I see ‘em!

Sensational as the title is, today is one of the more interesting days of my life (dull as most days are). Hence, unlike usual posts where I talk about feelings or some random thoughts, I’ve decided to recount today’s events (with some glee).

In a friendly soccer match at my place…

I was surprised by the care of my sec 4 buddies as I went down under a challenge from my own goalkeeper. But considering that I was bleeding from the right nostril and that my spit had blood 3 hours of the match, I find the rare attention and affection quite deserving. haha. For the record, it was my zealous never-say-die take-no-prisoners, warrior-soul-mate Abel who took me out as I went for a header with an opponent (some guy called Hanyang; I remeber his physical presence as we jostled for the header. Btw I got the ball ok) On hindsight, Abel tells me that it was more of a palm, but my sensationalist mind would like to blow up the story, so I call it a two-fisted punch to my face. Witnesses to the red-card-worthy foul (from my own team mate at that) have said that ‘It was not malicious’ and ‘there was no malice.’  Actually it was Derrick who said that - of course, it was my team-mate how much malice could there be?!… but considering that Abel’s M.D.G. (Most Desireable Guy) status was under threat from a handsome me…

Haha, ya I deserve the punch right?

After many exhortations from my pal Henry to go see a doctor, I was wondering what would be Abel’s reaction if I went to the nearest hospital, Yio Chu Kang Hospital, and his girlfriend, Louise, who was working there, were to see me and ask, "Who is the beast who did this to you?!’ Of course, laughing at that joke didn’t make my sore jaw any better. Worse, in fact.

But in actual fact I was kinda proud when Kang’en said that ‘Wow I never saw you go down/being taken out before.’ other than this time of course. Guess that I had met my match in Abel, another Wimbledon in spirit buddy. Carr (him) and Trukk (me), that’s what we called ourselves in JC… oh the irony

The next events that I am about to recount may at times be translated from mandarin and hokkien for abit of the authentic feel, so pardon my abuse of my Engrish.

Anyways we had a nice swim after that (stinking up the pool!) and got kinda sunburnt and went to AMK hawker center for lunchies. Ordering 3 cups of sugarcane juice, I was kinda pissed when the uncle didn’t serve it to us after some time. Instead he was giving it to people who were standing in front of his stall. Hey, there wasn’t a ‘Self-Service’ sign.

Anyways, I walked in front of the queue of 2 people, one of the people of which was my friend queueing to order another 2 cups and took 3 cups from the man. I gave him the only note I had, a $50, and he said he would return me the change later.

After we had almost finished our meal, he actually came to me to demand the $2.80 for the drinks! Knowing my propensity towards forgetting things at times, I decide to check me pockits, lucky of which I had only one, OP shorts la. And my wallet, only some lonely receipts resided there. Anyway I did remember passing the money to him, and my friend Yi Chen said he remembered me stretching out past him i the queue to give the fella the cash.

Since my bag was under a pile of my friends’, I was convinced that he had the cash and was being funny. It didn’t help that the cleaning auntie said that a few days ago he tried the same stunt on some old lady. Feeling quite injusticed, my friends came to my rescue, persuading me to call the police and calling the guy a swindler.

Armed with a chopper in hand, he started to shout and point at my rather meek-looking friend who was my witness, he said ‘Ni gei wo hao hao xiang qing chu chai jiang!’ (You better think carefully before saying!) But my friend never backed down, though he still strikes me as meek-looking (he wants to work in a zoo or something with the AVA, a cool pacifist I would say)

Of course being the rough-looking ruffians (hey!) that we are, my friends got more enraged, replying in shouts. They told me not to hesitate to call the police.

Thinking of a trip down to the station was kinda a bummer for me (my record ain’t that clean either, haha) and so suddenly I thought of thinking straight (which I must say isn’t my hallmark la).

I began thinking about the motto of ‘Win-win’ from my alma mater and heard Yue Fei’s Man Jiang Hong (River of Full of Red[blood]) haha, crap la, actually I tot of the win-win argument strategy that I read before. Never confront someone unless you are very sure of it. Also, giving someone a form of escape is the best way to win. Hence the ‘win-win’ cheese.

