The shrine in Marunouchi is a little different to the 1500 or so others in Tokyo. It has the same trappings, an altar, a bell, paper lanterns and a coil of twisted rope, but it sits on a patch of bright green AstroTurf, and its torii, the distinctive red entry gate, is in the unmistakable shape of a set of goal posts. They even have a wrap of foam padding. There’s a bilingual sign outside inviting you to stop and “pray for the happiness of all people who love rugby”, and a little how‑to guide for all of us who don’t know how to do it. Ring the bell. Bow twice. Clap twice. Bow again.
It was busy on the Monday morning after Japan were knocked out. I sat on the bench opposite and watched a stream of people, little kids, middle-aged men, elderly ladies, go through the ritual. It sounds solemn, but it wasn’t. Everyone was smiling, and posing for photos. Then an old man asked if he could join me and we sat there together in silence. Until finally he started to laugh, a happy, high-pitched giggle that swirled like birdsong. He stopped to snort fresh breath, slapped one hand on his slacks, used the other to dry his eye, then started up all over again.
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