Time

So I've finally got enough time to write a post, between the time I've spent decidedly not doing university work and avoiding the teachers in my office, after I accidentally down-scaled the print queue, from A4 to B5.  Whoops.

So at the weekend I went to an old boys game at Iwasaki, followed by a bout of ridiculous drinking.  A few things struck me, but I am going to proceed in chronological order so it might take a while to get there.

First up, the game was a simple friendly game of touch.  We played on a pitch that was, quite literally, an inch underwater due to heavy rain the night before, and was never one of the best to begin with.  In essence, it was a bowl of mud, with some mud thrown in for extra mud.  I forwent socks in favour of the South African style no socks.  A choice that I'm glad I made, all told.

An hour before the match I went outside and started place-kicking; something I've not done for a very long time.  I was surprised at how enjoyable it was, but my hamstrings hurt like hell afterwards.

I was hitting around 45% when I was kicking from the pitch, but I couldn't actually place the ball on any firm ground - it floated away before I could kick it.  I therefore switched to the corners, aiming at the uprights from the side.  The aim being to hit the only post visible from that angle.  I managed to squarely hit it once and graze it a few times.  I managed to get bloody close though, and the majority of my attempts were exceedingly close.  I would probably give it a 75% hit rate for normal conversions, which is okay I suppose.  It turns out that having a patch of grass to kick from, rather than a puddle, makes things substantially easier.

The matches were fun, but being touch aren't really worth commenting on.

So I was originally supposed to stay at the after-party until 10.30 at which point I would catch the last train home.

Interestingly, the last train home did not, in fact, go home.  It stopped half a dozen stops before my transfer station, so it became impossible to go home.  Having got a lift to the station, I trudged back to the party.  It's amazing how bright the night is here, I could see the local big city radiating light over the brow of a hill as I walked, and even thought there was no sound, it looked like a there was a massive incandescent fire rolling around just out of view.  That or a jellyfish.

I can't decide whether that view was because the city is just so bright, or because that particular area was so vast and rural.

Anyway, trudge I did, and upon re-entering the party a small arm-wrestling competition had broken out.

Being the foreigner, I was invited to challenge one of the underlings (everyone is ranked by ability in everything, so the club had a champion who designated who should compete with who).  I dispatched the underling (a lock I believe) raising an eyebrow here or there.  I then competed with the old master, a prop who was more prop than man, but under his belly lied a strong arm.  I beat him, setting up a title fight with the king of the fiefdom.  It was a surprisingly long battle, with a man who weighed 135kg's (another prop.)  The table took a battering, with it bowing in the middle (we were both holding onto either edge, so we were essentially folding it around our elbows.)  After what felt like an eternity, he relented, allowing me to slam his hand down in glorious victory.

After about ten minutes of recovery time, he asked for a rematch.  I made him promise that this was the last (my shoulder still aches) and we were fighting for national pride once more.  The man hits the gym regularly, and he isn't weak, and in this second fight, as he was straining with all his might, he sprang a leak.  As blood burst forth from his nose, his elbow began lifting, and at its peak was three inches off the table; at this point he was essentially scrummaging my arm off the table with his whole body.  This had ceased to be an arm wrestle.  The table was decidedly more U-shaped than when it began, meaning that to win, we needn't push the opponent far.

After much blood, and four people holding the table down, I was declared the victor.  It was more of a technical knockout as I don't have the ability to bend others to my will, I simply hold out long enough for them to wear down and tire out.  It's an extremely slow process that involved more than a few words of swearing.

Anyway, after this, I settled down with an orange juice and wore the night down talking to a crazy woman and the man who introduced me to this particular club in the first place.  It was quite interesting, but I would have rather been at home.

I bedded down in the club room (on a futon, with a pillow and everything) to be awakened (after the worst nights sleep ever) the next day.

At this point, I would like to add a few photographs, but wouldn't you know it, home beckons.  I'll finish it up tomorrow.

So it's now tomorrow.

I wanted to show you the picture of me sleeping, but my friend deleted it, so now no one will ever see!

What I will show you is this:

This was shortly before some seriously crazy shit happened.

Everyone appears relatively sober at this point.  It's worth noting that the stuff they're holding up is showing support for one of the towns affected by the earthquake, something akin to 'do your best.'

That must be a captivating stain on the floor.

I have completely zoned out in the picture.  Your guess is as good as mine as to why, why goddamn I look terminally stupid.  Also, I don't know why I'm wearing shorts.  It's three degreee outside (hence why I'm wearing my coat inside).

Also, this was taken immediately prior to the main event of the evening - naked rugby.

A group of lads went outside (in the freezing night) completely starkers.  One of them had a headband on, securing a strange flag.  I don't know why.

This was in front of everyone as they took photographs and videos - they seemed to love it.

Interestingly for me, it was also in front of some of the kids.  There was obviously nothing sexual, but these guys would have been arrested, locked away for 25 years and put on the sex offenders register in England.  Remember, naked =/= sex.  Yet another reason why christianity should be outlawed (and all religion for that matter).

I don't have any photos of that.  Sorry ladies.