So despite the gold-chain-adorning, black-PCK-boots-wearing, chopper-wielding-demeanour, I decide to reason with him. It helped that I was sun-burnt and I had the fiery-red face of Guan Yu (face only har, I said face) (Guan Gong to some). Also to my favour was the fact that I had a blood-stained tissue flaring from my nostril and I was a little crazed (dazed actually) in the eye because of the ‘punch’ 3 hours earlier.

So I took my chances. I went with him inside his little shop (close quarters harder to swing chopper) and told him in the calmest voice that I could muster ( we had to clear out my angry friends from the way btw) that I believed it was a genuine mistake and that I had tried my best so far in trying to clear up the misunderstanding. I believed that he could help us to do so too. I had check my pockets and my wallet. All I asked of him was to check his pockets carefully, and his money.

At this point, some idiot oblivious to the crowd of people around actually tried to order 2 cups of sugarcane. AS I was standing at the stall entrance and the Lau Beng being inside, I decided not to spoil the moment and actually took the order, asking whether he wanted lemon. He said ok but didn’t state his seat number before leaving. Wisely, I decided not to pursue the dumbass.

Anyway…

after checking, the old punk suddenly toned down his voice and told me that ok he saw another $50 dollars in the pile of money, and hence he said, assuming that it was mine, he would return me my $47.20 change. It was quite a nice moment actually as I beat him affectionately on his waist telling him he must check more carefully mah; this type of misunderstanding very troublesome. I felt as if I was a nagging mother chiding a child. He said that he didn’t want the women to be talking, they were very busybody. To go with the moment, I kinda agreed with him that yah they can be meddlesome in these sort of situations. Then he told me to hold my wallet behind the counter and he counted and put the change in it. He then told me to quickly go and don’t talk to others about this.

Having left, we were faced with a little dilemma whether to still report him or otherwise, Some arguments put forth by my friends was that he will try the stunt again and maybe manage to cheat other gullible people or people who wouldn’t stand up to him. Also, giving me the change was admission to being at fault, and he was so sure previously that he hadn’t the money. My friend Peh was especially incensed that he had the cheek to come and demand $2.80 from me when he was trying to pocket my $50. Actually this reminds me of another story of us and my friend, Tung Lung, in my secondary school days ;P … anyway…

Another old man who was a passerby (wisely?) told us that since he returned us the money and kind of admitted it, let the matter rest and not ruin him. Other eaters said he would get his just reward some day. Hence being the kind-hearted souls that we were and being the pacifist that I am (stop giggling), I decided to let the matter rest.

Well, was it all in a usual day for us 4Mers?

P.S.: Of course Adeline is gonna be worried after reading this post. Have I lost my looks after being punched? Would I ever again walk into a stall with a crazed lau ah-beng wearing short shorts, a thick gold chain, permed hair and with chopper in hand?

Answer is ‘no’ for both har.

The World Cup playing out its expected bouts of drama these few weeks, Keano’s retirement seems like a distant event. The furor and controversy surrounding the man has cleared, and has kinda petered out tamely considering that the Republic of Ireland is not represented in the World Cup.

Speaking of representation, the departure of Roy Keane from football represented something important for me. Of late, I have lost interest in watching soccer matches. As a kind of withdrawal symptom, only betting seems to raise the excitement a notch. Nonetheless, there seems to be little to care about in soccer anymore.

Who are these men who take the game as a sport? Who are they that I should care and cry with them? What did it mean to anybody other than themselves if they won?

When we support something, usually it is thought of as an extension of the self. It is strange if you think about how we associate things with ourselves. Walk into a pub and you hear: ‘Hi I’m Mark and I’m a Man Utd fan.’ It almost seems like an important biological fact of our lives.

