Brilliant article by Dan Wetzel from Yahoo! Sports. A huge part of me screams this, which is probably why, while I know Germany is the sharpest team in the World Cup now, my heart still lies with teams like Brazil, Argentina and Spain.
The original article can be accessed here:
http://g.sg.sports.yahoo.com/football/world-cup/news/why-soccer-s-biggest-stars-failed-to-shine--fbintl_dw-failedstars070510.html
WHY SOCCER'S BIGGEST STARS FAILED TO SHINE
by Dan Wetzel
CAPE TOWN, South Africa – Soccer's superstar players never materialized here at the World Cup. The game's best – Lionel Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo, Kaka, Wayne Rooney, etc. – often failed to lift their play and, in turn, their teams, to a level this grand stage demands.
The conventional wisdom on why: They were too selfish, unable to adapt to the team concept of a national squad.
Then there's Diego Maradona's take: Unlike the past, the stars weren't selfish enough.
"Today the players are more collective, more team players," the Argentina coach said after his own star-studded team was bounced from the World Cup. "They want to do everything with their teammates. It is a different type of game right now."
This goes against so much of what we've come to believe, and expect, in sports. The reason that Uruguay and the Netherlands square off here Tuesday in a semifinal is because they embraced selfless, team-oriented play.
Such a mentality is celebrated.
What Maradona is suggesting is that this line of thinking has become so widespread it's actually killed the star player, who no longer acts like a star player. Rather than demanding his place in the natural pecking order of pure talent and past performance, they sink back into the pack.
Such thinking would carry little weight except it is Maradona who said it. Who could know more about what's needed for a talented player to morph into a larger-than-life superstar and dominate the World Cup? No one owned this event the way Maradona did in 1986 when he led Argentina to the title.
His implication is that the star needs to act like the star. That he is better than his teammates is a given. Rather than apologize for it, he must remind them of it, make them respect it. He must lead not by being one of the guys but by being above the guys. It's the cult of personality, if you will.
"I think we were more selfish," Maradona said, which has to be the first time an old player said that about a bygone era. "Maybe before it was about being selfish players who [made the] rest of the team work for us."
Today's players receive remarkable hype – television commercials, video games and media attention. They are single-name personalities around the globe.
Yet you'd never hear one say that the rest of the team works for them. They'd be vilified. Instead today's stars go out of their way to support their teammates and talk publicly about how no one player is more important than the other.
Only some players are more important, Maradona notes.
Consider the most competitive environments on earth – the military battlefield, the flight deck of a commercial airliner or a hospital operating table.
This is where failure is not an option. In those cultures, the delineation between the star (the general, the lead pilot) and the others (private, flight attendant) is clear. Often socialization between classes is prohibited – enlisted men do not dine with officers – and the word of the higher-ranked person must be respected.
When having open-heart surgery, no patient would care if the lead surgeon is friends with or helps empower the nurse. In fact, the idea that the nurse would fear disappointing the lead surgeon and would clearly defer to him at all times might be considered a positive. You'd want the most brilliant talent to be the leader.
In Maradona's day, he says, that carried over to a soccer team. He was Diego Maradona and they were not.
"Time changes in life," Maradona said.
In this time, the star player must be humble and supportive. And not just on the field, but in all parts of team life. Obviously all players know they need others to make them better in the game. Someone has to pass them the ball. Or receive a pass. But off the field, is one for all, all for one really the best concept?
It's difficult to say. Maradona only knows the mentality that made him lead a country to World Cup glory. It certainly isn't the only way.
Perhaps it is one of them, though. And with most of the world's top individual players home watching the semifinals, with criticism of their selfish play ringing through their heads, maybe the opposite is true. Maybe they weren't selfish enough.
Maybe Maradona's correct. Maybe the soccer world has gone soft.
Showing posts with label soccer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soccer. Show all posts
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
Monday, 14 June 2010
Danish Dynamite
"Winning is for losers. Many of life's more interesting stories focus on those who didn't quite make it; who didn't get the girl or the job or the epiphany or even the Jules Rimet trophy. Johan Cruyff said his Holland side of the 70s were immortalised by their failure to win the World Cup and, when World Soccer invited a group of experts to select the greatest teams of all time a couple of years ago, three of the top five sides won nothing: Hungary 1953, Holland 1974 and Brazil 1982. Lying 16th on the list – above any side from Argentina, Spain, Germany, Liverpool, Manchester United or Internazionale – was the Danish team of the mid-80s."
(See the rest of the story here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/blog/2009/oct/13/forgotten-story-denmark-1980s)
----------------------------------------------
[15/06/2010 - 14:48]
I'd just watched the extremely tight game between Italy and Paraguay. As the commentator aptly put it, four-time world champs Italy will definitely feel like they've been in a game. Paraguay matched them ball for ball throughout the entire match, and forced Italy to chase the game after taking the lead from a good set-piece.
This really makes me think about the state of the game in modern day football, along with the article I'd just posted. Denmark's coach, Olsen, who came from the Danish Dynamite era, commented that the modern game can't be played with the sort of wild abandon that accompanied swashbuckling, 'romantic' teams of old - the modern game is extremely streamlined, tight, efficient. You can't just win with skillful players alone - that's for the weaker teams to depend on. Every team that hopes to claim the label of being a contender needs to have resolve, very sound basic skills and touches, physical strength, speed and fitness. You can only then begin to discuss flowery soccer skills.
In a match like the one between Italy and Paraguay where both teams delivered a performance at the highest level, the only things that can differentiate both sides has to come from either a mistake committed or a solid set-piece.'
