GOL?

by Koh Lay Chin

“Eh. You going out to watch the match ah?”

“Yes, with Ahmad & Ah Pin. Going to TDH in Taman Tun. We might head to a mamak stall though for food, but that’s the meeting point.”

“Okay if you are going, me and Ah Meng are coming too.”

“Set. See you there.”

It was not pre-planned that I would end up watching this game with Ahmad, Muthu and Ah Meng.  I have taken the liberty of changing their names because booze and gambling are involved. Ahmad & Ah Pin & Azim have been my best guy friends since secondary school. Indeed they were  my partners in crime when I first started smoking, partying and drinking. I remember those awful RM5 tequila poppers at Party Box.  They were the ones I watched my first World Cup with in 1994, and they helped me sneak out of  house a lot. Some would say they were responsible for my declining grades in Form Four, but I’ll take the blame fully. I am still close to the first two. Azim, sadly, has drifted apart from us in the past few years.

The game starts and I have arrived earlier than everyone else. There are about 15 people  in the dimly lit pub. “Bloody stupid late boys,” I grumble. Muthu arrives, the game warms up and my two besties still have not arrived. We start talking about that Suarez handball, random topics and for some reason, short footballers. Muthu calls them “smurfs” and “hobbits”. I remind him that they are probably taller than he is. He goes “Bah, humbug.” I send threatening ‘Why are you late’ SMS-es to Ahmad and Ah Pin, and when that doesn’t work,  I call. Ah Pin does not answer, and I plot his death. Ahmad picks up the phone all groggy. “Oh shit. I fell asleep. I’m comingggg!” he says, and hangs up.

The riot that is Ah Meng arrives. He proceeds to tokkok, as he is wont to do, and tells us exactly what Holland and Uruguay  MUST SCORE tonight in order for him to win his bets. Muthu and I snigger about other friends and acquaintances we know who have won and loss massively from betting.  These are no RM5 to RM10 bets we used to set up in school. This is the big league, and bets are up to 5-digits. My jaw drops as I hear how a friend won a really juicy bet last week. ‘Wow, times have changed,’ I think. I remember when that friend and I had to carpool with my big brother.

We order Ramly burgers from a man selling them outside the pub. As we devour those little morsels of heaven, Ahmad arrives. “You missed two killer goals wei! The first was super killer!” Muthu says. “I would have been alone here if these two had not come, you know. I’m going to kill Pin,” I whisper to Ahmad as I reach for a hug and he apologises for being late.

We all start talking about the teams we support.

“Who is an actual Holland supporter ah?” someone asks. Ahmad puts up his hand.

“They are my second team,” I say, “and I’m still sulking over Argentina.”

“Holland are my second team too. My first is France,” Muthu says.

I wonder why and how we pick these first and second teams, I ask aloud later.

“How do people suddenly become loyal to these countries wei. I mean, who would naturally support Uruguay or Paraguay wei.”

Ah Meng shrugs. “Well I supported Argentina. My second team is whoever wins me something that night!” he chuckles.

Muthu says he first started supporting France after seeing how they played so beautifully in the Euro and World Cup of 1998. “Quality”, he beams proudly.

“Well they aren’t exactly quality material now are they?” I retort. He pouts.

I offer that my loyalty is familial in nature. All of us then start chatting about Holland and the Golden Age of Marco Van Basten, Ruud Gullit, Frank Rijkaard. Nostalgia wafts around us.  We sigh, coo and wax lyrical over ballerina-like football. We all start sounding like we are twice our age. Ahmad says that like many people in Malaysia, he supports England as a “second choice.”  Muthu sneers, saying that he would never support those “former colonialists.” ”It is the principle of the matter leh. Besides, their team is crap.”

I smile, remembering how my boyfriend, who is British, watched the Germany-England match with me last week. He had been shocked into silence. At our hotel lounge in Penang, watching with an entire motley crowd, he was surprised that most of the people around us were loud Germany supporters. ”Eh leh baliklah Lampard!!” a young Malay man shouted. Others laughed heartily. I did not have to translate. My Brit was bewildered. “Why do so many people hate England? The only ones supporting England with me is that couple in front and this Japanese guy at the back going “Orhfffer-side”.  I did not know how to answer.

Later on that night, he asked me if Malaysians would support Malaysia if they were in the World Cup. I nearly choked on my tea.

“Well of course! Don’t be fooled my dear, we would be going mental if Malaysia was in. We would paint the town crazy.”

“But they have no chances now right?”

“Yeah, no chance in hell now.”

I still had to reiterate later that we Malaysians were very loyal to our sports teams on the international stage. Well, kind of.

GOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It is the fourth goal of the match, one by Robben, and all of us are jumping and thumping the tables. Elation is still in the air as I look left and realise that Ahmad is texting, Ah Meng is checking his bets on the phone and Muthu is having a Whatsapp conversation with his mother, a Holland supporter.

Watching World Cup matches have really changed. I think about the times I used to watch it over teh tarik with Ahmad, Ah Pin and Azim all those years ago. When we relied on someone to pick all of us up. We had no money, but we had a pager or two. I look at some of the Uruguayan players who have long hair and hair bands, and realise they remind me of some Argentinian footballers like Caniggia and Redondo. I realise I am, yes, still sulking over Argentina. As I look at the group I am with, I also realise I miss Azim. He was an Argentina supporter like me.

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