Alastair Himmer

I have big hands and am 6-ft 4-ins. I can palm a basketball, and dunk it -- just about. It's not often meeting athletes I feel weedy.

Until the All Blacks and Wallabies came to town.

Last weekend's Bledisloe Cup test in Tokyo between the hulking trans-Tasman rivals prompted me to dust down the Dunlop Green Flash and renew my lapsed gym membership. For that I thank them.

I was less happy at being winded by All Blacks captain Richie McCaw and having the bones in my right hand crushed by Jonah Lomu when I interviewed him ahead of his comeback to the game later this month.

McCaw believed he had "rumbled" me when I asked about his blocked nose after a news conference.

"Not swine flu or anything is it?"

"No, mate, just a broken nose."

"None of the rest of the team displaying symptoms?"

"You've got a bet on, haven't you?" he said, clapping me on the back and almost catapulting me down a flight of stairs. I was seeing stars.

But it was Lomu who did the real damage.

Once the most feared man in rugby, Lomu takes a "windmill" wind-up when he shakes your hand. I felt the blood drain from my right arm, came over a bit faint and asked him, please, to sit down for our interview. I certainly needed to -- and he had only given me a friendly handshake. Imagine what Mike Catt felt like when Lomu literally ran over the top of him in single-handedly destroying England in a World Cup semi-final in 1995.

Catt must still get nightmares about big Jonah. "I did see Mike Catt," Lomu recalled. "But he was in the way of where I wanted to get to." A side-step might have been more polite, I thought, but kept it to myself.

For the record, a friendlier guy you could not hope to meet and listening to Lomu talk about his son, his recovery from a kidney disease that almost left him in a wheelchair, and his hopes for the future, was a true privilege. Jonah stayed in Japan in his ambassadorial role for the 2019 World Cup and spied me at a JRFU news conference a few days later.

He had come over to say hello and to tell me he had the same headphones as me. "Great sound, eh?" he smiled as his huge right arm swung in and crumpled mine once more, leaving it claw-shaped and unable to do up the laces on my plimsoles. An unusual excuse if ever there was one for avoiding the gym.

PHOTO: Former New Zealand International rugby player Jonah Lomu speaks during a news conference in Tokyo October 28, 2009. REUTERS/Issei Kato

If Japan is struggling to shake off a recession, then clearly nobody has told Tokyo’s party people as dance floors heave and thud to techno-house raves at the city’s clubs.

With summer gone and the nights drawing in, DJ events continue to pack in club-goers, like those of events organiser Phonika, which hosts outdoor parties around a rooftop pool in Tokyo.

Tokyo models, fashion designers, cash-flashing expats and well-connected OLs (office ladies) sip champagne and cocktails overlooking the city, blissfully unaffected by the credit crunch, or simply intoxicated by the brief sense of escapism.

The events have taken off over the past year despite the economic gloom. Restaurants are closing, but queues outside club events snake around corners.

“We haven’t felt the economic pinch,” said Phonika Tokyo’s co-organiser Mark Oxley. “In fact, over the past 12 months numbers through doors have steadily increased.

"In a downturn it’s about catering to demographics. The events are solid, and promotional and VIP offers have proved a good draw, bringing in repeat customers.”

Tokyo's failure to win the 2016 Olympic bid triggered bemused shrugs and a rush for the exits at Tokyo Tower when the result was announced well past midnight on Saturday morning. In truth, no one at the bid party in the Tower seemed to really expect Tokyo to win.

Drummers drummed, cheerleaders rustled pom-poms and a seeming endless string of noisy TV celebrities took turns at the microphone to drum up some Olympic fever among the 400-plus partygoers.

But Tokyo officials had hardly splashed out and the event quickly descended into farce. There was no champagne on ice, just beer.

Odds-on favourite Chicago’s early elimination drew gasps, certainly bigger than those when Tokyo went out moments later in the second round, when confusion reigned supreme.

“Are we in or out? Out? Oh, well,” was the typical reaction of those gathered.

A delay between Tokyo’s name being erased from the electronic board at the IOC vote in Copenhagen and it flashing on the TV screen in Japanese amplified the sense of anti-climax.

Within minutes the television screens were switched off, Japanese media had gone and volunteers were packing up tables and chairs, apologetically handing out the last of the free beer to those of us left wondering where we would be able to see the rest of the vote –- the most important bit!

We learned of Rio de Janeiro’s victory on a tiny TV screen on a cheerleader's mobile phone.

"I wanted Rio to win if Tokyo didn’t," said 27-year-old Akiko Shindo, owner of the phone. “The Brazilians seem to have Olympic fever."

Tokyo, which hosted Asia’s first Olympics in 1964, was quoted as 25-1 to win by some major bookmakers, behind Chicago, Rio de Janeiro and Madrid, and was never realistically likely to win, given Beijing’s hosting of last year’s Games.

