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July, 2010

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Musings on Malaysian Sports

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German football may be too efficient, too clinical, too devoid of art and too tactical for some of us to appreciate. Or it may just be that the German national side have always been the bogey team to a particular footballing nation you happen to profess support for. But as much as the English Premiership touts itself as the world’s best league, I think watching the Bundesliga may prove to be quite a fruitful exercise for fellow football junkies. (Not quite sure if Astro show it in Malaysia, but ESPN UK telecasts live matches).

Reason being is that they have almost done, as a country, what Alan Hansen famously quoted was the impossible: winning, with kids. Their World Cup third-placed team had an average age of 24 years. They do not stake claim on having the youngest player overall, but their youngest played had the highest impact factor on the overall tournament: enter stage left, Thomas Mueller. Not yet 21, the young man carted home not one but two accolades: top scorer and best young player.

Something is going right with German youth football development . Malaysia may not be in a position to copy it just yet, but maybe the FAM should consider feeding some of our younger talent into the system. Especially since there has been a unique Malaysian touch in the development of players such as Thomas Mueller.

Truth be told, apart from thoughts of when it is time to go home from work and why is this bus/car/lorry intent on running me over, one of the two other things that occupy my navel gazing hours is the possibility of having Malaysian football scale great heights. I refuse to accept the fact that as a footballing nation, we have reached our peak and it is now downhill. I refuse to see the Malaysian U23′s victory against their South Korean counterparts as a fluke, like when Burnley beat Manchester United. I want to see that as a sign of hope for the future, but am I both foolishly optimistic and misguided? I admit I am out of touch with the development of local football, so I put some questions to a respected former ‘senior’ at NSTP, Rizal Hashim, who was at the Malay Mail Sports Desk when I was a stringer at Jalan Riong.

One particular line of inquiry that I was following up was the presence of Malaysian footballers playing abroad. In the same way students who studied abroad brought a different – not necessarily better, mind, but different, nonetheless – dimension to ways of thinking or doing things, footballers playing abroad are also able to contribute in a similar way. So I started counting the number of recent Malaysian players who have plied their trade, however short, abroad. The list I managed to compile – with Rizal’s help – is neither long nor overly impressive:

    Liew Kim Tu – Germany
    Lim Teong Kim – Hertha Berlin
    Akmal Rizal Ahmad Rakhli – FC Strasbourg / Fr Haguenau
    Juzaili Samion – FC Strasbourg / Fr Haguenau
    Fadzli Saari – SV Wehen
    Rudie Ramli – SV Wehen

Titus Palani went to France to pursue a career via the youth development system there, but I have not been able to ascertain whether he is still at Villenoy, has moved on or no longer active.

Nak tunggu Malaysia masuk World Cup....
Nak tunggu Malaysia masuk World Cup…

Two things worth mentioning here: first, only Lim Teong Kim and Liew Kim Tu used their own initiative to seek a career abroad; the other players obtained placements with FAM’s help one way or another. (In the case of Akmal Rizal, Rizal Hashim put the case forward with the help of FAM and their links with former Malaysian national coach, Claude le Roy). The issue here is that without FAM’s help, there seems to be little effort on anyone’s part to try and play abroad.

I put it to Rizal that it reeks of the subsidy mentality – that if it wasn’t for the government or governmental agencies helping out, then you are a tad too comfortable with the status quo. Rizal did not disagree, but he also added that a major problem is the lack of professionalism in our game – whether it be the media, the governance, the profession … it is wide reaching and deep-rooted.

Second: we seem to focus much on the European game and trying to get stints there, without really trying to establish ourselves in Asia. Granted, leagues in Asia are nowhere near as good or developed as those in Europe, but there is one aspect of being the travelling player that most people discount – that of shifts in culture and climate.

In his book Futebol Alex Bellos opens the first chapter by charting the loneliness that is the life of Brazilian imports plying their trade in the furthest of outposts : the Faroe Islands. Used to a warm climate and a carnival atmosphere, frozen pitches and dour fishermen communities were the price these players paid for a professional contract abroad.

