opinion

Sorry, no kick

Fats

Oh, I hate bandwagons. They are noisy and clamorous, demanding your attention.

What I resist most about bandwagons is the pressure to subscribe to a mass mentality. You must, it's good for you. Yucks. Sounds like a multi-level vitamin supplements salesperson promising immortality.

It might be appropriate to quote in defence one of my theological masters, Henry David Thoreau (though I suspect many of the Waldens of the world are now fringed by blocks of condos): "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."

But enough of Zen placidity. Back to my bilious abhorrence of bandwagons.

Current case in point – I'm fighting a losing battle against my wife's insistence that we go watch Ola Bola. Everyone's going "ooooooh" and "aahhhh" and feeling warm and good and... hello, watch your sugar levels.

Hey, before anyone accuses me of pissing on Ola Bola's parade, let me say that I have watched thousands of films, have a collection of many hundreds, and acted in a few, so I say "good" to the producers and the creative team for striking a chord with so many Malaysians, for raking it in at the box-office, because so many of our films are box-office duds.

But when it comes to football, I am a fan, and have been for decades. It's passion, delirious emotions I want, not a feel-good sensation like warm pee down your legs on a cold morning.

The match against South Korea that inspired the climax of the film? I was in the Merdeka Stadium – main stand, lower tier, near to the South Korean goal when the second goal went in. It was okay that I went crazy because so did the rest of the stadium, everyone in a jumping incoherent scream of joy.

I have my archival footage. Must I watch somebody else's? As it is, my Criterion collection of all Werner Herzog short films has been neglected, unwatched for years, besides a couple of hundred others.

I have archival footage of Mokhtar Dahari's games – his charge at the opposing defence, that amazing short back-lift that produced thunderbolts. I saw his thunderbolt against England B. I even went berserk when he unleashed another against Arsenal, the team I support.

And I had the fortune of being the last journalist to interview Mokhtar for a feature before the diagnosis of his muscular problems and his decline.

Though I wish it had been a better piece. Initially, Mokhtar resolutely refused to grant an interview. He kept saying, what's the point, it's all in the past. In the end, I had to go above him and get his boss in PKNS to "command" it.

Even then, it was a difficult interview, not because he was resistant to an interview, but because he really thought it was no big deal. He enjoyed playing football. He was happy just scoring goals for country and state. Nothing more to say. Over. Tamat.

It was difficult for me to reconcile footage of my sports hero on the field emanating power ready to be unleashed, with this modest, almost monosyllabic man who seemed genuinely puzzled why my paper's readers would be interested in a retired footballer.

That's my stand – I am a fan. That means I'm one of several football fans in the two blocks of condos where I stay who will incoherently, screamingly throw dignity over the balcony on weekends when our team scores.

Nostalgia is a warm feeling. Good. Let that be the film's appeal. No film on football can give me passion.

Here's maybe where I can be accused of peeing on some of the audiences of Ola Bola – come out of the cineplexes radiating goodwill to all races and communities, Malaysians United OK, and the reality is, in the current FIFA rankings, we are 171, out of 204.

About eight years ago, in a newspaper column, I wrote this:

"What is laughable is that No 166 means Malaysia is ranked below many tiny bumps on the landscape, scattering of atolls on various oceans, some of them half-drowned at high-tide, many threatened with swamping when the globe's polar fridges break down.

"But Liechtenstein (129), 160.4 sq km in size with a population of about 35,000? Malta (134), 316 sq km in size with about 410,000 people? Antigua & Barbuda (135), 442 sq km and just over 80,000 people? Maldives (156), 298 sq km and about 350,000 people? St Kitts & Nevis (160), 261 sq km and just over 40,000 people?

"I hope I'm not creating a diplomatic incident by referring to these countries as pip-squeaks, but they are. Thirty-five thousand people in Liechtenstein. Leave out the women and children, the men over 40, those not inclined to sports, the many who work for the financial institutions for which this country is famous – and how many are left to form 11-a-side? How many football fields can be squeezed into 160 sq km?"

Then 166, now 171. But then 199 FIFA members, now 204. So I suppose the good news is: we are still only 33 places from ousting Tonga, who are, right now, at the bottom. They can be excused. We know their young men would rather charge through beefy defences in rugger.

Indonesia at 180? They've got problems with FIFA, red-carded.

Yemen at 175? Hey, the people are too busy caught in the cross-fire of a multi-factional squabble to think about finding 22 young men not carrying a gun to kick a ball.

That's their excuse. What's ours? (Drumroll) FAM.

Above us, at random: 167 Cook Islands and American Samoa, 159 Sao Tome e Principe, 154 Afghanistan – they are dealing with suicide bombers and fall of district capitals. What are Malaysians dealing with? (Drumroll) FAM.

To continue with the random survey: better skip the next one, will add to the chip on our shoulders, 148 Singapore.

Actually, even more malu in my opinion – Philippines at 134. Aren't basketball and baseball their games, and boxing a close third?

Talking of Afghanistan, there's Syria at 125. They've got barrel bombs and Isis. We've got (drumroll)... (If you don't know the answer by now – drumroll – you must be a product of our national school system.)

In my earlier column Antigua and Barbuda were at 135. Now they are at 90. I challenge readers, without referring to Wiki, to say where Sao Tome e Principe and Antigua and Barbuda or Aruba at 114, are in the globe.

Selangor v Perak

In 1990, the hot team in early season was Perak. The Kinta Express, with speedy wingers and train-driver Karathu, was steaming-hot and ripping into lethargic defences. The first major honour of the season was the FA Cup, and swift Perak were up against Selangor, lumbering and a bit creaky, but scraping through as usual.

Friend M is a die-hard Ipoh boy and had gotten me to accompany him to a couple of Perak games, and I liked what I saw, so when he asked whether I could use my newspaper connection to get a rare ticket, I got two.

When my sports desk friend gave me the tickets, he also said, hot tip from a bookie friend, bet everything and my underwear (in his usual colourful language) on Perak to win by two goals. 

I told him I only bet occasionally on the numbers, but never on football.

That night, my friend and I walked from his flat in Brickfields, to avoid the traffic snarl. As usual, tickets had been oversold, and after an interminable wait in line, we managed to squeeze in.

Forget about the seats our tickets entitled us to. We found space against a railing at mid-level and watched the match from there.

First half – Perak attacked and attacked, and that night the crosses weren't finding their man, and on rare counter-attacks, Selangor were two up at the end of the half.

Perak winning by two? Ha! At the break, I turned to look up at the press box and showed my friend two fingers – signifying Selangor's tally, Perak's supposed victory margin, and an upward movement telling him what he could have done to where the sun didn't shine.

He worked his way through the crowd to me, found out I had ignored his tip, and told me better still, I would get crazier odds.

Even if I had been inclined, I said the bookies would have had me certified crazy for still betting on Perak.

I could have sworn the four Perak goals in the second half were all good goals. I was cheering as manically with my friend up till the third delirious-wow-is-this-fantasy-happening goal … then the mood started deflating, and by the time we left the stadium, I was anticipating the ribbing from my friend the next day in the office for ignoring a windfall.

If only I had, but I didn't... wager my underwear, and I have not watched a game in Malaysia since. – February 20, 2016.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer, organisation or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insider.