And that was precisely what happened. Paraguay took the lead with a good cross and header from a set-piece on the left side, while Italy equalized with a mistake by Paraguay's goalkeeper as he totally flapped at a dangerous corner kick.
This is an era where most players at the top-level of the game don't even have the luxury of taking multiple touches of the ball - the opponent is going to be fast enough to close you down so you'd better pass it. The ball moves around the park quickly and the team that loses will be the one that can't chase it. Having a player bring the ball around by himself will be a rarity when he is up against a solid opponent.
So perhaps gone are the days when players could afford the space and time to dribble about. One wonders if the likes of Zidane and Figo could play the way they do in today's soccer arena.
Also gone are the days when there are colourful players who drank, smoke and lived decadently, and still boasted skills and commanded respect on the pitch. It also seems that this isn't a trend in football; many other sportsmen, such as tennis players, F1 drivers and basketballers, are also evolving to be at the top of the game, and nothing less.
I'm not too sure what to feel about this.
(See the rest of the story here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/blog/2009/oct/13/forgotten-story-denmark-1980s)
----------------------------------------------
[15/06/2010 - 14:48]
I'd just watched the extremely tight game between Italy and Paraguay. As the commentator aptly put it, four-time world champs Italy will definitely feel like they've been in a game. Paraguay matched them ball for ball throughout the entire match, and forced Italy to chase the game after taking the lead from a good set-piece.
This really makes me think about the state of the game in modern day football, along with the article I'd just posted. Denmark's coach, Olsen, who came from the Danish Dynamite era, commented that the modern game can't be played with the sort of wild abandon that accompanied swashbuckling, 'romantic' teams of old - the modern game is extremely streamlined, tight, efficient. You can't just win with skillful players alone - that's for the weaker teams to depend on. Every team that hopes to claim the label of being a contender needs to have resolve, very sound basic skills and touches, physical strength, speed and fitness. You can only then begin to discuss flowery soccer skills.
In a match like the one between Italy and Paraguay where both teams delivered a performance at the highest level, the only things that can differentiate both sides has to come from either a mistake committed or a solid set-piece.'
And that was precisely what happened. Paraguay took the lead with a good cross and header from a set-piece on the left side, while Italy equalized with a mistake by Paraguay's goalkeeper as he totally flapped at a dangerous corner kick.
This is an era where most players at the top-level of the game don't even have the luxury of taking multiple touches of the ball - the opponent is going to be fast enough to close you down so you'd better pass it. The ball moves around the park quickly and the team that loses will be the one that can't chase it. Having a player bring the ball around by himself will be a rarity when he is up against a solid opponent.
So perhaps gone are the days when players could afford the space and time to dribble about. One wonders if the likes of Zidane and Figo could play the way they do in today's soccer arena.
Also gone are the days when there are colourful players who drank, smoke and lived decadently, and still boasted skills and commanded respect on the pitch. It also seems that this isn't a trend in football; many other sportsmen, such as tennis players, F1 drivers and basketballers, are also evolving to be at the top of the game, and nothing less.
I'm not too sure what to feel about this.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
Thou Art Ready
My brother declared yesterday that he 'thinks' he's an Arsenal fan.
It's an almost indescribable, profound feeling. He has no idea what a milesone this is in my life, being there at the moment your younger brother adopts a soccer team to follow.
It's an almost indescribable, profound feeling. He has no idea what a milesone this is in my life, being there at the moment your younger brother adopts a soccer team to follow.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
The Light In The Harsh, Dark Reality Of The Relegation Battle
Psychosis induced by supporting a team facing relegation. Symptoms include crankiness, excessive use of caps lock and exclamation marks, and bitterness that spills over into dire hatred for teams in the same league at the top. Newcastle lifted themselves out of the drop zone by beating fellow relegation-battler and my cousin Justin's beloved Middlesbrough 3-1. It really could've swung any way and it might've been him who'd be celebrating survival instead of me. But it was crucially down to this game and Newcastle knicked it to sniff, for the first in a long time, some glimpse of hope.
For Newcastle, it's the first win for Alan Shearer and their first home win since December.
For me, it might soon mark the end of a major trough in the rollercoaster ride that being a Newcastle fan always seems to involve.
This should remind Nathaniel that he's just being as gay as gay can be considering becoming a Liverpool fan should Newcastle really drop this season.
I've never wanted to leave. I'm here for the rest of my life, and hopefully after that as well
- Alan Shearer as a Newcastle player
Audio Candy:
Guns 'N Roses - Chinese Democracy
Sunday, 19 April 2009
How Did We Get Here?
Yet another defeat, and one point out of a possible nine with Shearer at the helm. Five games left, second from the bottom and four points adrift of safety at this moment (depending on how well Hull City perform next). I really never knew I'd be here, and the message got really driven home the other day after my Cognitive Psychology paper when I headed back to school with Shawn and, among the general musing, we started talking about soccer.
The past one or two weeks, there was Porto vs Manchester United, Arsenal vs Chelsea, and so on along the vein of mainstream news right now. Exciting stuff. Then he suddenly recalled I was a Newcastle fan and asked a very vague and generic, "how ah?"
It's one of those things that are really hard to swallow, and just so taboo to even think about. A club as huge as Newcastle United vanishing from top flight football, with a long history that has had its fair share of glory, but which has began to dry up within the last few seasons. All the while when you're a Newcastle fan, you just insiduously and subconsciously learn to develop this sense of humour because you just can't take them too seriously. I only realised about over a year back that I've found it hard to get my hopes up with the Magpies anymore. But as always, I still doggedly stood by them.
