My Blog

I’ve always liked football. But I prefer to follow La Liga and Serie A instead of the infinitely more popular English Premier League. "That’s blasphemy," my friend gasped. "England gave birth to football!" I hadn’t even the foggiest who Peter Crouch was until just recently. Guess I didn’t miss much.

The only other sport I’ve ever loved more than football is baseball. Though I played baseball as a child in school, my interest was never really sparked until I saw a biopic on Babe Ruth. What Pele was to football, Babe Ruth was to baseball, god rest his soul.

But I had to watch baseball for a long time before I finally understood the game. If you think baseball’s all about whacking the ball into orbit and then taking off in a cloud of dust like the Roadrunner - well, you’re only half right. It requires slightly more complex skill and strategy than that. Being a non-contact sport (ie you don’t get to beat up your opponents like you do in football, um, I mean boxing), it can be kinda boring to watch at times. But once you understand the game, then it really is a joy to watch.

The greatest all-time player to me was Jackie Robinson. As the first black man in the major league, he faced a lot of racism on the field - even from his own teammates. But he proved that talent is beyond colour, creed and race.

And isn’t that what the World Cup is about? Everyone gets an equal opportunity on the pitch. Even if you do look and play like Peter Beanpole Crouch. And that’s just one of my top 8 reasons why you should be watching the best sport in the world if you aren’t already and yes, I’m talking about football:

1. To see Third World countries, like Ghana, thrashing global superpowers like the US. It’s nice to see the triumph of the underdog. Never mind that some of these underdogs are playing in European clubs and drawing a salary higher than the GDP of their home country.

2. Watch them elbow/shove/kick each other and then throw up their hands in feigned innocence. Watch them hit the decks and clutch one of their limbs in agony at the mere whiff of contact. Why, they’re almost better actors than Anthony Hopkins and the WWE pro wrestlers.

3. Football is about skill, talent, stamina, speed and strength. Like a lot of sports. Unlike many others though, it also involves a great deal of tactical strategy. And I speak from a wealth of valuable experience. Um, Championship Manager 5, available for both PC and PS2. Maybe that’s where Sven Goran Eriksson should get some practice.

4. Classic quips from the commentators. As the British commentator observed during the England-Trinidad game when Dwight Yorke was unfortunate enough to get struck by a ball in a delicate region: "Ohh…right in the Michael Ballacks!"

5. If you think only the offspring of Hollywood celebrities have funny names, then you haven’t tuned into the World Cup yet. There’s Yipi Yapo from Ivory Coast, Kaka from Brazil, Pimpong from Ghana and Sangat Bulu from Portugal.

6. Every game is unpredictable. You never know when there’s going to be an upset. Fortunes can be changed in an instant by a red card or a dubious refereeing decision. Just ask England.

7. The football pitch is the only place where men cry, embrace, kiss and jump on top of each other in wild joy. Brokeback Mountain doesn’t even have that much gay action.

8. Football’s pure entertainment.

‘Nuff said.

Italy v Australia.

"No contest," people said. "Italy will make Vegemite out of them."

Even though I was pretty confident Italy would beat them, I didn’t think the Aussies would go without a fight. And let’s not forget they’re being led by the same guy who masterminded South Korea’s defeat of Italy 4 years ago. There was the potential for a major upset. I think a lot of my friends were hoping there would be one - sure would have been a glorious underdog story.

Would David slay Goliath again with another well-executed shot?

As I’m waiting for the next match to start at 3am, I’ll just recap the Italy v Aust match that took place earlier. Pretty bleary-eyed right now so excuse me if I have typos or my sentences are incomplete can’t be bothered right now…

Although I was rooting for the boys in blue (naturally), I have to say that Oz’s defence was pretty solid. Tight marking. Very well-organized. Not totally impenetrable though because the Italians, Luca Toni in particular, had several good opportunities in front of goal which they failed to convert.

First half ended in a stalemate.

Then, almost immediately after play resumed, Marco Materazzi was shown the red card for a sloppy challenge on one of the Aussie players. It wouldn’t be a first for him. I don’t like him - he’s a big, dumb brute who can’t tackle cleanly. A B-grade stand-in for Nesta. Don’t know why he was suddenly included in the starting line-up when he was a sub in the previous matches. Could be because he headed in a goal in the last game.

