Same Song. Different Beat: The Experience of Soccer in Japan

Soccer teams like Arsenal FC are often derided by opposition fans for being quiet; their stadium full of supporters but lacking in atmosphere and crowd noise, to the extent that their old ground Highbury was nicknamed “the library”. In Japan, though, the silence that emanates is of a different, more poignant nature.

The country’s national league was set up all the way back in 1965, slowly gaining traction and popularity by the formation of the heavily promoted J-League in 1993, with the men’s national team benefiting greatly from the long term visions of grassroots development. Now one of the powerhouses of Asian football and a successful co-host of the 2002 tournament with South Korea, Japan has won a record four Asian Cups, even if it is yet to truly make its mark in a World Cup, only qualifying for the second round on two occasions.

Over the past two decades its star players have been prized away to the big clubs in Europe, with the likes of Hidetoshi Nakata, Shunsuke Nakamura, and currently Keisuke Honda plying their trade abroad under the spotlights of the elite UEFA Champions League competition, a testament to the quality of Japan’s youth development programs.

Visiting Yokohama on a Japanese trip a few years ago, I witnessed a game in the country’s second division, J2, far removed from all the glitz and glamour. The experience of watching a live match- and soaking up the fervour from the fans – confirmed my suspicions that this was something altogether different from being in grounds in, say, England, Germany, Turkey, or Australia.

After several years of supporting my local team, Sydney FC, where sides in Australia pride themselves on securing the services of a handful of ‘marquee’ star players, it was a lucky coincidence that Yokohama’s second team, Yokohama FC, had signed a familiar face. Kazuyoshi Miura, better known by his nickname ‘Kazu’, was the first Japanese player to play in Italy, and just happened to have had a successful four-game spell with the Sydney club. Visiting on only a two month loan, he left a mark back home with his technique, experience, and goals. Remarkably still playing at the age of 47 even today, Kazu was easily the biggest name on the team sheet amongst a combination of journeymen and promising youth players vying to follow in his footsteps.

The opponents that day were Vegalta Sendai, who later on in 2012 achieved a tremendous 2nd place J1 league finish after leading the table for most of that season, captivating the nation after being seemingly inspired by the devastating tsunamis that hit the northeast coast of Japan the previous year. On this sunny Saturday afternoon, however, they were merely the enemy, as fans of Yokohama FC beckoned their players on to victory and a precious three points to take them out of midtable mediocrity, with hindsight making Sendai’s rise to the top even more remarkable.

In sports we become accustomed to the ways in which people support their respective games; certain rituals that define and confirm our fanaticism. Take for example the limits of crowd noise in the US Open when compared to Wimbledon, or Chicago baseball fans singing along to “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” at Wrigley Field. Yet here I was, an ardent soccer fan in a soccer stadium watching 90 minutes of a typical league game, with the contrast between what I thought I’d known about soccer, and what I actually saw, being both jarring and inspiring.

Familiar chants rang through the 15,000-strong crowd, only in the equivalent Japanese. Banners with paintings of players and slogans were held proudly aloft in the style of Italian Seria A matches, but this time in a mixture of Kanji and Kana.

Instead of hot dogs or meat pies being sold around the stands, it was wasabi peas and Pocky sticks, with an ever-reliable vending machine of canned soft drink, coffee, and even sweet corn and congee never too far away, such is the demand for instant beverages and the reach of the Suntory company in Japan. Beer was available, though, as the distinctly family-friendly crowd made up of young kids all the way up to grandparents filled their seaths and called the vendors over for an Asahi or two.

As the game went on, more familiar signs of soccer’s unmistakable ‘language’ were present. The referee was booed and hissed as he awarded free kicks against the home team, and the occasional fan would leap out of his seat to let loose a volley of “Baga!” (“fool!”), albeit probably as mild an insult as you’ll hear at any sports event. But in between these occasional moments of atmosphere that would be enough to help one forget that they were in Japan at all, silence. And I’m not talking about the Arsenal type of lull, either – this was one of tranquility. Contemplation, even, as the malice and often almost-threatening vibe of a typical heated soccer game made way for the politeness and respect that somewhat defines Japan. Opposition fans were mocked via highly orchestrated songs conducted according to the loud beats of a drum, and it all sounded right, only without any of the vitriol associated with the sport elsewhere.

Stepping outside of the stadium for a half time cigarette, I ran into a group of hardcore supporters circling a little portable CD player with what sounded like The Ramones blaring out of its tiny speakers, decked out in denim vests covered in patches and wearing Doc Martin ‘bovver boots’ akin to fans of German and English teams from the 70s and 80s when hooliganism was rife. You see it everywhere in Japan, that unique interpretation of Western-inspired cultural iconism,  perhaps only with the additional trademark detail – an anime character or cartoon animal as a club mascot, for instance – that bring a smile to your face. And sure enough these ‘ultras’ were lovely in welcoming me to Japan, getting in a few friendly digs about the ongoing rivalry with Australia since encounters in the 2006 World Cup and following Asian Cups, sharing our worship of Kazu, and posing for photographs. Try doing that with the neo-Nazi supporters at some of the more notorious teams in Europe.

For the record, the match ended in an entirely forgettable 0-0 draw, despite Kazu and co’s best efforts. But thanks to Japan being so thoroughly Japanese even in its conduct at the soccer  – the Sendai fans were allowed to leave completely unharassed; that sort of thing doesn’t cut it over there – the memory stays close.

It’s extremely easy to full in love with the country, and the way in which they follow the game makes it an instant recommendation for any fan who finds themselves in a city over there with a representative team. If anything, the Japanese method of supporting soccer is arguably the ideal way of doing so – where they have taken on the behaviour of supporters in Europe and South America, but made it safe and welcoming enough for anyone to attend.

Soccer today too often finds itself mired in crowd violence, racist chanting, and fighting in the streets. But visit a game in Japan and you’ll be struck by the peacefulness of catching designated public transport to grounds, with fans of all ages waiting quietly and courteously along the way, draped in scarves and replica shirts just in case you had trouble identifying them in the absence of aggressive chanting and disruption on the train. The hardcore contingent are more easily noticed, though, even if they are a tad more lovable than intimidating.

Just don’t tell them that.