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World Cup Tickets — Is ¥95,000 a Lot?

The episode opens with a message from listener Hina, which leads the hosts into a conversation about attending a World Cup match. The ticket in question cost roughly ¥95,000. Everyone agrees that sounds expensive, but when you frame it against the wider World Cup pricing landscape—where certain seats can climb into the seven-figure range—the conclusion is that it was actually a pretty good deal. Compared with a regular club match the price difference is enormous, yet actually getting there still demands, as the hosts put it, "the resolve to have both the desire and the money ready."

Stadium Seating Tiers — Main Stand vs. the Goal End

Stadiums carve their seats into clear price brackets. The most expensive real estate sits in the center of the main stand. Because the pre-match player lineup faces that side, you get a symmetrical view of both teams and an experience that closely resembles watching on television.

At the other end of the spectrum is the goal end—gorura (ゴルーラ)—the cheapest section in the ground. You gain a close-up perspective on goals and defensive details, but the moment play shifts to the far side of the pitch, you are essentially watching dots. Since most of any match is played around the center of the field in non-scoring situations, the visual disadvantage is significant. Even so, the hosts describe it as "one of the most enjoyable areas in the stadium"—and the reason for that leads directly into the next topic.

The Ouendan — A Semi-Official Power Structure

The gorura is where the core supporters—the ouendan (応援団)—congregate. When away fans are few, they fill the goal end first; as their numbers grow they spread across the stadium, and when both sets of supporters arrive in roughly equal numbers the ground can end up split almost in half.

Chants are directed by a single leader holding a megaphone. This person is not on the club's payroll—the role is entirely voluntary—yet through years of custom and track record they wield what the hosts call "semi-official" authority. The club will sometimes engage in dialogue with this individual, which means the position sits in a curious grey zone: not fully unofficial, but not formally recognised either.

If you try to start a chant on your own, actual ouendan members will approach you and make clear that if you want to lead chants, you should join their group first. The wave—where fans stand and sit in sequence around the stadium—is open to anyone. Chants are a different matter entirely, governed by a tightly organised culture.

Two Kinds of Chant — Official and Mocking

Soccer chants fall broadly into two categories. The first is the straightforward, team-supporting variety familiar to fans everywhere, including in Japan. The second is the mocking chant (モッキングチャント): a joke at the expense of a specific player's appearance or personality. Mocking chants carry no official status—they emerge spontaneously when someone improvises a line that makes nearby fans laugh, and they spread naturally from there.

Not just any player becomes a target. The type who tends to attract mocking chants is the larger-than-life figure who plays with total disregard for everyone else on the pitch—someone the crowd has collectively decided "deserves it." A widely respected player like Kaoru Mitoma, for instance, would never be targeted. "He is too well respected," the hosts explain simply.

Zlatan Ibrahimović — "His Nose Is Offside"

The go-to example is a chant aimed at former Sweden international Zlatan Ibrahimović: *His nose is offside*. The joke fuses the size of his nose with the offside rule in a single punchline. The hosts' reaction ranges from mock horror—"That's terrible" / "They really do that?"—to a knowing acceptance: "But he does whatever he wants on the pitch, so it's only fair." The exchange closes with laughter and a shrug: "That's just how it is. That's soccer."