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The J-League 13 Years On - The J-League reaches puberty at last

Darren Beach

Ten years ago this month I went to my first J-League match. I had only been in Japan for two days, and was invited to see Verdy Kawasaki take on Bellmare Hiratsuka at the National Stadium in Tokyo.

Now I'm no diehard terrace veteran who feels that football lost its soul when the seats and roofs were installed, but I had been to more than enough matches to know that this was nothing like the football experience I was familiar with.

I knew little about Japanese football at the time. Sure, I'd heard of Kazu and his Italian exploits. Yes, I was vaguely aware that Japan had beaten Brazil at the Olympics a couple of months earlier. And my friend babbled on incessantly about this cute keeper Kawaguchi whose face seemed to be on a million posters around town.

Yet little had prepared me for the shrill shrieks of the seemingly predominantly female crowd, the apparent discrepancy between the noise around me and the action on the pitch, and the sheer lack of any kind of tension or crowd menace beyond the kind you might find at a Take That signing session.

There have been exceptions. I well remember being at a Reds-Marinos clash in 1998, just weeks after the damp squib that was Japan's World Cup finals debut, when I heard the name of Marinos forward Jo Shoji roundly booed by the Urawa crowd upon its announcement - a reaction no doubt to his feeble performance in the national shirt in France.

Even so, that was hardly Sol Campbell at White Hart Lane - I wanted to sense the spark that only comes from there being some genuine tension in the match.

Fast forward a decade, and I'm back in Japan, determined to find out if the nation has embraced football fandom in the way that millions in Europe and South America would recognise. I went to two matches in successive weekends and found that fan culture is alive and kicking in Japan, but some things just haven't changed at all.

April 2006 - JEF United Chiba v Jubilo Iwata

I choose to go to JEF as it's a shiny new stadium for the football-starved Chiba public.

It's a sea of colour in the stadium, but barely a shirt to be seen on the train - people change once they are in the stadium. Taking my place on the edge of the singing area, I look down at where the 'cheerleaders' stand - skinny blokes wielding megaphones, their backs to the action on the pitch, bellowing instructions at the crowd. The fact that they can't even see what's happening on the pitch doesn't appear to matter very much.

I'm baffled that the JEF crowd is applauding the away fans. Each team takes its turn to do their chants - the JEF end silent as if taking a breather while the Iwata away end has a sing-song. The voices are certainly lower than ten years before, which is one major difference - much of the faddish support of the early years vanished in the J-League's dark period in the late 90s, and there definitely does seem to be a much more regular, organically developed local support.

The singing doesn't stop even when JEF are awarded a free kick on the edge of the box. The feeling is odd and somewhat irritating - I'm used to crowd noise reflecting the ebb and flow of the game, and to me the constant, ceaseless 'official' chanting is ruining any spontaneity - it descends into sudden silence.

The chanting is reminiscent of some dreadful Eurobeat summer hit, lots of Italo-pop style "Wo-oah-aoah!" plus player's name. When the away fans sing, no-one boos or mock, which appears to show that in some ways the opposition is there as a supporting act rather than a team to be beaten.

The style of play is fast, pacey and with tremendous close control. As anyone who saw Japan in any of their World Cup matches in Germany would recognise though, the problem is they don't create many probing openings or have much composure in front of goal. As with much of Japanese life, it's a matter of individuality - taught to respect the group and not the one, so many players are ill-equipped to take on the responsibility of trying to score.

I let my mind drift and a strange thought appears - never did supporting football look more right-wing. In front of me is a sea of yellow-clad right arms held firm, like Freddie Mercury at Live Aid crossed with the scene at a Nuremberg rally, scarves later waving in unison.

You can't help but marvel at the great marketing triumph that is the J-League - selling more paraphernalia than a stand-full of fat, replica-shirted Geordies will ever bring in, a decade and a half now of branded goods for every occasion from the CDs that told fans what to sing back in 1992 to the mobile phone straps of 2006.

The match ends imperceptibly and almost apologetically, as the singing continues without pause as the ref's whistle blows on a goalless draw. It was entertaining, but I feel a bit let down - I was rather hoping the fans would have responded to the team rather than going through the orchestrated motions.

Afterword

A week later, a glorious spring Saturday, and it's the Saitama derby. Around 90% of the 60,000 present are decked in red, making the scene resemble of those Spanish tomato-throwing festivals. There's a lot more noise than at JEF, and this time it isn't led by anyone.

There's a derby atmosphere, and massive whistling when the Omiya team is announced. A year ago, Ardija defender Yukio Tsuchiya was responsible for Reds striker Tatsuya Tanaka's broken leg and he is royally harangued from the stands for the entire match, which Reds win 2-0 despite not playing that well, in part thanks to their supporters urging them on constantly and at the right times.

My faith is restored- this is the kind of match I wanted to see - noise, tension, action, colour but bereft of a genuine threat. I leave with a smile on my face, bump into Zico in the lift and wish him all the best for the summer in Germany.

Darren Beach

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