There was a time when I could say that sometimes, Newcastle play such exciting football because they've got a certain classic British x-factor about their style of play. Even during that time, Newcastle would slip into bouts of really retarded defending and gameplay that I wish I could be there playing for them. Such was the kind of kick you'd get from being a Newcastle fan. For the longest time, that kick had always been there ever since I fell in love with them in 1998 when Newcastle signed Alan Shearer for £15m and boasted a daring, swashbuckling three-man attack (most teams play only two strikers). They were terribly exciting to watch. But that time has gone; the climate has changed into unceasingly wondering how low they can keep the number of goals conceded to.
When you go out on the street and ask people which teams they support, you'd get answers like Manchester United, Arsenal, Liverpool and Chelsea. But you'd never really know what that means. There are just so many people supporting teams like Manchester United that it just isn't special anymore. But when you meet a dude who supports Newcastle United, you'd know he's different, and you probably know a lot more about each other simply because of the tears and joy Newcastle United brings to its fans. It is always a unique experience being a member of the Toon Army, and every season brings about that characteristic experience that, while it can barely be explained properly, we can call our own.
So I tried saying all of that to Shawn in response to his vague and generic question (and I don't think a Newcastle fan can ever do a good job conveying that to a non-fan), and then he said that he used to be a Leeds United fan, who have been out of the top-flight for the longest time. And then the reality hit so hard that I couldn't stop regretting all the cynical jibes I've been lacing on every poor Newcastle performance in the last one season or so, just to brush off the 'sigh yet another vintage poor game from the black and white' looks I get from quizzical friends wondering how I, as a competitive soccer player, could put up with that, in a dismissive bid to avoid answering too many questions. Ah, it's just another typical Newcastle game la. Sian.
But now, would I be faced with the horrific fate that Shawn had with Leeds? Shawn jumped ship and became a Manchester United fan (pah, typical). After 11 years, I don't think so. If they're going down, I've decided that it will be a season, or however many seasons, of not being able to catch them in action on TV. It has been bad as it is already because SCV only shows Newcastle games when they're playing big teams. For the club, it is almost like death, except that resurrection is possible. But if anything, it will be the biggest wake up call in the club's history.
Which then brings me here to today, all of that culminating into rushing down to the prata shop to watch Newcastle take on Tottenham Hotspurs at White Hart Lane. I'd spent the whole evening trying to stream it on Sopcast on my computer but it couldn't work, and 15min into the game I couldn't take it hearing commentary but not seeing anything anymore so I went out by myself.
The match doesn't need much detail, except that Newcastle conceded a goal in the first half and never caught up, concluding in a 1-0 defeat. Alan Shearer tried sparking something to life by throwing in four strikers (Martins, Smith, Owen and Viduka) but although they came close on a couple of occasions, the finishing was dismal.
Once in a while, the camera would zoom in on the traveling Toon Army fans, and the few they shot carried the expressions of thousands of Newcastle fans all over the world - a mixture of dismay, agony and helplessness, but at the same time fused with a resolute refusal to give up on the team and some vestige of hope still being clung on to. And there I was, sitting alone with other random prata, kopi and football patrons (it was a tiny fraction of the kind of turnout you'd get there for a Chelsea vs Manchester United game), biting my nails and willing Newcastle to play harder and better, as if my brainwaves could somehow travel into the screen and zap energy into the battling players who, for some reason, are playing out of their skins but just can't seem to find that vital touch. And although, in the end, it was futile as we crashed to another defeat, I knew for that moment that we were joined all over the world, hearts and hands together, screaming C'MON NEWCASTLE! in our heads, just hoping for a miracle.
Soccer has been my life for the most part, and I suppose you could say that being a soccer player with no team to support is like being a spiritual person without a religion. Having to follow a team down into relegation and being denied of watching them play comes a little close, but doesn't match up as long as I continue holding on to that connection and support I have for them. However the season unfolds, best of luck Newcastle. I can see all the players fighting so hard for it, even if confidence is low, even though, in spite of all the pressing on, things just can't seem to go right. I'd go right down with them. You'll do us proud no matter what now.
I used to know you so well.
Don't count your eggs until the chicken's laid them.
- Sir Bobby Robson
Audio Candy:
Apocalyptica Feat. Adam Gontier - I Don't Care
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Be My Navigator
You're the wonder in everything that's wonderful.Max Brenner's chocolate is heavenly. I should invest in a fondue machine.
Y Homeless FC won HELO FC 8-1 on saturday. I nearly got on the scoresheet finally only to squander my chances so badly. But it's the best I think I've played in a long while. Right wing really is my best position.
Our league record so far is really quite 'disgusting'.
33 goals scored and 6 conceded, making it a goal difference of +27 haha."I've learned that everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but that all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it."
In art as in life, true value is gained in the journey towards what is important. To lose sight of that is to completely lose all sense of self and purpose.
Audio Candy:
Stone Temple Pilots - Wonderful
Monday, 30 March 2009
Soccer Philosophy
I chanced upon an article today which talked about some of the things soccer has always driven me effortlessly to ponder about. I have itched to write about some of these things but never really got down to doing it, perhaps because there is to some extent a cliched nature of soccer philosophy, often brought to the masses in random packets of gibberish by managers and coaches and ex-professionals.
This article sums up a few of the things that have always tickled my mind when soccer is in question, and perhaps acts as a frame of mind for anyone who might be interested in knowing more about the sport beyond its facade of 11 men chasing after a ball, grossly overpaid players and petty violence.
When you're on the pitch playing and there's nothing but you, the ball, all these things around you and a split second to make a decision, everything gets so elegantly summed up in a moment its like attaining some form of revelation with everything and nothing at all, all at once.