Jesus, that’s like Peter Crouch. Score a goal or two and you get to keep yourself on the pitch, despite being a total liability to your team. Yes, goal scoring is important but you gotta give guys like them at least 20 million tries to get one ball in the net. So they’re lucky once or twice, so what?? Someone please get those flamingos off the pitch.

Well, even with Italy down to 10 men, Oz never capitalized on this advantage and they were never any real threat to Buffon the Italian keeper. Like the other underdogs in the competition (Ghana, Ecuador, etc.), they are fit, strong and relentless but in front of goal, they’re about as dangerous as a bunch of koala bears.

The game looked set to be heading into extra time though which meant that Oz would have a real chance at winning this match. Their tireless running would eventually exhaust a depleted Italian side and sooner or later, they’d be able to break down the resistant wall of defence.

But it was not to be.

As dramatically as any World Cup match can go, Italy was awarded a penalty at the very last minute of the game. Grosso hit the ground after a tackle by Lucas Neill in the Australia box. Totti took the kick and drove the ball into the back of the net, sealing victory and ensuring a place in the quarter-finals for his country.

I felt extremely sad for Oz though, especially when the camera zoomed in on Neill’s extremely forlorn, dejected face as he sat on the pitch after the match. Someone give the guy a pint of Tooheys.

Every awarded penalty is always going to be hotly contested, especially when you’re on the side of the losing team. Hard to say whether it was deserved but don’t think it was deliberate at all, just a poorly timed tackle on Neill’s part. But I never do like to see a game won that way. And I don’t think Italy does either seeing as how they’ve gone out of the World Cup on penalties three times.

Of course, I’m still happy that Italy’s won. The quality of Buffon’s saves alone merit a win. He da man. Guess if he weren’t though, Juventus would ask for a refund (they paid a record-breaking transfer fee of 33 million pounds for him).

Sorry, Socceroos.

By the way, can someone please tell team Australia to get a less cuddly nickname? I was also praying fervently that they wouldn’t win just so I wouldn’t have to see stupid tabloid headlines tomorrow…’Socceroos hop to historic win’, ‘G’day to Italy, mate’…

Blech.

If Oz had won though, then Hiddink will really be the man with the Midas touch. Instead of wasting money on more useless mega projects, our dear ol’ government can consider paying millions to him instead to train our national team for the next World Cup.

You want to encourage national pride, well, nothing does it like sports.

The World Cup is making me miserable. I’m deprived of sleep, I’ve started scheduling social appointments around matches and I’m missing episodes of Spongebob Squarepants, The Fairly Odd Parents and other wonderful shows to watch 20 sweaty men chase after a ball.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve always supported Holland and Italy in their World Cup campaigns (although the former failed to even qualify for the 2002 tournament). Holland, because I was first awed by football after watching old footage of Johan Cruiyff and the "Clockwork Orange".

And Italy…"Because they have the best-looking men?" people often snort to me.

Ahem.

Well, yes, most of the squad do look like they belong more in a Giorgio Armani ad than on a football pitch. And they did look pretty fine in the tight jerseys they wore for the last WC…And defender Alessandro Nesta is a stud and a half…Sorry, what was the question again? Haha.

Truth is, I became a fan in 1994, the year Italy unluckily lost to Brazil on a penalty shootout in the final. It was not a good year for the Italians - they struggled through their group games and their goalkeeper was sent off in a match, the first time such a thing had ever happened in the WC. But Roberto Baggio impressively and almost single-handedly steered his team through these obstacles to land themselves in the final.

He was a brilliant player, an attacking forward in an otherwise dull and defensive team.

So how very tragic that the same saviour of Italy would fail to deliver at the very end by blazing the penalty right over the crossbar. I felt for the guy.

And thus, that’s how I became an Italy fan. Through sheer pity and admiration for their resilience in trying to capture their fourth WC title.

And also through sheer amazement of the fact that Italy always underperforms on an international level when they have such abundance of talent. Heck, some of the players on the current squad have even made it to the legendary Pele’s list of the greatest living footballers in the world. (Then again, I think there were also one or two Americans on the same list - wtf? Pele is so diplomatic and generous with his praise he should just go and join Kofi Annan at the UN.)

