GOL?

by Nik Nazmi Nik Ahmad

Last month The Economist argued that one of the ways you can understand the English is through their so-called “national game”, football. In 2006, while the country exhibited what the magazine describes as ‘rampant materialism’, the English footballers epitomised the spirit of that age by openly flaunting their WAGS (wives and girlfriends), mansions and cars. They were furthermore dubbed the “Golden Generation”, representing the country’s best hope of winning the World Cup since 1966.

How times have changed! Remember Gordon Brown claiming that he had “ended boom and bust” economics? Yes, that was borne out by subsequent events, wasn’t it?

In this World Cup too, the English fans were still hopeful (as all football fans are), but more subdued, a reflection on their dire economic fortunes back home. Realism replaced optimism. It turns out that their caution was appropriate, as the “Three Lions” struggled to the second round, whereupon they were thoroughly trounced by their youthful archrivals Germany.

As I watched Germany lose to Spain at a mamak shop (wearing a Pakatan Rakyat jersey – my beloved Italy had fallen) in my constituency during the semi-finals, I realised that one can understand what’s going on in Malaysia now through our football as well. There are some definite parallels.

Like most Malaysians, I am a football fan.

It was a natural part of being educated in two all-boys institutions:  the La Salle School of Petaling Jaya and later at a place called MCKK. Unfortunately, my interest did not translate to playing skills. I was incidentally, also a fan of the Selangor state football team, and so were the rest of my classmates at La Salle.

Back then, it did not matter if you were Malay, Chinese, Indian or Dan Lain-Lain; or whether you were from the bungalows in Bukit Gasing or the squatter-houses in Taman Medan: everyone followed the Semi-Pro League. It’s true that the sad decline of our national team had begun then. People were already moaning the lack of Mokhtar Dahari, Soh Chin Aun and Santokh Singh. Come to think of it, we complain about our lack of talented footballers the way we complain about our lack of leaders with integrity.

Nevertheless there was still a passion for local football. Stadiums were full, particularly when League giants like Selangor, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore (yes, they used to play with us, remember?), Kedah, Pahang or (not so-giants) Kelantan played. We had sticker collections and bought jerseys.

One of the first matches I remember watching was the 1991 Malaysia Cup Final.  I was nine: Johor trounced Selangor 3-1. Like all nine-year olds, I reacted by crying  and switched to Kelantan (my family home state, although I was born and bred in the Klang Valley) in the next season. Despite having rising stars like striker Hashim Mustapha, it too failed to win a major trophy until today.

I also started following the English Premier League around that time. Thanks to my dislike for hegemonies inspired by Barisan Nasional’s long rule, I naturally wanted to support the underdogs in English football and took an ABMU approach (Anything But Manchester United). I covered my bedroom from floor to ceiling with football posters of players from every team except the Red Devils. Eventually, I ended up supporting Liverpool (which by then was past its glory years).

By then, a lot of people’s confidence in local football was shaken by the big match-fixing scandal of 1994. Hundreds of players were questioned. I remember reading in the Malaysian edition of Match magazine about the definition of match-fixing and corruption. There was no MACC to lecture us about these heady topics at that time.

Soon, Astro came into the picture. It had little impact on me directly since my dad tried to resist its charms (he held out for nearly a decade before succumbing) and I was anyway way at MCKK, where even regular TV was a luxury. But I could still see the marked effect: we spoke less of local football and more on European, particularly English football.

I became reacquainted with local football after being elected as a State Assemblyman in 2008 elections. Serving in the Menteri Besar’s Office for the first two years also meant that I got to know the Football Association of Selangor better. I watched a few games, turning up in the Selangor jersey. But I was confronted with a painful dilemma when Selangor and Kelantan played each other in the 2009 FA Cup Final. I played it safe by wearing red – thank God they’re both Pakatan states!

While we’re on the mend (Kelantan’s fans, still without a trophy, are a passionate bunch and follow their team as loyally at the Toon Army) including our recent SEA Games victory, there is no doubt that local football is nothing like what it was in the past.

Case in point: Selangor still one of the better teams, but the 70,000-seat Shah Alam Stadium is rarely full. But this was the stadium that regularly sold out in the nineties.

The audience is almost exclusively working-class. The middle-classes chatter tirelessly about Manchester United or Barcelona. It was surreal, even heartbreaking to see Malaysian fans passionately wearing Manchester United jerseys when the Red Devils played our national team in a friendly (those who wore our national colours were probably Liverpool or Manchester City fans). But maybe it’s a sign of what has happened to Malaysia since then.

In the “Roaring Nineties”, there was a lot of optimism. The Prime Minister, Dr. Mahathir Mohamad was talking about Bangsa Malaysia in his Vision 2020 while Anwar Ibrahim was presiding over a rapidly-growing economy. Yes, there were racial tensions, but people were feeling good.

Reformasi and the Asian Financial Crisis changed things. The younger generation became more critical about the endemic abuse and corruption of our institutions, just like our football fans who were disgusted about match-fixing. After Malay voters abandoned BN in 1999, UMNO took a more racial approach to sustain its support. The Chinese swing voters and the Indians who traditionally stood by BN through thick and thin began leaving them in droves.

Astro brought hours and hours of live foreign football to our screens, exposing our fans to a more attractive brand of football compared to the ones they were watching at local stadiums. Similarly, Malaysians are now more exposed to what is happening abroad with globalisation. Many are opting to leave the country to make a better living.

I recently spoke to a friend, whose father is Indian Muslim. He was a graduate of a local university and worked in an MNC. He was posted abroad before but chose to return to Malaysia.

Yet since coming home he has been repeatedly stopped by the police. They invariably thought he was Indian, and he had to recite the Quran to prove his Muslim faith – but even then he would usually be accused of being a Bangladeshi – until he showed his IC.

“I am paying so much tax to the government, why should I be treated this way?” he lamented. Why, he asked, did he need to live in gated neighbourhoods and send his children to private schools and pay premium insurance rates for private healthcare when these are basic necessities one should expect from any decent government?

As I look at the young people happily watching football at 3am, being so passionate about two far away teams, I saw people who were not just pessimistic about our football, but the country in general.

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