One can never fully convince a Chinese man who knows no English that a particular Shakespearean prose is beautiful. All I can say is that I truly wish that the ones who can't appreciate it can know how much more it is than they think.
Soccer brings out the philosopher in us
By Douglas Todd
08-16-2008
When I need real insight into the meaning of life, I have been known to sidestep famous philosophers like William James, Jean-Paul Sartre and Lao-Tzu and go straight to the hard stuff: Books about soccer.
There is nothing like soccer to focus the mind on the art of living, on making sense of the sweet bitterness of existence. For me soccer (a.k.a. football) has a complexity and cohesiveness the Olympics do not.
The Olympics don't speak to me about philosophy, whereas the globe's most popular sport offers natural metaphors for life's fluidity, ambiguity, corruption, idealism, communality and beauty.
Too many Olympic sports, with exceptions such as soccer, of course, and field hockey, require women and men to become like machines, fixated on going just a millimetre higher or a microgram heavier or a millisecond faster.
I am a tad biased (my sons, by the way, play soccer far more than I ever did.) But even those who don't like soccer have to acknowledge that a flood of good-to-great books have been written about it since Nick Hornby's surprising 1992 bestseller, Fever Pitch.
Fever Pitch is about the inner workings of a boy-man from a divorced household who finds delight, torment and healing in the then-dreary London soccer team, Arsenal (which happens to be my favorite team in the English Premier League, whose season kicks off today.)
Before highlighting some of the remarkable books written about soccer in the past 16 years, it's pleasing to confirm Vancouver author Alan Twigg has recently added the first Canadian voice to the pantheon of those who have leaned on the sport to say something important.
In Full-Time: A Soccer Story, Twigg, with complete lack of pretension, offers large dollops of down-home philosophy as he recounts the way his over-50s team, the Point Grey Legends, jet off on a risky adventure to Spain to play several teams of ex-professionals.
Along the journey, Twigg muses honestly about his own semi-erotic obsession with the ball. He delves into the vagaries of romance, the need for glory, self-doubt, the Canadian identity, aging, loyalty and how soccer connects people in weird ways.
In a fine section on the unusual courage it takes to be a referee, Twigg pulls out the philosophical stops about the value of bringing order to the apparent chaos of life, comparing the ref to a priest.
"The referee, like the priest, must be a complex personality. He must have a strong ego in order to rise to the challenge of his job, and yet he must resist all signs of his egocentricity."
The referee plays a transcendent role. "In the eyes of the others, the referee can only be a loser, never a winner, and so he enters each match with the private hope that he might walk off the pitch at the end of ninety minutes as a completely unsung hero."
Full-Time illustrates how serious content can be packed into books about this deceptively simple game enjoyed by billions globally, including millions of Canadian youth. These books explore the intersection of soccer with history, national culture, economics, politics and philosophy.
Some of the best titles include Soccer in Sun and Shadow by Eduardo Galeano, a lyrical history of the game; Franklin Foer's How Soccer Explains the World: An Unlikely Theory of Globalization, and Alex Bellos's Futebol: The Brazilian Way Of Life, which brings out the game's perennial mix of joy and pathos.
To my mind, however, no soccer book reveals a more subtle philosophical mind at work than David Winner's Brilliant Orange: The Neurotic Genius of Dutch Soccer.
Brilliant Orange argues that the "Total Football" developed three decades ago by the Dutch national team reflects the often-difficult personalities of the people of the Netherlands.
"Total Soccer" requires every player to, in effect, be able to switch to any position. Because space is always at a premium in their small country, Winner maintains the Dutch have learned to use it in wildly innovative ways. This is seen in Dutch architecture, art and society - and soccer.
That said, understanding soccer fan(atic)s can be as interesting as analyzing the game and its implications. For raw literary power, there may be no more persuasive book than Among the Thugs: The Experience, and the Seduction, of Crowd Violence.
In this early 1990s account, Granta Books editor Bill Buford enters the horrifying culture of British soccer hooligans. His gift is to make the reader feel the intoxicating attraction of mob mayhem.
Why does soccer evoke wider horizons of meaning in so many? American writer David Goldblatt, author of The Ball is Round, said:
"Milan Kundera (author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being) defended the role of the literary critic by arguing 'Without the meditative background that is criticism, works become isolated gestures, historical accidents, soon forgotten.' I would say the same of social history and sport."
Soccer especially brings out the contemplative side of many people because it doesn't lend itself to statistics, as do baseball and the Olympics.
And it doesn't require body-disguising equipment, like American football and hockey.
Soccer is also so fluid, so non-mechanical, that describing the game and everything that goes into it often requires a touch of poetry.
Twigg's book provides bursts of such poetry, in much the same way as the highly evocative Miracle of Castel Di Sangro. In that book, famous crime writer Joe McGinnis goes to Italy and uncovers the mix of valour, solidarity and immorality that go into how a tiny village's team climbs momentarily into the big leagues.
One of the refreshing peculiarities of Twigg's soccer book is that he writes about actually trying to play the game with some skill. Twigg's also in his mid-50s, so his final reflections on the bravery of the solitary referee illustrate the wisdom that can come with age, the wisdom of bringing impartiality to a rough and tumble contest.
By the end of the book, Twigg even thinks about the value for himself of "outgrowing" soccer. He quotes the Nigerian striker Kanu saying, "If you make football too important, you deprive it of its beauty."
As Twigg considers detaching from the game that has provided him so much passion, purpose and meaning, it's not at all a stretch to say he is offering up ultimate philosophical insights about life itself.