Perhaps there is merit in testing the waters closer to home, where the food is more palatable (people in Asia eat rice!) and the culture is more tolerable. And when homesick, air travel is more affordable. But of the players in the national team at the moment, none are playing anywhere else in Asia apart from Malaysia. Ironic, given that when we were importing foreign players, Asian players often made the line-up.

One could argue that we may not want to send our players abroad because other Asian leagues are of a lower quality, but based on AFC Asian league rankings, the Malaysian league ranks above only Hong Kong, Oman and Bahrain. Ahead of us we have the leagues of Vietnam, Thailand and Indonesia, if venturing to Singapore is too close for comfort. If we’re not good enough to play in the Vietnamese professional league… ah, we can’t be that bad, can we?!

Maybe it’s just about representation. Our players are managed or ‘owned’ by state associations, and the system in place right now may not have that one person that annoys the hell out of all and sundry, but essential in getting their wards the right deal: the agent.

I have not yet heard of football agents representing players in Malaysia, who work in the interest of the player. I may be (and often am) wrong, of course. One clearly cannot expect the State FAs to showcase their wares to potential interested parties – there is a conflict of interest inherent; and one cannot rely on the FAM to do everything.

So maybe there is a career path for those mamak-shop pundits. They can talk the game, they can wheel and deal a discount from the mamak… why not make money from it? Hehe.

Of course this goes back to Rizal’s earlier assertion: that there no professionalism in the game at any level at the moment. Is there hope for the management of team sports to improve, I asked him. His reply? Forget football. Focus on individual sports instead. And looking at the achievements we have amassed in squash and badminton, I believe he’s quite right.

A Lifetime in a Fast Car

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iPods killed the mixtape, I’m pretty sure. Okay, maybe MP3 players in general, but I’m just placing the blame on Apple.

A few years ago I found some old mixtapes I made when I was still at school and university.

Some of them were compiled by accident – a series of songs I’d liked at a particular point in time, recorded from the radio. Not many were ‘clean’ copies : there’s always a voiceover somewhere, which once annoyed me. Now they just capture the spirit of the times.

Others were compiled with care, with thought as to what story it was meant to tell, or whether there was a flow. When I got a few A1s for my SRP, the parental units had to pay up – the deal was RM50 per A1 obtained. Yes, I was trained as a capitalist. I think they were a bit depressed that the sum was nowhere near the RM400 they’d hoped they had to pay out, but still, the amount I secured allowed me to buy an Aiwa radio with not one but TWO cassette decks and a record button. It was homemade mixtape heaven.

The mixtape has, of course, evolved to mix CDs and now playlists. I don’t mind playlists, but with me they tend to grow exponentially. What all mixtapes boil down to, when you’ve stripped all the stories away, are a collection of songs that you want to listen to. A playlist is just a couple of songs I quite like at a particular moment in time, and I want to listen to them frequently enough; not too frequently enough to have it on loop, but at the same time frequently enough to not have to wait more than 45 minutes or so to listen to it again.

So I’ve been making mixtapes again on my playlists. I’ve set a maximum of 17 songs per playlist. Like the number of songs you get on a CD or a tape. I tend to name my playlists chronologically. There’s a lot of ‘Summer 2007′, ‘Spring 2008′ and ‘Winter 2009′. Very original, I know.

"Fender Squire" untuk Kudo
If this is going to be a mixtape, then this is the album cover

My latest playlist is a ragamuffin set of songs spanning various emotions. It starts off with some denial of the gravity of things – Ruang Rindu (Letto) & Mrs. Robinson (Simon and Garfunkel)

… which morphs into anger – Mr Brightside (The Killers), Use Somebody (Kings of Leon) & Take a Bow (Rihanna).

Then it goes to acceptance of the realities of things – Piano Man (Billy Joel), I Lied (Telefon Tel Aviv) & Breakeven (The Script);

And just when you feel like the wrists are all but slit, I stick in some hope – Karma Chameleon (Culture Club), Fast Car (Tracy Chapman) & Haven’t Met You Yet (Michael Buble).

In between it all, there is a resounding stadium anthem in Total Eclipse of the Heart (Bonnie Tyler) because every mix tape deserves a mega ballad.

