BARRY WRITES... This is a piece I wrote back in 2013 for a football website. A lot has changed since then, in the J. League, for S-Pulse, and for myself (and I'm sure for you!). That website is no longer around, so I'm posting it here to make sure it's not lost to time.
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November 2003, and I’m propping up a bar in downtown Shizuoka city.
- “Shimizu Impulse?”
Getting my team’s name wrong. An inauspicious start to my career as a J. League fan.
- “No, mate. Shimizu S-Pulse” my fellow Brit corrected me.
- “Fair enough, but what the hell's an S-Pulse?”
- “No idea.”
Having moved abroad, the first thing I did – like any Englishman in
need of football – was seek out my new local team – just something to
fill in the Saturday afternoons while I was separated from my “proper”
team. What followed wasn’t part of the plan. Thoroughly seduced by the
J. League’s charms, the last decade has seen a vaguely interested punter
evolve into a fanatical Shimizu supporter, replete with a minor level
of celebrity at their Nihondaira home as “that foreign guy”. What was
meant to be one quick year in Asia has extended to over a decade, down
in no small part to that irresistible team in orange: Shimizu S-Pulse*.
Yesterday and Today
Think of the J. League and, if you’re Italian or Brazilian, you may
think of Jubilo Iwata, the club Toto Schillaci and Dunga helped to claim
several titles in the late Nineties. With Ossie Ardiles having been in
charge during one of S-Pulse’s more successful spells, the Argentines
amongst you might think of my own adopted team. As an Englishman, I
always recalled Gary Lineker running around in the garish red and yellow
of Nagoya Grampus Eight.
When I first stepped off the plane, the J. League was still only in
its 12th year, but times had changed. The above image of Japanese
football, one of ageing Western stars picking up a fat pay cheque in
their twilight years, was already outdated. The reality is that few, if
any, teams can currently afford the inflated wage demands of
ready-to-retire superstars. You’ll find them more likely to head to
China’s booming Super League or Australian’s A. League. The most recent
big name to try out J. was Freddie Ljungberg in 2011. Life in Japan
failed to meet his expectations and he was gone within six months.
The league soon passed beyond the initial boom, with economic
conditions reaching a nadir in the late Nineties. The low after the high
was sufficiently severe to see one team unceremoniously merged with
another (I use the term loosely because, as any fan will tell you,
Yokohama Flügels was effectively dissolved). However, boosted by the
2002 World Cup, the situation recovered and stabilized, and currently
the J. League operates on a solid business plan, within the present
financial realities. Slow and steady expansion has seen the number of
teams reach 40, and a third tier is due to kick off next year.
These days, the biggest names are the returning heroes from abroad.
Shunsuke Nakamura single-handedly added hundreds to the average Yokohama
F. Marinos gate, and Shinji Ono shifted merchandise to rival that of
any overseas star when he moved home from Germany. The time will
eventually come for Shinji Kagawa and Keisuke Honda to return, and
whichever team shells out for their wages will rake in millions via
merchandising appeal.
Up Nihondaira Way
Shimizu S-Pulse never had been one of the big players at bringing in
foreign stars. Unlike the remaining nine of the original 10 clubs,
S-Pulse was not an ex-company team turned pro. This meant lacking the
clout of a multinational’s backing. Mitsubishi? Nissan? Yamaha? All
spawned readymade teams for the new league, complete with multimillion
yen backers. S-Pulse was established by local companies and people,
never quite enjoying the same financial advantages. Rather than players,
their most well-known names would come from within the managerial
record. Ardiles, for example, was succeeded by former Spurs team mate
Steve Perryman.
Unaware of any of this in April 2004, when I was heading up to
Nihondaira Stadium for the first time, my naive images of former Serie A
and Premier League names flooding the pitch were blasted out the water.
But as it turned out, my first game – Shimizu S-Pulse vs Urawa Red
Diamonds – was a corker. 2-0 down at half time, S-Pulse rode out 4-3
winners. The boys in orange had staged a fightback after which it would
have been perverse not to fall in love with them.
Nihondaira, in common with many of Japan’s stadia, lacks adequate
protection from the elements, so my next game was spent huddled under a
plastic 100 yen umbrella, attempting in vain to avoid the effects of a
raging typhoon. To top off that soggy evening, visitors Cerezo Osaka
poked home a late winner. It mattered not. The seeds of a love affair
had been planted at that seven-goal thriller.
UK Ultras?
I was instantly hooked on the huge flags and unrelenting samba, but
above all it was the sense of freshness that was most captivating; a new
team and a clean slate, a world away from my native Brighton’s
third-tier struggles. New stadia to explore (including some which had
been burnt into England’s consciousness during the Japan/South Korea
World Cup), some wonderfully named opponents, and a refreshingly laid
back attitude to alcohol – it proved an irresistible combination.