This article sums up a few of the things that have always tickled my mind when soccer is in question, and perhaps acts as a frame of mind for anyone who might be interested in knowing more about the sport beyond its facade of 11 men chasing after a ball, grossly overpaid players and petty violence.
When you're on the pitch playing and there's nothing but you, the ball, all these things around you and a split second to make a decision, everything gets so elegantly summed up in a moment its like attaining some form of revelation with everything and nothing at all, all at once.
One can never fully convince a Chinese man who knows no English that a particular Shakespearean prose is beautiful. All I can say is that I truly wish that the ones who can't appreciate it can know how much more it is than they think.
Soccer brings out the philosopher in us
By Douglas Todd
08-16-2008
When I need real insight into the meaning of life, I have been known to sidestep famous philosophers like William James, Jean-Paul Sartre and Lao-Tzu and go straight to the hard stuff: Books about soccer.
There is nothing like soccer to focus the mind on the art of living, on making sense of the sweet bitterness of existence. For me soccer (a.k.a. football) has a complexity and cohesiveness the Olympics do not.
The Olympics don't speak to me about philosophy, whereas the globe's most popular sport offers natural metaphors for life's fluidity, ambiguity, corruption, idealism, communality and beauty.
Too many Olympic sports, with exceptions such as soccer, of course, and field hockey, require women and men to become like machines, fixated on going just a millimetre higher or a microgram heavier or a millisecond faster.
I am a tad biased (my sons, by the way, play soccer far more than I ever did.) But even those who don't like soccer have to acknowledge that a flood of good-to-great books have been written about it since Nick Hornby's surprising 1992 bestseller, Fever Pitch.
Fever Pitch is about the inner workings of a boy-man from a divorced household who finds delight, torment and healing in the then-dreary London soccer team, Arsenal (which happens to be my favorite team in the English Premier League, whose season kicks off today.)
Before highlighting some of the remarkable books written about soccer in the past 16 years, it's pleasing to confirm Vancouver author Alan Twigg has recently added the first Canadian voice to the pantheon of those who have leaned on the sport to say something important.
In Full-Time: A Soccer Story, Twigg, with complete lack of pretension, offers large dollops of down-home philosophy as he recounts the way his over-50s team, the Point Grey Legends, jet off on a risky adventure to Spain to play several teams of ex-professionals.
Along the journey, Twigg muses honestly about his own semi-erotic obsession with the ball. He delves into the vagaries of romance, the need for glory, self-doubt, the Canadian identity, aging, loyalty and how soccer connects people in weird ways.
In a fine section on the unusual courage it takes to be a referee, Twigg pulls out the philosophical stops about the value of bringing order to the apparent chaos of life, comparing the ref to a priest.
"The referee, like the priest, must be a complex personality. He must have a strong ego in order to rise to the challenge of his job, and yet he must resist all signs of his egocentricity."
The referee plays a transcendent role. "In the eyes of the others, the referee can only be a loser, never a winner, and so he enters each match with the private hope that he might walk off the pitch at the end of ninety minutes as a completely unsung hero."
Full-Time illustrates how serious content can be packed into books about this deceptively simple game enjoyed by billions globally, including millions of Canadian youth. These books explore the intersection of soccer with history, national culture, economics, politics and philosophy.
Some of the best titles include Soccer in Sun and Shadow by Eduardo Galeano, a lyrical history of the game; Franklin Foer's How Soccer Explains the World: An Unlikely Theory of Globalization, and Alex Bellos's Futebol: The Brazilian Way Of Life, which brings out the game's perennial mix of joy and pathos.
To my mind, however, no soccer book reveals a more subtle philosophical mind at work than David Winner's Brilliant Orange: The Neurotic Genius of Dutch Soccer.
Brilliant Orange argues that the "Total Football" developed three decades ago by the Dutch national team reflects the often-difficult personalities of the people of the Netherlands.
"Total Soccer" requires every player to, in effect, be able to switch to any position. Because space is always at a premium in their small country, Winner maintains the Dutch have learned to use it in wildly innovative ways. This is seen in Dutch architecture, art and society - and soccer.
That said, understanding soccer fan(atic)s can be as interesting as analyzing the game and its implications. For raw literary power, there may be no more persuasive book than Among the Thugs: The Experience, and the Seduction, of Crowd Violence.
In this early 1990s account, Granta Books editor Bill Buford enters the horrifying culture of British soccer hooligans. His gift is to make the reader feel the intoxicating attraction of mob mayhem.
Why does soccer evoke wider horizons of meaning in so many? American writer David Goldblatt, author of The Ball is Round, said:
"Milan Kundera (author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being) defended the role of the literary critic by arguing 'Without the meditative background that is criticism, works become isolated gestures, historical accidents, soon forgotten.' I would say the same of social history and sport."
Soccer especially brings out the contemplative side of many people because it doesn't lend itself to statistics, as do baseball and the Olympics.
And it doesn't require body-disguising equipment, like American football and hockey.
Soccer is also so fluid, so non-mechanical, that describing the game and everything that goes into it often requires a touch of poetry.
Twigg's book provides bursts of such poetry, in much the same way as the highly evocative Miracle of Castel Di Sangro. In that book, famous crime writer Joe McGinnis goes to Italy and uncovers the mix of valour, solidarity and immorality that go into how a tiny village's team climbs momentarily into the big leagues.
One of the refreshing peculiarities of Twigg's soccer book is that he writes about actually trying to play the game with some skill. Twigg's also in his mid-50s, so his final reflections on the bravery of the solitary referee illustrate the wisdom that can come with age, the wisdom of bringing impartiality to a rough and tumble contest.