In a country where cutting edge robot technology and centuries-old rituals merge, news of Tokyo's defeat prompted a mixture of sadness and resignation.

"Really? said Masaru Toda, a 58-year-old fishmonger, when told the result. "I'm not surprised. I remember the 1964 Games. It was right it went to South America."

Photo credits: REUTERS/Yuriko Nakao

Japan’s Ichiro Suzuki underlined his position as his country’s greatest sporting export after shattering one of Major League Baseball’s oldest records.

The Seattle Mariners outfielder was described as a "Hercules" by fellow players after becoming the first man to record 200 hits for nine straight seasons.

The 35-year-old reached the milestone with a single in the second game of a double-header against the Texas Rangers on Sunday to beat the previous mark of eight consecutive seasons set by Willie Keeler in 1901.

Ichiro himself, who left Japan for the major leagues in 2001, spoke of a "sense of liberation" after his latest MLB record, set to be marked with a commemorative stamp in his home country.

In 2005, he broke an 84-year-old record for hits in a single season in 2004, finishing with 262, five more than Hall of Famer George Sisler had in 1920.

His latest achievement, which came after helping Japan win the World Baseball Classic in the off-season, came despite having missed 16 games of the 2009 campaign with a stomach ulcer and a calf injury. It should also fast-track him to a place in baseball’s Hall of Fame.

Fast running out of records to break, he also recently became the second-fastest Major Leaguer to reach 2,000 hits, doing it in 1,402 games.

Ichiro, who goes by his given name in Japan and the United States, where first-name fame is usually reserved for the likes of Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods, has made a compelling case for the title of Japan’s greatest ever sportsman.

Photo credit: REUTERS/Mike Stone

The world's top rock bands were blown away by record crowds at Japan's "Summer Sonic" music festival earlier this month.

Headliners such as Beyonce, Linkin Park, Kasabian and Keane helped Asia's biggest music event celebrate its 10th anniversary in front of a record 250,000 in Tokyo and Osaka.

But as they gorged on the adulation of Japanese fans, many overseas artists struggled with the sushi and other local delicacies.

Feuding UK rivals Kasabian, Keane and Razorlight left their handbags at home as bands concentrated on more serious issues in the posh backstage catering area.

“The treat you like royalty in Japan -- like you’re Elvis Presley or John Lennon,” Kasabian vocalist Tom Meighan told me, wearing the look of a hungry college student. “Nothing surprises me in Japan. You can hire a cat out for half an hour and stroke it while you have a coffee. But I can’t get on with the food. I can’t do sushi. Our manager has brought a case of pot noodles. Can you get kebabs here?”

Rock n roll.

Photo credit: REUTERS/Yuriko Nakao

Ask not what you can do for your country ... ask its direct competitor if it wants any help with its Olympic bid.

Tokyo's 2016 campaign has been short on glamour backers and is struggling to match Chicago's trump card, American President Barack Obama - until now.

Boyz II Men, who sang at the closing ceremony at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, are hardly the hippest band in the world or likely to tip the vote, but the Grammy-winning trio publically supporting Tokyo at the weekend was an image boost of sorts, however bizarre.

Among their reasons were Tokyo's "coziness" and their belief Tokyo should win because the Japanese "really love the Olympics". They must have missed the memo on Tokyo's public support lagging behind rivals Chicago, Madrid and Rio de Janeiro, but moving along ...

Among other nuggets of wisdom, Chicago's bid is apparently "too business-related". Perhaps Obama should put them straight on that point.

Did I mention them being American and supporting Tokyo was weird? I think I may have done.

PHOTO: Members of Boyz II Men arrive for the Black Eyed Peas Peapod Foundation Benefit Concert at the Conga Room at L.A. Live in Los Angeles, California, February 5, 2009. REUTERS/Jason Redmond

Bad boy sumo grand champion Asashoryu has been called many things, but it’s unlikely whether being dubbed “porky” will cause the Mongolian star to lose much sleep.

When a former wrestler, now working as a television commentator, accused the “yokozuna” of being flabby, it marked a new low in the hounding of one of the greats of Japan’s ancient sport.

Asashoryu has character flaws, which have polarised opinion within the strict, cloistered sumo world with regular breaches of protocol such as telling Japanese journalists to “Drop dead!”

But there is an undercurrent of xenophobia detectable in the increasingly frequent tabloid attacks on the 28-year-old wrestler, who needed around-the-clock police protection after receiving a death threat earlier this year.

One criticism was that he “lacks the dignity” to hold sumo’s top rank, rattled off ad nauseam by Japan’s conservative media and even members of the sport’s inner sanctum. Nonsense!

He is fabulous at what he does, and if he growls at opponents from time to time, so what? Didn’t boxing's Ali growl at Frazier more than a little, tennis' John McEnroe shriek at umpires and basketball's Michael Jordan bark at almost everyone he dunked on in the NBA?

