Catching the Japanese Wave

It'

s an hour before the Mexico-Croatia match in Niigata, and the Big Swan stadium is about three-quarters full. I'm in the upper tier, where people are working their way through their lunch boxes, distracted only occasionally by the chanting and singing of fans in the lower deck. The crowd to my left is mostly Japanese, although almost everybody is wearing the red-and-white checkered shirt of the European side. Diagonally across the stadium is a phalanx of Mexicans, around 2000 strong. These are real Mexicans, too, not just Japanese fans wearing green shirts. They're singing football songs in Spanish, banging on drums and tooting whistles. Many are wearing woollen ponchos, although it's 24C, and some are sporting what look like 50-gallon hats.

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Maybe it's this incongruious sight that inspires a group of around 20 young men in the "Croatian" section to try and organize a Mexican wave. What could be more appropriate for the occasion, anyway? For all the reports of carefully choreographed cheering and flag-waving at football games in Japan, I can testify that this was a purely spontaneous thing. It takes the young men around 15 minutes to convince the people around them to participate: the men line up and do a mini-wave, to show how it's done. Then somebody does a countdown...3...2...1.

The first attempt gets only as far as 10 rows before fizzling out. The try again, and this time it goes 10 rows further. Again, and another 10 rows. Each time, the originators lift their voices to encourage others to join in. By the fifth try, it's gotten about a quarter of the way around the stadium: it's still more a swell than a wave, but it's clear something is building here.

On the ninth attempt, the wave seems finally to have some sort of momentum. It undulates along the upper tier, heading slowly towards the Mexicans, its height varying from row to row. In some sections, only half the spectators bother to get up. Others haven't got the rhythm of it and get to their feet after their turn has passed. The crowd to my left are still shouting encouragement.

But the Mexicans don't budge — they invented the wave, for crissakes, and they're not impressed by this half-hearted sally. Some actually turn and look in the other direction: an outright snub. From across the field, I can sense the disdain. You'll have to better than that to get a rise out of us, the Mexicans are saying.

The Japanese are up to the challenge. Shouting louder, they set off a 10th attempt, putting their heart into it, bending low, then snapping their bodies up, hands raised to the fullest extent possible. Approaching the green contingent again, the wave is stronger now, with entire vertical rows rising in succession. As the moment of truth approaches, the cheering fades and the Japanese look anxiously across the stadium. Have they done enough this time to earn the Mexicans' respect?

YES! The green phalanx rises to its feet with the roar of a thousand Olés. It is a thunderous endorsement, and the Japanese respond with an explosion of relief and joy. The wave, a tsunami now, gathers speed and volume, each new row of spectators adding their voices — and drums, and cymbals and all manner of noisemakers — to the din.

The abruptly, silence. The wave has reached the media section, where jaded reporters can't be bothered to join the fun: the journalists affect poses of labor, hunching over laptops computers or notebooks with expressions of profound seriousness, as if they're writing mournful eulogies. But the press aren't going to poop this party. The spectators on the other side of the media section pause only for a second before rising in unision, and the game is afoot once more.

The wave has so much momentum now that it can't be stopped. It does a second circuit of the stadium, and this time it leapfrogs over the media without a pause. And again, for a third circle, but now it's beginning to lose steam. It's slower, and the din is dimming. Each row still rises, dutifully; so much enthisiasm and energy has been invested into this thing, nobody wants to take the responsibility of bringing it to a halt. Then the wave approached the Mexicans for the fourth time, and now the folks to my left, who started the who show, are no longer following its progress, they've gone back to their soft drinks and bento boxes. The Mexicans know it's time, and remain in their seats. The wave, having started with 20 and risen to 20,000, is dead.