I've always liked the Japanese. When I was in New Zealand I managed a backpacker lodge where nearly all of my 'guests' were from the Land of the Rising Sun.

Good sense of humour, most of them had, loved a sing-song, never ever gave me a jot of trouble.

But hang on, I'm supporting Greece here at the World Cup, spent my life savings to do it, on a number of levels this is clearly not the time to start getting benevolent toward the opposition.

Since we - Aussie-Greek Koula and I - arrived in sun-kissed Natal, the jewel in the crown of Brazil climate-wise, said to have the most perfect air in the whole of South America, it's pissed down.

This has possibly had a helpful effect on our efforts to track down tickets for the game. It was a piece of cake, we could have bought a dozen or more from the touts on the street outside the Estadio Das Dunas. We actually paid less than face value, believe it or not.

Then, as the game started, we realised we hadn't really scored much of a bargain. This match was so boring, you couldn't give tickets away, not even with a bottle of Cachaca, the eminently tasty local hooch thrown in.

Talking of scoring: in the first half it doesn't look like anyone would, even if they played all night. 'What's the Greek for goal?', I ask Koula. 'Dunno', she says. Neither, it seems do any of the Greek players.

The only incident of note in the first half involves a red card for Greek captain Konstantinos Katsouranis - The Big K I've taken to calling him. Had he not been so irredeemably crap he could have been special K but no, he's rubbish, so Big K it is.

Even his sending off is rubbish - two yellow cards for minor infractions. When someone in my team gets the early bath I want it to be for something half decent - a punch-up at the very least. The Big K's dismissal is as insipid as his play has been and the Greeks are down to 10 men.

This major inconvenience stirs the boys into a little bit of activity and they launch a couple of attacks but it all comes to nothing and, in the parlance of modern football, they prepare to park the bus.

Actually, they don't just park it, they take the wheels off and surround it in barbed wire.

They're playing for a draw. A World Cup game, in Brazil, a win needed and they're playing for a draw. And I spent my inheritance on this?

Second half is no better. In fact, it's marginally worse. Save for the odd breakaway and set piece, it's backs to the wall, with a kick-it-anywhere philosophy and a commitment to falling over as if they've been shot any time there's a hint of physical contact.

Almost everybody in the Greek team is a master at this game, but a special shout must go out to goalkeeper Karnesis, who writhes on the floor in agony at every available opportunity treating spectators to some of the worst acting performances since Dennis Waterman in 'On the Up.

I'm starting to get a bit grumpy about having to watch this game in the circumstances. A few reasons are coming into my head, all of them financial.

Whose crazy idea was this? I feel there must be someone to blame.Then I remember. It was my idea. All mine.

Suddenly, this tacit acceptance of ownership totally changes things. If I was watching this game at home on the TV, I'd probably switch off and go to bed. But it's not on the telly - I'm - we're - here. In Brazil. At the World Cup.

Before we know it, we're cheering every big lump up the park like it's a goal bound volley. Every time one of our guys falls over, we're imploring the ref to get his cards out. As the ball fizzes, pinball style, in and out of the Greek penalty box we're heart in mouth, desperately hoping it doesn't end up in the onion bag.

This, we're doing with some success as the Japanese team are hopeless as well - skilful in the lead up and obviously super fit - but as toothless as Les Dawson's alter-ego, Cosmo Smallpiece.

'Yes, yes, yes', we chant. 'Ela Ellas' - I'm really starting to get into it - who says this is a boring game?

And then, the final whistle. Our boys congratulate each other like they've lifted the cup. Utterly impossible on this showing, but never mind.

As we leave the ground, soaked to the skin, Koula and I both claim we enjoyed the game. A couple of bottles of Cachaca will do that to you.

Next stop Fortaleza and a must win against the Cote D'Ivoire. What's the Greek for a 'must win'? I ask.

'Dunno' says Koula.