But still. Let’s look at the current lineup. Make fun of his name all you want but Gianluigi Buffon is definitely no buffoon as he’s currently the world’s most expensive goalkeeper. Luca Toni is the most prolific striker in the Serie A this season. And Nesta…can just kill opponents with his looks. Haha.

Oh, and not forgetting Francesco Totti the playmaker. Hailed by both Pele and Michel Platini as possibly the best player in the world right now, Totti has always been one of my favourite footballers. His detractors would call it hype and overinflation of his share value, especially since Signor Totti seems to have a penchant for diving. And I don’t mean the deep sea kind.

But anyway, with talent like that, you would’ve thought Italy would be making spaghetti and meatballs out of the Yanks. Instead, it was almost the other way around.

I like to root for the underdog but come on, this is the US. A country where football is allegedly something like the thirteenth most popular sport - after tractor-pulling. The US team will go home to indifference and ignorance. If you have a team like England or Italy being sent home early for poor performance in the WC, you can bet they’d be pelted with tomatoes by their fellow countrymen upon arrival. People in England pummel each other to death not because of differing views on politics or religion, but because of allegiance to rival football clubs.

Which is why there are high expectations for footballing nations like Italy. Well, yeah, they put up quite a good game against Ghana. But they don’t look like world champs at all. Which is a shame because all of them play excellent football with their respective clubs. Where’s the teamwork and rhythm that you would expect from them? Where’s the hunger and the drive?

The Azzurri better watch their backs. Paolo Rossi would be so very ashamed of them.

Thanks, guys, for all your comments through posting, messages, e-mails, SMSes and phone calls.

I’m still, um, mildly stunned to get a call in the middle of the night from one of you saying: "Italy’s not unlucky, Steph, they just suck."

Gee, thanks for the feedback.

But seriously, it’s people like you who’s keeping this blog alive when it’s well past its expiry date.

It’s nice to hear you agreeing, disagreeing or empathizing with me. Keep it up.

Just don’t call me in the middle of the night regarding one of my posts. Please.

"It is better to be lucky than to be good," the main character says in Match Point.

A superb analogy is given early in the film when he, a former pro tennis player, bumps into an acquaintance on the street who tells him: "You were always a good player. Perhaps with a little luck, the ball would have gone over the net a few more times."

He’s speaking, of course, of those moments in a tennis match where the ball hits the top of the net and remains in mid-air for that agonizing fraction of a second. With some luck, the ball goes over, and you win. Or maybe it doesn’t, and you lose.

All that bridges the divide between greatness and mediocrity is sheer, dumb luck.

And the reason I’m talking about Lady Luck is because my World Cup favourites, Italy and Holland, have always experienced her uglier side when it comes to football’s top competition.

The Azzurri have been sent home packing from the World Cup on penalties three times. They came thisclose to winning their fourth title in 1994 but ironically, the star goal scorer of the team himself (Roberto Baggio) missed the penalty kick, shooting it way over the crossbar.

And this year, Italy was plagued with a string of untimely injuries to star players such as Totti and Nesta, although coach Marcello Lippi insists that his squad is now in good condition. But after a surprising draw with the US, fortune seems not to be in Italy’s favour.

As for Holland…well, they didn’t even make it into the last World Cup. Better luck for them this time round, I hope…

We acknowledge hard work. We acknowledge talent. But we rarely acknowledge the significant role that luck plays in our lives. Maybe because most people want to believe that they owe their success to a stroke of genius rather than a stroke of luck. Luck implies that, well, you aren’t special. You were just at the right place at the right time.

But from the point of conception itself, life is all about luck. And what are good looks but a genetic lottery, really? What is every decision you make but a calculated gamble?

Life is an infinite game of chance and all you can do is play the hand you’re dealt.

Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes the ball hits the goalpost. Sometimes it hits the back of the net.

But who will score the most goals? The striker who is talented or the one who is less talented, but lucky? Who then will emerge the better player? The one with many chances or the one who creates his own chances?

And I leave you with that to ponder while I tuck myself into bed.

Good night, and good luck.

No sea, just the sound of the water cooler gurgling in the pantry.

