THE sky gapes blue and infinite here, quilting Makuhari in a tingling heat. On the lawn behind the team hotel, Noel O'Reilly finds shade beneath a little grove of maples. Jazz rhythms strum towards him through the flaps of a tent, bulging with contented Irish. Life runs to a sylvan pulse. O'Reilly is chuckling. Thinking about Ibaraki and Ireland's dramatic 1-1 draw with Germany. And the goal. Thinking about Robbie and Duffer. And about big Niall.

Damien and Robbie were being battered, he says, almost convulsing. It was like a street-fight in Dublin years ago and the two of them calling for their big brother to help.

Niall came in and sorted out the bullies. And, then, the other two picked their pockets. Great. The goal threaded two football eras. Niall, parodied as almost prehistoric, representing one. Duffer and the other Robbie, barely out of school. In O'Reilly's world, light dances off sweet memories. He remembers Quinn's first goal for the Irish youths. Iceland, maybe 18 years ago.

Quinny playing at right- back. Shaggin right-back, he reiterates with a hoot. O'Reilly and Brian Kerr, back then, were lieutenants to Liam Tuohy. And `Rasher' is never far away from the thoughts of either one. In time, they would help Irish teams finish third at the World U-19 Championships and win European U-16 and U-18 titles. Momentous days. But always the same reference point.

Malaysia '97, Cyprus and Scotland '98. Jayz, what would Tuohy think of this? Duffer and Robbie grew into men under Kerr and O'Reilly. Thrived on the openness, the friendship. Simple energies. Laughter and love. Humility. Fantastic word, humility, says O'Reilly.

He exists here in a kind of private universe. Every morning, gets a taxi to Inage Park where he holds a football clinic for local school children. Repeats it in the evening. Did the same in Izumo.

The FAI is the only football association at the World Cup offering this service. Spreading the word. So O'Reilly's work feeds the vibe here. Friendly Ireland.

The kids arrive on old-fashioned bikes, following their teacher, like a dutiful army squadron. They come in uniform, white shirts, black ties and blazers. Change on the side of the field, then stand serenely for the `opening ceremony.

O'Reilly communicates through a football with a little help from an interpreter. And they listen with such stilted earnestness, it almost saddens him. The children are too formal. Some have a beautiful talent, but it is imprisoned.

Suppressed by the need to learn. So many smiles, so little laughter. The behaviour is school-like, he says. There's nothing spontaneous, nothing off-the-cuff, no improvisation. It's as if they do everything on cue. Lovely kids, but everything is so rigid. They just do what I ask, never go beyond. They won't add their own bit of flair. It's only when we have the little six-a-side games near the end that they express themselves. A match allows a kid the freedom to play and be himself. And, when they do that, they're fantastic. The skill is mind-boggling. But there hasn't been one act of defiance, not one act of aggression, no contesting of decisions.

"I nearly want one of the kids to flare up and have a row," says Noel. "But it won't happen. It's unique I think. But it doesn't feel real." He wants to tell them it's alright to flick the ball and trap it with your backside, if that's what they feel like doing. Just doesn't want to seem disrespectful. Because the people are beautiful. And he feels privileged to be among them here. Blessed even. Sometimes, Noel finds himself thinking back to Nigeria three years ago. World U-19 Championships. A tournament to which England didn't bother sending any of their brightest young stars. Finds himself thinking of the poverty, open sewers running through the streets, yet the loveliness of the people. Strangest paradox.

And he remembers, especially, Duffer's words. How this kid of 19 told him when they were heading home that the people had made it one of the greatest experiences of my life. Imagine. Just 19, yet so serene and wise. O'Reilly cried like a baby in the Kashima Stadium. Exultant tears. Lovely tears. Robbie's goal brought such a sense of justice.

And, standing there, his mind wandered through the generations. From big Niall in Iceland to Duffer in Malaysia, Robbie in Cyprus. He thought of `Rasher' back home and how strange his life must seem without Sile, who passed away so recently. He thought, too, of Kerr, the indomitable `Greener.' But, most of all, he thought of how he'd love to trap these days and bottle them.

How Japan has humbled him. A year ago, they came out here with the U-18s and insisted the kids reciprocated local thoughtfulness. So they left the dressing rooms precisely as they found them. Pristine. And he's glad now.

"Something amazing is happening here," he says. "I think it's woken everyone up. "We're the land of a hundred thousand welcomes. And we're all proud of that as people But we're only in the shaggin' ha'penny place. These people are unbelievable. "And what an experience Wednesday was in Ibaraki ? You couldn't buy it. No travel log or `Wish You Were Here' programme could ever come near any of this. And he laughs aloud, bathed in a spear of shimmery sun.