It’s 2002, and I am on the Shonan Shinjuku train to Saitama Stadium for a FIFA World Cup futbol match between England and Sweden. The World Cup for the first time is split between two nations – Japan and South Korea – and I am on the train with William, a friend and fellow journalist from London.

I have tickets to two USA matches in South Korea, but through strange good fortune, William happens to have an extra ticket for two Sweden matches, both in Japan … so here I am. But why Sweden tickets – if William’s English? Well, funny you should ask.

Unbeknownst to me, William has a shocking secret. In a previous life, he had been married to a Swedish au pair. Why shocking? Isn’t that every man’s fantasy? Take it easy. Let me continue.

It doesn’t take long for William to realize his spectacularly beautiful au pair is in actuality a femme fatale, as she runs off with a tall, dark and heavily-accented stranger. Or, as William puts it, “an Ecuadorian day laborer.” Apparently, while English and American men have fantasies about Swedish au pairs, Swedish au pairs in turn harbor fantasies about Latinos.

Throughout this extra-marital drama, William develops a terrific friendship with the au pair’s brother, Johan, of Malmö, Sweden. It’s Johan, the now ex-brother-in-law, who has extra World Cup tickets for the Sweden matches.

And that’s how I end up on this Tokyo train to Saitama, with William, Johan, and two of Johan’s friends, also from Malmö. Got all that? And that’s not even what this story is about.

So, we’re on the train, with our tall cans of Kirin beer in brown paper bags, and it’s deadly silent. I mean, absolutely no one is talking, not even the gaijin (foreigners).

Now, unless you are out binge drinking with a salary man, the Japanese typically are a fairly reticent people – especially in public. At the World Cup matches I’d seen on TV, only the end zones full of national team supporters were raucous, while the wealthy or connected Japanese – the ones in the plum seats between the goal lines – generally sat on their hands. World Cup futbol is not much more than a curiosity to most here, but it does offer a great opportunity to watch foreigners behave strangely.

As if on cue, I pull out my trusty Berlitz Japanese phrase book and dictionary – the one that promises “Travel with ease … communicate with confidence!”

In a slightly drunk and distinctly loud, American voice, I shout, “Kon-nichi-wa!” This is Japanese for “Hello!”  Silence. I continue:

“Watashi no namae wa Steve desu.” (My name is Steve.)
“Kankoo de kimashita.” (I’m here on vacation.)
“Biiru wa arimasu ka?” (Do you have beer?)
“Saifu o wasure mashita!” (I’ve forgotten my wallet!)

I explain to my entourage what I’ve just said – or tried to say in Japanese – and they laugh. These are phonetic pronunciations that Berlitz provides. The butchering is all mine. There’s now a sense of intrigue among the Japanese in the train car. I continue, speaking slowly, trying my best to enunciate:

“Sumimasen.” (Excuse me, please.)
“Nihongo wa amari hanase masen.” (I don’t speak much Japanese.)
“Seeri ga hyaku ka-getsu kan arimasen.” (I haven’t had my period in 100 months.)
“Byooin wa doko desu ka? (Where can I find a hospital?)
“Futsuka yoi no kusuri o kudasai.” (I’d like some medicine for a hangover.)
“Ichiban chikai saka-ya wa dokodesu ka?” (Where’s the nearest liquor store?)
“Moo ikanakutewa narimasen.” (I must go now.)
“Doomo arigatoo.” (Thank you very much.)

I’m on a roll. The Japanese in the train car are hanging on my every (mispronounced) word. I flip through the Berlitz book as quickly as I can, but still my cadence is off. There’s a strange silence in the car between lines, as I search for the next non sequitur. It helps that the pages are color coded: Health, Travel, Eating Out. I find the section labeled “Sightseeing,” which includes “Nightlife” and “Encounters.” Gold! I begin again:

“Goissho shite itadakeruka ureshii desu.” (I’d love to have some company.)
“Koko ni suwattemo ii desu ka?” (Do you mind if I sit here?)
“Watashi wa ninshin shite imasu.” (I’m pregnant.)

The Japanese on the train, other futbol fans, my friends – the whole car is howling with laughter now.

“Nani ga okashiin desu ka?” (What’s so funny?)
“Watashi no nihongowa son-na ni heta desu ka?” (Is my Japanese that bad?)
“Uchi ni kimasen ka?” (Would you like to come to my home?)
“Ima wa mada dame desu.” (I’m not ready for that.)
“Kamawanaide kudasai!” (Leave me alone!)
“Ashita mo aemasu ka?” (Can I see you again tomorrow?)
“Mata denwa shimasu!” (I’ll be in touch!)
“Gomen kudasai!” (Bye!)

The good-natured nonsense ends as the train slowly pulls into Urawa-Misono station. It’s a wild ride I’ll never forget. Always leave them wanting more.

END NOTE: The match ends in a 1-1 draw, which by all accounts is an epic victory for underdog Sweden. So everyone in our group leaves happy, save William, who at the moment is a very, very glum Englishman. But back in real life, William has the last laugh, as he marries a beautiful and brilliant Brit who works for the BBC. Meanwhile, the handsome Ecuadorian sits in prison after he tried to kill – you guessed it – the au pair. I hear she’s still available.