By the end of the book, Twigg even thinks about the value for himself of "outgrowing" soccer. He quotes the Nigerian striker Kanu saying, "If you make football too important, you deprive it of its beauty."
As Twigg considers detaching from the game that has provided him so much passion, purpose and meaning, it's not at all a stretch to say he is offering up ultimate philosophical insights about life itself.
Sunday, 27 July 2008
Elementary
Oh no, this couldn't be more unexpected
And I can tell that I've been moving in so slow
Don't let it throw you off too far
Cause I'll be running right behind you
Could this be out of line?
To say you're the only one breaking me down like this
You're the only one I would take a shot on
Keep me hanging on so contagiously
Dreaming can be analogous to the idea of a library closing up and librarians hard at work putting stray books back on their respective shelves. We are forming images and scenes in our heads with any deep-seated information in the darkest recesses of our subconscious mind, in our brain's bid to reconsolidate all its thoughts.
As such, dreams are not prophetic, but they're uncannily predictive because subconscious thoughts are powerfully manifesting. They're the things we believe strongly about deep down inside, and hence we are most likely to cause their occurrences and prove our own dreams right.
We played our first match of the season yesterday against FC Hobo and drew 1-1 against them, when we could've easily put in another 5 or 6 goals if our finishing hadn't been so poor. My playing on the left has been really suspect of late, so towards the end I made a switch to the right side and suddenly things started clicking, but I only had about 10mins to play so it might've been due to many other things. But at least I'm getting the drive to even think about experimenting to see what fits back. It's good to be having regular games again.
Sometimes I stop short of saying what I wanna say, because I can't remember if I've already spoken them in my dreams to you.
Audio Candy:
The Dears - The Death Of All The Romance
And I can tell that I've been moving in so slow
Don't let it throw you off too far
Cause I'll be running right behind you
Could this be out of line?
To say you're the only one breaking me down like this
You're the only one I would take a shot on
Keep me hanging on so contagiously
Dreaming can be analogous to the idea of a library closing up and librarians hard at work putting stray books back on their respective shelves. We are forming images and scenes in our heads with any deep-seated information in the darkest recesses of our subconscious mind, in our brain's bid to reconsolidate all its thoughts.
As such, dreams are not prophetic, but they're uncannily predictive because subconscious thoughts are powerfully manifesting. They're the things we believe strongly about deep down inside, and hence we are most likely to cause their occurrences and prove our own dreams right.
We played our first match of the season yesterday against FC Hobo and drew 1-1 against them, when we could've easily put in another 5 or 6 goals if our finishing hadn't been so poor. My playing on the left has been really suspect of late, so towards the end I made a switch to the right side and suddenly things started clicking, but I only had about 10mins to play so it might've been due to many other things. But at least I'm getting the drive to even think about experimenting to see what fits back. It's good to be having regular games again.
Sometimes I stop short of saying what I wanna say, because I can't remember if I've already spoken them in my dreams to you.
Audio Candy:
The Dears - The Death Of All The Romance
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
Then I Would Die, But At Least Then I’d Be Free
Some clues to the physiology of happiness set the stage. One author writes, "In the normal range of behavior, 30 to 50 percent of the variance (diversity in the general population) can usually be assigned to genetic factors." ... In some longitudinal studies, "genes account for 80% of the stable variance in long-term reports of well-being." But, as we shall see, the interaction between mind and body gives a little more space to volition, behavior and changing circumstance.
The nature-nurture relationship is complex. For one thing, our genes often influence our choice of environments; what is nurture is then something shaped by nature. If people choose their own environments, they make socialization a two-way process. As one group of researchers has written, "Whatever effects parents, schools, and neighbourhoods may have had, they were either quite different in different children or [were ephemeral and] did not persist until the children grew up." Given the tendency of children to differentiate themselves so as to occupy special niches in families and schools, and given the consequent lack of the same environment for children in the same family, it is not surprising that socialization effects "were quite different in different children." The bright child pleases her father, the musical child her mother: parental treatments of the two children follow from the children's respective endowments.
... but in the meantime I note that in addition to these interactive nature-nurture relationships, there are also purely environmental influences; for example, the loss of a parent during childhood is directly correlated with alcoholism of daughters, irrespective of their genes. The complexity of the nature-nurture relationship has roots in our evolutionary histories.
- Robert E. Lane, The Loss of Happiness in Market Democracies, P. 38
Stopping short of theological philosophy on the free-will vs fate argument and assuming we're agents endowed with free-will, if a part of being happy is to know that one is in control of one's destiny, where does this leave us?
He adds in an earlier part that:
Fixity of mood also has implications for the assessing of distributive justice. Philosophers wrestle (unsuccessfully, in my opinion) with problems of justice when the outcomes of behavior are fixed by such genetic endowments as intelligence and beauty. If happiness is at least partly given by nature, philosophers like David Ross and Nicholas Rescher, who make happiness an ultimate good only when merited, are in trouble.
What happens if you're a philosopher whose work has weight and value only because the truth to be seeked is still a shady concept, and one day your work is proven beyond reasonable doubt that it is wrong and you're not dead yet? I wonder what kind of blow one must sustain to realise that a lifetime has been dedicated to the wrong end of the truth.
Or perhaps one would rather die knowing he's wrong and knowing the truth. In a utilitarian way of looking at it, one's philosophical errors can be seen as contributing to discovering the ultimate truth and achieving the all important end.