But when you think about it, it is quite absurd to say that you support a club. What does ’support’ really mean? Do you pay the players’ wages. Does one feel the rivalry of the clubs up North, whatever that means? I live in Yio Chu Kang and I’m supporting a football club in Manchester? It is quite a ridiculous assertion to say the least. Hence these days, I would only say I’m a fan, because I admire the football played by certain teams, certain countries. I would say Roy Keane supported Manchester United. Why? If he didn’t play or he didn’t care, there was a direct impact on the team. Who gives a hoot if you or I stop ’supporting’ a club?

Anywayz, what is there to miss when Keano’s gone? And what is now missing in all these games. The bets increase from $25 to $50 dollars, it could reach a hundred, a measly sum to some. But the point is, you are excited about the money, anxious about your winnings. You don’t care for the game.

What Keane represented to me was not the usual terms associated with him. Aggression, determination, loyalty. These qualities I do value alot. But what is simply special about him is that he is someone who cared.

In this day when the importance of things fade as there is always another distraction, there are few people who care enough about anything. If you are feeling down after your favourite team lost, you go out and eat prata and soon you’ll forget it all. Same as footballers. If they lose a match, they have their girlfriends, their tonnes of money, their next fashion show to go to. Buy another house. Nobody cares much about anything anymore.

Lost in time is the madness of the warrior giving up his life for the cause. It takes a naked belief to be in the front row of a charging wave of battlers. Have you watched Braveheart or any film where two armies met in hand-to-hand combat? To rush headlong into certain death, it takes a certain sort of commitment. It is not a buts-and-ifs situation. To find such a man in these times would be priceless. You could never buy such a man.

When you see Roy Keane, he WAS Man Utd. You couldn’t take him away from Man Utd. No other club bothered to bid for him, there never was any transfer speculation. Nobody bothered to. It was impossible to get him to leave unless he wanted to.

Look at all the other clubs. Patrick Vieira, captain of Arsenal was hounded every season by other clubs, eager to prise him away. Now after he has left for Juventus, their next captain, Henry is always being targeted by other clubs. Liverpool always had to endure speculation about Gerrard’s future. Only Terry from Chelsea is spared this and he is another to be admired.

Is there any other player who cares as much? Seeing teams play in the World Cup, it breaks my heart. If you are playing for your nation, when you are representing it, you have to play your soul out. Yet, all can be seen are half-hearted efforts by teams. I spit in the England players face when they said that ‘it was hot’ as an excuse for underperforming against Paraguay and Trinidad and Tobago. What *^&%$#@ nonsense is that? (Wow I’m really ranting here)

It is almost a joke considering that I play with everything I’ve got, whether rain or shine, and I play for free, on an uneven-pitch. And I even have to fork out my own transport fares. These players are flown first-class. They have no respect for themselves man. It is absurd and disgusting to say you support any of these people.

Ultimately, it comes down to what these things mean to one personally. Everyday we live half-hearted lives, pursuing half-believed causes. Yes, we can fail a test, we will take another one. Lose a friend, make another one. Fallen out of love, find another one. Yes, many of us are beset with self-doubt, insecurities, uncertainty. And there is much to fear in this modern day. But also, there is too much to fall back on. What I see in Keane is that he could look straight at the cause and invest himself totally in it. There was no consolation, there is no tomorrow to make up for failure. He always played as if it were the last match of his life.

As if possessed, sometimes his spirit shakes me on the field. And that is what my eyes search for when I look across the green plains of grass. Real men whose past spirits bear more force and fury than the pale imitation of today. Only ghosts run through these fields now.

Frozen

in my memory is an image of Roy Keane against Arsenal seasons back. Having won the ball off Vieira, he sailed out of our defence in front of the baying crowd of Highbury. We had not won the game yet. Wearing a white away strip, with his men about him, he was a shining fighter bearing a flag and rallying his troops. They ran by his side, first fast, then slowing to admire the regal image. In an instant, doubt, uncertainty and fear - the future - was banished with the white reflected in your eye. You could fling talent, speed, agility, these names at him, but he would overcome them with sheer will. With this figure, we knew we had won.