If Chelsea played Dagenham & Redbridge, what are the chances of the Dags winning? Would Costa get all 11 sent off? What would the bookies say?

If a World Chess Grandmaster played Ole Bill from darn the pub, who’d put their money on Bill?

If a Ferrari raced a Morris 1000; which would win?

Yet underdogs do taste victory. Its called ‘the Corbyn Effect’ when a total no-hope wanker beats off hi-powered opposition to win against the odds.

West Ham beat Man City yesterday. Same thing. Lesser degree. High powered City hadn’t conceded a goal all season, won every game, and Cockney scum Hammers go to the Etihad and remind them how to let goals in and lose games.

Yesterday’s world cup rugby match between the mighty South Africa and the lowly upstart Japan was just such an occasion. A formality for the Springboks, a hope for the Japs to keep the losing scoreline below the level of total humiliation. The odds given for a Bok win were 1-1000 (I kid you not). Put a thousand quid on and you’d have got 1001 back. Following the inevitable win. Alas (ish) those pesky Japs didn’t read the script. Nor put their yen on South Africa.

It was a totally brilliant match which on its own, defined the fabness of a World Cup.

Which is as much about your world view as it is about rugby. Because for a ‘neutral’, you can sit back and just enjoy a game, the outcome of which brings no upset nor glory on a personal level. For you. I’m Japanese so its a bit different.

So you sit on the couch and think: do I like the Japs? Do I like South Africans? Who do I root for. Whilst I’m just ‘watching the match in a neutral and non-partisan manner’.

The Japs have a bit of a history, the wars, the warlords, lots of torture, lots of violence and cruelty, a dodgy gearbox my mum had on a 1972 Datsun Cherry, plus they’re obsessed with winning, almost as if its a good thing. But in the green corner, there’s the South Africans. Most of whom look like the descendants of the original Boer Voortrekkers who created all that unholy shit down there for so long, in the name of some God or other. There’s Oscar Pistorius, but there’s Mandela. And its all fine. Until they speak. Because to hear English spoken by South Africans is not just an abuse of a wonderful language, it actually hurts your ears and sometimes makes them bleed. I don’t know why; that’s the way it is.

So for 70 minutes the Japs have kept up with the Springboks, scoring to match them and keeping it all level. Itself an amazing feat against one of the three best rugby teams in the world. Then a penalty put SA ahead by 3. And for the final 10 minutes the Japanese had the ball. Wave after wave, phase after phase, they kept cool, they pressed, they were quite amazing. They won a penalty. A chance to tie the game right at the end, but they declined it, taking a line-out instead so they could win, rather than tie. Then another penalty in the 79th minute. They took the scrum on the 5 metre line. Against the best scrimmagers in the world. And they carried on, and on, and on, until, at about 85 minutes, they scored the winning try.

I screamed. Woke Mel up. Didn’t care (I’d worry about the punishment later). The elation on the Japanese faces, both players and fans, was pure magic. Matched by the despair on those of the South Africans, put to shame by rank outsiders.

I felt inspired. I felt engaged. I felt… hungry.

So come on Spurs. (Tottenham is ‘twinned’ with Nagasaki; though only since last night so most people don’t know it yet). Bring out your inner Ninjas. We can beat Palace.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx