Narita, Japan - Normally, wearing a bright neon-yellow soccer jersey would make you stick out like a sore thumb. But crouching under a fake green plant at Narita Airport, I was as invisible as John O’Brien’s hand-ball against Mexico.

My layover in Narita was only supposed to be a half-hour, but the hysteria following the 2002 FIFA World Cup had turned the airport into a frenzy of chaos.

Brazil’s 2-0 win against Germany in the cup final had yet to take place, and my choice to sport the Brazilian jersey drew little attention.

The small terminal was packed to the rim with World Cup fans heading home. The craziness was enough to make me appreciate the maze that is Metro Airport.

My flight to Detroit was overbooked and the restless crowd was demanding answers to their endless questions. I began to reminisce about my trip.

From great moments, like watching the U.S. team valiantly outplay the Germans in the quarterfinal game that I traded tickets for, to bittersweet ones, like leaving Daegu Stadium after the third place game and realizing my World Cup, like the host Koreans who surrounded me, was sadly over.

The exciting times rushed through my head. I’ve never celebrated like I did when the U.S. team lost to Poland and still managed to make the round of 16, or when the United States upset rival and neighbor Mexico to advance farther than any U.S. team in nearly 75 years.

But that was all over, and oddly enough, I was glad to head home. The World Cup overwhelmed me with emotions, and 20 days after arriving, I was on empty, waiting in the airport barely able to keep my eyes open.

After fighting through hundreds of irate passengers, I boarded Flight 86 to Detroit. I slowly headed to seat F, row 64.

Just before I took my seat, it happened. Our eyes met for just a second, the 3-foot, 40-pound little girl was made of pure evil.

She was visibly upset and wailed at the top of her lungs, while ferociously attacking the back of my chair like a caged animal. She reminded me of a Wolverine - crying about something pointless and having no sense of purpose.

The next 13 hours of my life were hell. Sleep was not an option as the little girl that haunted seat F-65 was the worst passenger I encountered on my four flights during my trip.

When I left Detroit for Japan back on June 10, I thought the sweet little grandma in front of me was the worst passenger I’d encounter. The lady dropped into her seat and immediately leaned back. She was 4-foot at best, but commanded the space of Shaquille O’Neal.

Grandma O’Neal left me about four inches of space to enjoy my exquisite in-flight meals. I think it was chicken, but I’m still not sure.

Despite the fact I could barely extend my elbows to feebly maneuver my chopsticks from my food to my mouth, the in-flight meals were the only thing I enjoyed.

From salted peanuts and warm water to what Northwest Airlines claimed to be pork teriyaki, I ate with due haste and savored every last bite.

With a movie lineup of “Monsters Inc.,” “A Beautiful Mind” and a prerehab Charlie Sheen flick, I thought I’d found my entertainment for the flight home. But of course, my headset was broken and some lady wouldn’t sit down.

But hey, it was a Boeing 747 - surely I could find other entertainment. Like the strange lady who couldn’t find her seat every time she returned from the bathroom or the young women who enjoyed violent neck spasms before falling asleep on my shoulder.

To keep myself busy, I compared the number of times the semiconscious headbanger would spaz, to the number of kicks I received from the spawn of Satan behind me. Unfortunately for my back, the little hellion won a performance worthy of the World Cup.

Throughout all the pain and mental anguish, I can still say the trip was well worth it. Not often does one get the opportunity to fly across the world and spend three weeks enjoying the one thing they love most.

For me that love is soccer, whether I’m playing it, watching it, or writing about it. The 2002 FIFA World Cup was an experience I’ll never forget.

Jon Malavolti, a journalism sophomore, can be reached at malavol2@msu.edu.