Flashback time

Note: The author has written this for four reasons, to write something in conjuction with the ongoing World Cup, to wax nostalgia, to stretch his composition muscles and to show off his knack of remembering the most useless stuff from long ago, e.g. the time when the school bus he was on crashed into a motorcyclist, 15 frickin' years ago.

This happened in 1997, in Primary 5. The boys in my class, as you might expect, were nuts about football. And in those days, so was I. I made a pretty good defender in street footy. Really, I did! Ah, but my friends were better, so of course I was only the standby player for the inter-school football tournament.

Quite a lot of people were watching that first game, boys and girls. It was the first round, 5/3 (my class) against 5/4. I have to say, we were the favourites. We had, among others, Faiz (yes, THAT Faiz), prolific goal scorer, and (it's hard to forget this name) Nabawi, the Beckham nut. Styled his hair, played on the right and everything. We couldn't lose, surely!

So the match started, refreed by my Mother Tongue teacher. It was real neck-and-neck stuff, they scored one, we scored one, they scored two more, we scored two more. All the while, I was on the sidelines, watching the game eagerly. Before the game, everyone on the team promised me a place on the squad if they won. Actually, it didn't matter to me if I played or not, I just wanted my class to win. Hey, don't you want to be in the champion class too? Anyway, the score was tied 3-3, with 5 minutes to go. Now, Nabawi only started idolising Beckham when he scored this goal. Ever since, he wanted to emulate it. And, on the halfway line, with the ball on his feet and the goalie on his line, he got his chance. And he took it. The ball was rising. All eyes were on the ball. Rising..falling...goalie slipped! GOAL!!!

Naturally, my class started cheering. Nabawi was grinning like the dickens while he was mobbed. But see, I wasn't cheering. See, the goal posts? They had no nets. Blame it on the school ignoring the sports program. I wasn't cheering because I wasn't sure if the ball had crossed UNDER the crossbar (thereby leading to a goal) or OVER the crossbar. if there had been a net, the ball would have landed on it. Therefore, no goal. But no net means the ball continuing down to the ground. It doesn't matter. Everyone thought it was a goal.

Except, of course, the referee.

He blew the whistle and said 'No goal!'. In his opinion, the ball went over, not under, the bar. On hindsight, it was funny. Every single person in the school, even the opposing team, thought it was a goal except the one person who mattered.

Now, if you know Faiz (keeping in mind that he was pretty much the same in secondary school as in primary school, except that he knew more curse words), you can probably guess his reaction. To this date, that was the only time I've ever been in a situation close to a riot. Every single one of my classmates on the field was mobbing the ref, who was quite old mind you. Goodness knows what kind of names he was called. But, in a show of firmness that I could learn from, he made sure his decision stood. Play on, after 5 minutes of protests.

Wouldn't you know it? 5/4 scored the very next minute. 3-4. And that was the scoreline on the final whistle. We were out.

Looking at the guys after the match, it was like Princess Diana's then-recent funeral all over again. This, more than any other thing, was a permanant reminder of the power football holds over its true followers. I was disappointed not to be able to play, yes, but I brushed it off easily. But the guys, they were absolutely heart-broken. Think Singapore Idol rejects. Triple it. There you go, that was their reactions. The worst of it was Nabawi hugging me, tears and snot dripping on my shirt, apologising to me profusely for me not having the chance to play. I wish I was exaggerating. It was a good thing the exams were over, they were all so despondent from that day until the start of the December holidays. Every single guy. Except me, which the girls wondered about. I felt bad for them, of course, but it's hard to feel sad when your uncle just bought you your very first PC, you know?

The tournament was also notable for me getting hit HARD by a wayward ball in another match. At least the girls paid attention to me for a day afterwards.

There is a happy ending to this story: the next year, me, Faiz, Nabawi and one other guy were transfered to another class, 6/2, until now still my favourite class, primary or secondary. On that year's tournament, there were finally nets on the goal posts (shows you how big the controversy was, Dazhong Primary was a bit slow when it came to upgrades back then) and the guys made it to the final. I played 10 minutes of that match before being replaced by Faiz, who basically started murdering the other team. So, basically we won. I got my one and only sports medal.

Is it real gold or not? Pfft, who cares?! I have a Gold medal!