Discovering it acceptable to bring your own drinks, I began arriving at
the stadium earlier and earlier. The couple of hours before a game
usually spent down the pub got transplanted inside the stand, with a six
pack and a pack of cards. After all, the season largely avoids winter
by running from March to December, providing no shortage of long summer
evenings.
For the next few years I would drag not-especially-interested friends
up Nihondaira to enjoy the sunshine, beer and football. The UK Ultras
website and accompanying books and t-shirts have all come about more
recently, and for that you can thank the hospitality of one young fellow
named Takumi. His innocent greeting lit the fuse which ultimately led
to a well controlled habit exploding into full-blown obsession. Foreign
faces are not uncommon at Japan’s soccer stadia, but my repeated
presence would lead locals to strike up conversation, curious to know
what kept bringing me back. In 2008 it went a step further as Takumi-san
insisted I join his group nearby. As luck would have it they were some
of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and over the coming months we developed
into a loose gang, calling ourselves the UK Ultras.
A website to document our adventures followed, but with Shimizu
depressingly disinterested in global marketing, it became a window for
the world into S-Pulse. With that in mind, the focus has shifted more
onto publicizing the team worldwide. Now into our sixth year, the UKU
fly the flag all over the country, trying to have some laughs while
we’re at it. Not always easy when in those six seasons we’ve
seen zero silverware and witnessed four cup semi final and three cup
final defeats.
The idea of our own ultras troop was always tongue in cheek, but soon
developed a serious edge. We’ve covered thousands of miles and spent
countless games together, endured numerous no-score draws, occasional
on-field heroics and enjoyed some unforgettable away days. Having been
absorbed into a group of regular fans, I’ve been permitted to experience
the J. League from the inside. The experience has ensured my
affiliation for S-Pulse strengthened beyond anything that went before.
10 years ago I wouldn’t have believed that my support for Brighton could
face competition, but fortunately, barring an unlikely Club World Cup
meeting, I’ll never have to choose between the two.
It may be the dynamic nature of football in Japan – new teams joining
the league, extra divisions being added, the continued strides made by
national team – but 10 years have passed in a heartbeat. The longer I
stay, and the more I travel the country with my horde, the stronger my
affinity to my club and home city becomes. Trekking eight hundred miles
to Sapporo to stand and shout for Shimizu is these days as much about
representing my home town as it is supporting the team. It’s become much
the same as following my team around England. The same, but different.
The J. League is worlds apart from football in England. The fans are different. Very different. Yes, they do spend the whole 90 minutes singing, not even pausing for breath when they concede a goal. Yes, there is a lot of arm-waving and scarf-twirling, and yes there is a
far greater mix of women and children in the crowd. Banter between home
and away ends may be largely lacking – anathema to most European fans –
but with three points for a win and one for a draw, ultimately how
different can football really be?
Since the league began, a lot has happened. What was once an ageing
stars’ retirement home now couldn’t be further from it. This is a
fascinating league, with good and improving native players. The limits
placed on non-Japanese playing staff are unlike anything that could
exist within the EU, but they guarantee the protection and development
of local talent. Japan reaching the last 16 in South Africa was anything
but luck, and the complaints about a lack of competitiveness leveled at
some top leagues cannot be directed at J1; in the last 10 years, seven
different teams have claimed the title.
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
When I first learnt of Shimizu, I’d have been incredulous at the idea
of growing so wrapped up in their fortunes. It’s been a pleasure, but
becoming involved to this degree brings with it an accompanying dilemma.
As time passes and the pull of my homeland grows stronger, at some
point I will be forced to make a decision. Do I one day leave the team
behind, deserting my brothers in orange, or do I elect to never
regularly watch my old team again? This may well be the cause of
sleepless nights to come.
As tough a quandary as it is, the UK Ultras are not about to fold up
their flag any time soon. For starters there is the second half of 2013
to worry about. Right now we’re focused on enjoying the home games,
covering as many away miles as possible and maybe, just maybe, someday
seeing Shimizu claim their first J. League title. Recent finishes of
ninth and 10th may not suggest it is coming soon, but an undeniable
charm point of J1 is its unpredictability. Recent champions Nagoya,
Kashiwa and Hiroshima can all be said to have emerged from relative
obscurity to claim the title.
Early in my first season following Shimizu, I brazenly swore to stay
in the country until I saw them lift the championship trophy. I may yet
be here a while. But joking aside, S-Pulse have moved far beyond the
point of novelty, and my life as a supporter in Shimizu has largely
become football as usual, just in Japan. It’s an ongoing journey, and
long may it continue.
*In case you’re wondering, S-Pulse is a combination of the ‘S’
from Soccer, Supporter and Shimizu, and the ‘Pulse’ of the city, beating
to the samba rhythm of exciting football. Simple.
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