky to have us.