Tut-tut all you like about the infamous “Battle of the Bathroom,” when soapsuds flew as Asashoryu and another giant wrestler had a punch-up in a communal bath. The fact is, there is never a dull moment when Asashoryu is around.

Calling the 23-time Emperor’s Cup winner pudgy a week after the collapse of his marriage, even though his 150kg frame is relatively small for the roly-poly sport, smacks of desperation.

“He doesn’t look buff!” remarked Shuhei Mainoumi, without a hint of irony. You think?! He’s a sumo wrestler, for heaven’s sake. Some of them tip the scales at over 250 kilograms and move with all the grace of Jabba the Hutt.

Not so the skilful Asashoryu, who could walk away from the sport prematurely unless the witchhunts stop and he is afforded the respect he deserves. Japan’s sumo community should be careful what it wishes for.

Photo credit: REUTERS/Toru Hanai

Japan midfielder Shunsuke Nakamura's decision to snub a return to Yokohama and join Spain's Espanyol left his boyhood club devastated.

Yokohama's club president slapped himself with a 50 percent pay cut by way of apology to furious F-Marinos fans, but arguably the most surprising aspect of the protracted saga was Yokohama's "shock" that Nakamura opted for Espanyol instead of them after leaving Celtic, where he won three Scottish Premier League titles.

The choice between playing against glamour sides Real Madrid and Barcelona or languishing in the backwaters of the struggling J-League was a no-brainer.

The 31-year-old had always wanted to play in La Liga, while Espanyol had been chasing the Japan playmaker for years.

Nakamura's new club described their new signing as a "galactico," heralding his arrival as every bit as important as Real Madrid's acquisition of Cristiano Ronaldo and Kaka.

Hyperbole aside, the move makes obvious sense for Nakamura, and Japan coach Takeshi Okada is unlikely to shed any tears for Yokohama ahead of next year's World Cup.

Picture by Albert Gea/Reuters

What goes up must at some point come down.

The world of sports is full of examples of bright lights who shone briefly before crashing back down to earth.

Tennis burnout used to grind teenage sensations into the dust with alarming regularity, with even all-time greats such as Bjorn Borg stressed into premature retirement, albeit the Swede was 26 when he made his shock decision to quit.

Every sport has them, prodigious talents who flew too close to the sun, destroying their chances of joining the pantheon of mega-greats.

Japanese sports fans are hoping teenage golfer Ryo Ishikawa does not join the growing list, just two months after making his major debut at April’s U.S. Masters.

The 17-year-old has struggled since his fame has soared beyond the confines of Japan, while his face continues to be splashed across commercials for everything from chocolate bars to language schools and celebrities trip over themselves to be photographed next to the Boy Wonder with the ultra-bright smile.

“Adult” celebrity Mika Kano, one half of Japan’s Kano Sisters, famous for their risqué photo books and unfeasibly large breasts, was the latest, begging several questions of the schoolboy, not least, “Don’t you have homework to do?”

Ishikawa’s golf swing is a thing of beauty and he should be a national treasure. As it stands, his handlers need to make sure they don’t make a boob job of his future.

Photo credit: REUTERS/Brian Snyder

I am ordering vodka and Red Bull at $10 a pop at the bar of a posh Ginza club and a woman dressed as a nurse carrying a silver tray full of syringes taps me on the shoulder.

“Open your mouth!” she says with a wink.

“OK then.” And she squirts some strawberry-flavoured cocktail down my throat.

Moments later another pretty girl dressed in a skin-tight pink rubber “Cat Woman” suit introduces herself as Azusa. “I work at the Torture Dungeon.”

“Of course you do, sweetheart,” I reply, becoming increasingly confused at how this exclusive “Night of the Body” theme party was being passed off as a “fashion event” with so many people having squeezed themselves into rubber, leather and barbed wire. Whatever cracks your whip, I guess.

“It’s nothing kinky,” said Maika, one of party organiser Libido’s top dancers. “Our customers, I guess people with a bit of money maybe, like to dress up.”

If Tokyo is feeling the bite of recession, it certainly wasn’t in evidence this night as pole-dancers whirled dangerously in razor sharp stilettos, guests volunteered to be “soft”-whipped and a bleached blonde beauty had various sweets and desserts artistically laid out on her naked body in the Japanese “nyotaimori” style.

One funky Japanese guy in dreadlocks and platform shoes boasted that he had designed his own rubber suit. It had taken him two weeks at a cost of $2,000.

“My jeans are Issey Miyake,” I responded a bit lamely.

Clearly this underworld of fetish parties was big in Japan. In one night I was invited to no less than three similar events over the following two weeks.

Not with my wardrobe. Not on my wages.

Photo credits: REUTERS/Issei Kato