I have Fyfe Dangerfield’s version of She’s Always a Woman to remind me it is okay to be who I am, and then there’s Better than Ezra’s A Lifetime, because to me, she sits in the light and combs her hair in her own way – I still miss Zoorek a lot.

A good mixtape, if I may say so myself. But I can’t quite get a title to wrap it up with. Any suggestions?

Paris or Rome..

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You know how I like rain, and that it rains quite a lot over here whatever the season? And that there’s nothing better than the smell of rain on grass? Well now I’ve discovered there is. It is the smell of rain water pelting hot tarmac. A slight burning smell, not quite unpleasant but it conjures images of big steam rollers and mile-long roadwork queues. In summer, after a scorcher of a 30-degrees day, the rain sometimes falls and the road sizzles and you get that rain-on-tarmac smell. It’s the smell of home.

I sit in my study and I stare out of the window and I see the train on Platform 5. It is the 2258 to Clacton-on-Sea, going via Colchester Town and Hythe, the two other stations in this town. This is the last train from the station heading that way via this route. There is a girl in a funny hat reading a newspaper. I can see her but she can’t see me. Or rather, she can if she wanted to, but I am more interested in her than she is in me. I wonder where she is going, and if she’s going home.

Discounting the first house I lived in when I first came to Colchester, all other houses were in proximity to a train line. I hit the jackpot when I moved here – smack dab next to the station. I can watch trains go by any time I want to. I wonder if there are particular events in my subconscious that makes me love trains. For some reasons their rattling against the tracks and their screechy brakes calm me down. Even this far away from home they make me feel at home.

I love the concept of home. Probably as much as I love the word cusp. Cusp is an amazing word, it brings with it an aura of expectations of better things to come. Like ‘edge’, except that with edge it can go both ways. Cusp always seem to imply soaring wings and greater heights.

I listened to the now-quite-famous version of Newport (Ymerodraeth State of Mind) and laughed at the lyrics celebrating all things great about cities and towns that are just on the periphery of more famous sibling cities. In Newport’s case, country capital Cardiff just 15 miles away has absorbed all the attention when it comes to culture and tourism; but as the lyrics of the song goes:

Newport.. /Twinned with Guangxi Province in China / … there’s no province finer. Josie D’Arcy’s from Newport.. / Yes, it’s strange, we didn’t know either … / Thank you Wikipedia!

For those of you who haven’t checked out the video yet..

Am very much a lyrics person when it comes to music, and the wit in this would do Mitch Benn proud ten times over.

There’s something about smaller peripheral towns that scream industry and concrete [okay, this includes Coventry as well even though it's not that small] where it seems like nothing really goes on except the mundanity of life. But beneath the smog there are still things locals celebrate, not because it is of the finest quality, but because it is the defining characteristic that endears it to the hearts of its inhabitants.

Yes, it reminds me of Bandar Baru Bangi. There is a deep sense of irony that comes with celebrating growing up in this town that outsiders don’t quite get. I know I say it is the centre of the universe, much to the annoyance of friends who live in Bangsar. But that’s only because the centre of the universe is a black hole, see…

09012007182
Heard about the Restaurant at the End of the Universe? Well here’s the Barber Shop at the Centre of the Universe

I told the Kimster today that I was craving for nasi kandar for some reason, and he wondered aloud if it was nasi kandar that I wanted, or was it what nasi kandar represented. After double checking that there indeed was no double entedre associated with nasi kandar, I got thinking about what it meant for me as a Malaysian abroad.

Some mornings I travel to London for a spot of Nasi Lemak MSD, not because I can’t get nasi lemak anywhere else. Heck, all I would really need to do is go to my kitchen if I really wanted some of the red-and-white stuff.

The thing about nasi lemak at the MSD is that it is available all day, but however much I was craving for it, if it was already past 11am when I got to Bayswater, I’d always opt for nasi campur instead. Because it isn’t the nasi lemak that I was craving really, was it? It was what the nasi lemak represented.

Or rather, what a nasi lemak breakfast at a Malaysian canteen, eaten on plastic-sheet covered tables with pictures of Prime Ministers on the wall and Siti Nurhaliza blaring on the radio represented. It represented home.