No sand, just sawdust from the building in construction next to my office.

No sun, just harsh fluorescent lighting.

But I can always dream.

Took a drive up (or is it down? - my geography sucks) to Perak over the weekend for white-water rafting in Sg. Kampar.

After we met with the instructor (who also happens to be the founder of the adventure tour operator we had signed up with), we were all herded like cattle into the back of a lorry which then made its way through dense palm oil plantations and narrow kampung roads.

When we got to the river, they made us put on life jackets and helmets. The sport may be cool but the gear sure don’t make you look cool. But hey, I’m not about to indulge in vanity where sharp rocks and my head are concerned.

Before you start rafting, they teach you how to assume the "white water position", that is what to do if you fall out of the raft during a particularly rough rapid. Basically, you just straighten your body like a corpse and let the rapids carry you to calmer waters, and then only should you attempt swimming back to the raft. Otherwise, you might drown and die. Or you might get sucked underneath the raft by the strong currents, then drown and die. 

At least that’s what our instructor said to us as the blood drained from our faces. "But don’t worry, no one with us has died before," she chortled.

The first three drops were an adrenaline rush. A lot of the time though, the whole experience feels like riding on bumper cars because your raft is constantly hitting or sliding up rocks, or getting wedged between rocks. It would take some skillful maneuvering from our guide to get our raft floating again.

Also, you get a lot wetter than you think you will. At the end of the three-hour session, I was not only soaking wet but I also realized that sneakers was a poor choice of footwear. It’s been a few days since the trip and I’m still trying to air dry them out. They probably smell funky by now. Oh crap.

Anyway. So yeah, after getting the hang of it, the baby rapids seem as threatening as a thumb tack. You start hankering for bigger, badder rapids. That’s so like me. Wanting to go to a more advanced level before I’ve even mastered the basics. Like when I learnt surfing. Eager to catch a big wave but ended up getting knocked off my board which then nearly came down on my head.

But after all, what’s an adventure if it doesn’t rough you up a bit?

You tore through this place like a hurricane, like the town was too small to contain you. And you left for bigger things.

And now that the dust from your trail has settled, now only do I realize that this town ain’t the same without you.

Come back, why don’t you come back?

I was making a turn into my office building’s parking lot this morning when I had to suddenly slam on the brakes.

Because a chicken was crossing the road.

Wtf?

For those of you who don’t know, my office is situated in Mid Valley. I don’t think there is any farm or barnyard within a 5-mile radius. So I’m struggling to figure out where my feathery jaywalking friend could have come from.

Nando’s? Kenny Roger’s? I guess they ain’t kidding when they say their food is fresh.

But I’m guessing it could have strayed off from the Indian temple nearby. Maybe it was a sacrificial lamb - er, chicken. I’m not sure but I reckon they do this sort of thing at temples, don’t they?

Well, nevertheless, let it be known that I brake for pedestrians and poultry.

I’m not exactly in the running to be the next PETA spokesperson though because I honestly did feel like running the stupid chicken down once or twice because it was taking so bloody long to get to the other side of the road. It acted like walking in a straight line can only be accomplished by creatures of a higher pecking order. It’d strut about and look confused, generally giving the impression that it was better off sandwiched between two mayo-slathered buns with lettuce and tomatoes.

Would it be any surprise to say that I had a McChicken for lunch?

I have this recurring dream where I’m on a swing. When I swing high up into the air, I feel a rush of adrenaline as my feet almost touch the sky. When I swing back, my heart beat steadies as the sky distances itself and stretches into an endless blue horizon in front of me.

That’s how I feel my life is like sometimes. At times, it reaches dizzying heights and I feel like everything is within my grasp, even the sky. And then there are times when you get pulled back and see the big picture, and how minuscule you are in the grand scheme of things. And how it’s beyond your control that certain things are out of reach.

And of course, there are also those times when life just…f**king sucks. Pardon my eloquence.

But I guess without bitterness, you would never know the taste of sweetness. Without pain, you would never know the sensation of pleasure. Without defeat, you would never know the triumph of victory.

Not that I’m trying to say life is rough on me right now. Quite on the contrary.

I’m just waiting for those dizzying heights.