After a six-week whirlwind travel schedule, I’m finally (and happily) back “home” in Tokyo.  The Mrs. won’t join me here until mid-August (she’s following the standard expat schedule that involves the wives and kids spending the bulk of the summer back home in the states), so Hurley and I are alone for the next month or so.  Crazy things are expected to happen…but they won’t.

The day after I returned from abroad, I had the pleasure of experiencing a rare but exciting event – a buddy from the states came to visit me.  Using the Notre Dame Japan Bowl as a hook, I convinced one of my best friends, Coley, to come out for a couple days.  A fellow subway alum himself (though he’s got a greater claim to Irish fandom since his dad played on the 1966 national championship team), I figured he’d be intrigued by the chance to see a collection of ND alumni play against Japan’s national football team.  If anything, it was sure to make for some fun unintentional comedy.  Sure enough, he bit.  And so began a four-day orgy of incredible food, Lacavulin 16, back-handed high-fives, and Tokyo night clubs (namely Feria), sprinkled with a healthy dosage of Paul Rudd (his recent turn on SNL was magical, especially the digital short with Andy Sandberg), Sacha Fierce, mediocre football, Breakerz, drunk dials to the wives back home, and bouts of philosophical existentialism.

Regarding the main event itself, the football game turned out to be a bit of a drag.  Though the tailgating was just what the doctor ordered (the free-flowing beer and brats helped heal our wounds from the previous night), the game was quite possibly the most horrific display of football I’ve ever seen.  That might be a stretch, but it was really, really bad.  Believe it or not, the Japanese field a decent national football team, just recently placing third in the World Championships.  However, they didn’t have much to show on Saturday, save for an early field goal that put them ahead 3-0.  The rest of the game was defined by Irish brute strength.  The offensive line paved the way for the the power running of Jay Vickers who, among other things, threw a stiff-arm for the ages that saw a poor Japanese DB get thrown five yards like a rag doll.  The defensive line managed just enough pressure on the crafty Japanese QB to render their aerial assault largely useless.  And Mike Goolsby – a freakish athlete when seen up close – did the rest to help the Irish to a 19-3 victory.

What was annoying about the display was the incredibly lame gameplan put together by legendary Irish coach Lou Holtz.  Ever the competitor, he was determined to win, aesthetics be damned.  The result was a game of smashmouth that saw the Irish literally attempt just one downfield pass the entire game.  The rest of the offensive gameplan involved about 70% Jay Vickers, 10% Ray Zellars and 20% QB sneaks featuring not Tony Rice but Ambrose Wooden, who didn’t play a down of QB in college (and is better remembered as #22 in this video).

We salvaged an otherwise bland affair with a turn on the Thunder Dolphin, a roller coaster in the Tokyo Dome City amusement park that is as fun as its name is cheesy.  After the obligatory drunken fast food stop, we crashed pretty hard once we made it home.  Having not left Feria the night before until 5 AM (it was literally daylight when we emerged from the club’s dark confines, providing a bit of a shock to the senses), we were at that point running on fumes.  Our sluggishness resulted in us arriving to the Irish afterparty at the Ritz around 10:30 PM, just in time to see the last remnants of the event stream outside, leaving half-eaten mounds of party fare in their wake.  The only saving grace for us was a quick pat on the back to Lou and the securing of four gameday hats.  Otherwise, the affair was a wasted one for a couple of blokes that coughed up some serious coin for the honor of attending.

Nonetheless, the long weekend scored an unmitigated success on all fronts.  Below are a few photos to serve as evidence that we were actually there (we both managed to operate sans camera all weekend, leaving us to rely solely on my Blackberry which, as you can see, is one terrible camera).

Here’s a shot of the game from roughly midfield:

This may or may not be Coley and me:

These are unidentifiable fish balls that we purchased from a stadium vendor.  We each took a bite and are still trying to eliminate the aftertaste.  That little white/gray speck snuggled at the top is an octopus remnant spit out by yours truly.

In the next post, I’m going to put together a little playlist from our weekend.  At the very least, Coley is sure to get a kick out of the compilation.

Cheers!  And Go Irish!