Actually, post-Euro'08 I've also been quite fascinated in a back-of-my-head kinda way about the psychology of the underdog. What's it like to be Adrian Mutu, Petr Cech or Andrey Arshavin; brilliant footballers who should deserve more but will never have the means to glory on the international stage?
In a somewhat side but relevant note, while Cristiano Ronaldo's still keeping at his cat and mouse game with Real Madrid and Manchester United, Cesc Fabregas rejected Real Madrid outrightly and declared allegiance to Arsenal and Arsene Wenger. It does say alot about the kinds of contrasting people these two are. And then you have players like Ryan Giggs, who have dedicated a lifetime of football to Manchester United, but only because Manchester United are illustrious in their own right. What if you were brilliant and loyal but your team was mediocre, like the situation the old Denilson at Real Betis found himself in?
Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.
- George Burns
Audio Candy:
The Spill Canvas - Polygraph, Right Now
The nature-nurture relationship is complex. For one thing, our genes often influence our choice of environments; what is nurture is then something shaped by nature. If people choose their own environments, they make socialization a two-way process. As one group of researchers has written, "Whatever effects parents, schools, and neighbourhoods may have had, they were either quite different in different children or [were ephemeral and] did not persist until the children grew up." Given the tendency of children to differentiate themselves so as to occupy special niches in families and schools, and given the consequent lack of the same environment for children in the same family, it is not surprising that socialization effects "were quite different in different children." The bright child pleases her father, the musical child her mother: parental treatments of the two children follow from the children's respective endowments.
... but in the meantime I note that in addition to these interactive nature-nurture relationships, there are also purely environmental influences; for example, the loss of a parent during childhood is directly correlated with alcoholism of daughters, irrespective of their genes. The complexity of the nature-nurture relationship has roots in our evolutionary histories.
- Robert E. Lane, The Loss of Happiness in Market Democracies, P. 38
Stopping short of theological philosophy on the free-will vs fate argument and assuming we're agents endowed with free-will, if a part of being happy is to know that one is in control of one's destiny, where does this leave us?
He adds in an earlier part that:
Fixity of mood also has implications for the assessing of distributive justice. Philosophers wrestle (unsuccessfully, in my opinion) with problems of justice when the outcomes of behavior are fixed by such genetic endowments as intelligence and beauty. If happiness is at least partly given by nature, philosophers like David Ross and Nicholas Rescher, who make happiness an ultimate good only when merited, are in trouble.
What happens if you're a philosopher whose work has weight and value only because the truth to be seeked is still a shady concept, and one day your work is proven beyond reasonable doubt that it is wrong and you're not dead yet? I wonder what kind of blow one must sustain to realise that a lifetime has been dedicated to the wrong end of the truth.
Or perhaps one would rather die knowing he's wrong and knowing the truth. In a utilitarian way of looking at it, one's philosophical errors can be seen as contributing to discovering the ultimate truth and achieving the all important end.
Actually, post-Euro'08 I've also been quite fascinated in a back-of-my-head kinda way about the psychology of the underdog. What's it like to be Adrian Mutu, Petr Cech or Andrey Arshavin; brilliant footballers who should deserve more but will never have the means to glory on the international stage?
In a somewhat side but relevant note, while Cristiano Ronaldo's still keeping at his cat and mouse game with Real Madrid and Manchester United, Cesc Fabregas rejected Real Madrid outrightly and declared allegiance to Arsenal and Arsene Wenger. It does say alot about the kinds of contrasting people these two are. And then you have players like Ryan Giggs, who have dedicated a lifetime of football to Manchester United, but only because Manchester United are illustrious in their own right. What if you were brilliant and loyal but your team was mediocre, like the situation the old Denilson at Real Betis found himself in?
Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.
- George Burns
Audio Candy:
The Spill Canvas - Polygraph, Right Now
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Reconsolidate
Bored, so I dabbled with Facebook apps and came across this South Park character creator.
The other day as I stoned while resting after a soccer game, I stared at some kids running around a sheltered pavilion and thought, when does the futility and sadness of not knowing the truth; the longing for the answers to existence come into play? Has it anything to do, generally, with age? If so, how then has our increasing life spans changed the picture? Or maybe how close we are to death is the benchmark. Maybe we just somehow know. Maybe with a longer life to live, and more time to think, we get sadder, more dejected, more solemn and more disillusioned, which is somewhat congruent to how we, as a conflicted species being creatures with a sense of self-awareness and intelligent beings with an animal instinct, seem to be going downhill on the happiness scale. Within these parameters, we get sadder because believing things are worse off than they really are is a safer comfort zone to create within the context of our human nature to lament and wallow, so that the next most pleasant thing that comes along, no matter how pathetically small it is, has a happier ascribed value to it.
Played my first proper field game in the longest time for Lengkian's team. He needed 3 players so I asked Chester and Leon down too, and we ended up winning 7-0. Dixon got a hat-trick, (fat) Ronaldo style, one off a rebound from a shot I took, and this speedy striker called Louis bagged 2 goals. Francis put one in after a nice set up by Chester, though it can be said the opposition defence had more holes in it than a sieve. Leon was the hero among the 3 of us, being the only one who got a goal while Chester and I were trying our asses off to get on the scoresheet, so we spent the evening goading Leon into giving us a treat for dinner.
I told them that I did have female friends who might've wanted to come down and watch, and Chester said, "I think that's why I didn't score." Leon immediate gave the amusing rejoinder, "maybe that's why I scored."
Playing for Cheesiang's team this sunday. My field touch really sucks now but I hope I'll get it back soon enough.
