Footie Friday

It was a match of epic proportions - Singapore versus Tajikistan (someone said that it was just Tajikstan without the second "i"). It was a World Cup qualifier, for the 2010 proceedings. "2010" is the magic number for Singapore, etched in history when some minister for sports and difficult things declared that Singapore shall by all means try to make to the World Cup finals in 2010. He wasn't talking about the World Cup for robot-making or maid-abusing. It was football! Goodness, we haven't had a good local team since we took the Malaysia Cup from tanah Malaysia (furious the locals) and promptly decided to leave the federation. The following year the not-so-happening, not-so-well supported S-league was born. Singapore renewed their faith in the Barclays Premier League and sunk money into cable TV and spent many weekends screaming at their TVs, crying over betting slips and alienating their wives.

Back to Friday. I started snapping pixes the moment we crossed over Nicoll HIghway. Ah the lights, bright, bold, obvious pillars of positive illumination. Click snap click snap. Teck Ghee reminded me this was the "finalest" or the "lastest" match. There has been so much medis about the stadium's last hurrah and later complaints for over a year now. it seems uncertain when the grand old dame will suffer demolition or encounter cannonballism. Haha.
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We got in late because the most important man, Eric, man with the tickets (bought the day before because we would save $2 each), took the wrong bus. Some buses have an "e" next to their numbers and which mean they don't stop everywhere. "E" for "not everywhere" or "eh" as in "eh, why the bus didn't stop?" or "eh uncle, this bus go stadium or not?". Teck Ghee and I got there about 7pm and he was starving. He raced to the several makeshift stalls outside the stadium steps, joining the crowds surrounding the fishballs, fried popiah, Ramly burger and ice cream. This is the Kallang spirit man! Food and football!

When the gang appeared (Teck Ghee, Eric, Say Wee and George), we made perfunctory noises and laughs, and skipped up the steps and entered the field of dreams (some long gone). Not many pple, perhaps 3-4 thousand. One area populated, lots of empty space around. The exposed grey concrete a testament to the lack of interest. There wasn't much publicity and pubs are more enticing to start off the weekend than 22 unfancied men tossing about in the grass.

We found seats in the upper middle centre section. It was important we were surrounded by fans driven by passion, expressed loudly. All this was part of the experience. On our right front, we had a group of noisy Malay teens; on the left side an angry Chinese boy and behind us, a man who talked too much negatively and his kakis who respectfully kept mum at his loud blurts of pessimism. Nice.

Soon the action began. Aleksandar Duric, the oldest player on the pitch and the newest Singaporean, scored first. The crowd erupted in cheer and I shouted till my head hurt. The match progressed, at times a little slow and I yawned a few times. We were blundering more than necessary and the Tajik hardly threatened. Then Mr Duric scored number two. More cheer. 45mins came to a quick end.

I scooted up to the top row to take more pictures of the chaotic scene before me. I had never been to the top row of the stadium seats before. I could see the city, in the glow beyond the floodlights. The wind was strong, lifted up against bowl of the stadium such that it blasts against your face as you look over the top edge railing. I felt like a kid sticking his head (and tongue) out of a window in a fast moving bus. I managed a brief chat with a smoker who was among the scores burning their ciggies faster than usual. He asked me what was worth taking pictures of and discussed the outcome of this game and even estimated crowd turnout. A bit of banter with a fellow fan.



The second half (or part two for the ladies) started with Tajikistan starting without guns blazing (and a few of us drinking Bandung, official drink of the stadium). The lions looked lackadaisical as ever. The Tajik number 14 was good and scared Lionel Lewis a few times. Then we had to go spoil a few good chances. Some more sighing, some cursing/booing/swearing and more exasperation from my end of the audience. The die-hard fans were strangely content with the 2-0 scoreline while the folks around me were cursing for not seeing 5-0 on the scoreboard. (One of the dolled up die-hard fans came over to our end to make us start the Kallang wave. He was duly ignored and dismissed.) Yes, I concur. The boys should have made more out of it, especially since the next leg at Dushanbe might see them freezing their asses off while the well-accustomed Tajiks attempt at teaching the lions a lesson. Well, let's not get our hopes up to high.

We left the stadium in a flash. No one really wanted to hang out. Once out of stadium, we went separate ways. I took a bus into the city, and since it wasn't yet my bedtime, met Ariel for a beer.