I caught Zohan and Get Smart within the last week. Zohan is basically like Chuck Norris, and a Chuck Norris joke somewhat appears in Get Smart. But anyway, Get Smart is a really good straight-faced comedy movie whose humour is right up my alley. It seems like Grapevine is the new Gardens (I don't mean that literally but in a 'white is the new black' kinda way). And yesterday was a tiring but happy day because we played golf and tennis, 2 sports to remind myself what a noob I am, and I lugged a body bag around.
I love defenceless animals, especially in gravy.
Audio Candy:
The Star Spangles - I Live For Speed
The other day as I stoned while resting after a soccer game, I stared at some kids running around a sheltered pavilion and thought, when does the futility and sadness of not knowing the truth; the longing for the answers to existence come into play? Has it anything to do, generally, with age? If so, how then has our increasing life spans changed the picture? Or maybe how close we are to death is the benchmark. Maybe we just somehow know. Maybe with a longer life to live, and more time to think, we get sadder, more dejected, more solemn and more disillusioned, which is somewhat congruent to how we, as a conflicted species being creatures with a sense of self-awareness and intelligent beings with an animal instinct, seem to be going downhill on the happiness scale. Within these parameters, we get sadder because believing things are worse off than they really are is a safer comfort zone to create within the context of our human nature to lament and wallow, so that the next most pleasant thing that comes along, no matter how pathetically small it is, has a happier ascribed value to it.
Played my first proper field game in the longest time for Lengkian's team. He needed 3 players so I asked Chester and Leon down too, and we ended up winning 7-0. Dixon got a hat-trick, (fat) Ronaldo style, one off a rebound from a shot I took, and this speedy striker called Louis bagged 2 goals. Francis put one in after a nice set up by Chester, though it can be said the opposition defence had more holes in it than a sieve. Leon was the hero among the 3 of us, being the only one who got a goal while Chester and I were trying our asses off to get on the scoresheet, so we spent the evening goading Leon into giving us a treat for dinner.
I told them that I did have female friends who might've wanted to come down and watch, and Chester said, "I think that's why I didn't score." Leon immediate gave the amusing rejoinder, "maybe that's why I scored."
Playing for Cheesiang's team this sunday. My field touch really sucks now but I hope I'll get it back soon enough.
I caught Zohan and Get Smart within the last week. Zohan is basically like Chuck Norris, and a Chuck Norris joke somewhat appears in Get Smart. But anyway, Get Smart is a really good straight-faced comedy movie whose humour is right up my alley. It seems like Grapevine is the new Gardens (I don't mean that literally but in a 'white is the new black' kinda way). And yesterday was a tiring but happy day because we played golf and tennis, 2 sports to remind myself what a noob I am, and I lugged a body bag around.
I love defenceless animals, especially in gravy.
Audio Candy:
The Star Spangles - I Live For Speed
Sunday, 4 May 2008
Cosmic Truths
As always, reliably, time cures even the sickest of souls, and although I am fully anticipative, I can surprise myself with my own strength and will; and the pointer shifts to the cross without a moment's hesitation and the window vanishes into oblivion with a click laden with conviction.
Watched 10-man Manchester United trash West Ham 4-1. It was painful watching West Ham labourously struggle against a team with fewer players. Ronaldo is just insane, getting his goal tally to 40 in this game. He's a true blue fox in the box without even having to be a permanent fixture as a boxed striker. I swear he probably got so tired scoring with his left foot, right foot, back heel, head etc that he tried to use his dick to score the 2nd goal.
I started a 6hr Scrabble marathon back on the good ol' ISC server when I got home and, over 20-30 games, lost only twice and got my rating all the way up from 700+ to almost 1000. It stands at 929 as of now. It's about time to put myself where I wouldn't be considered underrated.
In one psychology experiment, a man had electrodes wired to his brain and mild currents were discharged to certain areas to trigger movement from him. Interestingly, it seemed that his awareness was entirely post hoc, i.e. he would commit an action and then justify it. For example, when an electrical wave was passed that caused him to bend down, he would say that he was actually bending down so that he could pick up his shoe, not because he felt stupid doing what he did but because he earnestly believed that it was an action he had wanted to do.
This somewhat implies that do we our everyday actions, and then reactively attempt to justify why we do what we do. This means that free will itself (not just awareness) could all simply be a big farce - that we aren't exactly the master of ourselves and our actions. This Plato's Cave, Brain-in-the-Vat derivative is consistent of sorts with the fact that we do have reaction time lags - there is a split second difference between our thinking and movement so they aren't exactly in sync.
This seems to support the scientific school of thought that everything is predestined, and has its roots in the dynamics of quantum physics, along the lines of creationist and Big Bang theory and how its incidence is too coincidental (or minimally probable) to be an accidental occurrence, i.e. there was some form of predestiny assigned to everything by some kind of 'higher power'.
If that 'higher power' were personified, for example, to be a Christian God, then it terribly contradicts with the goodwill virtues of Christianity's idea of free will presented to all persons (the rhetoric that you have a choice to be saved - you will be saved if you want to be saved, blah blah). If we consider this 'higher power' to be a neutral force, then things could be a whole lot less complicated.
When I was at Borders the other day, I recalled a couple of books I'd read halfway the last time I was there (which was Chinese New Year's Eve) so I found them and continued where I left off. Astromony and physics and other collateral subjects have always fascinated me immensely.
It is said that the 'word of God' is in the cosmos. When you consider the story (or theory) of the birth of the Universe and Earth and life as we know it, the indirect work of whatever engineers everything can suddenly seem so clear. The less coincidental, more intended Big Bang aside, we can see how it can be most enticing to think of whoever or whatever made life possible as a man of God-like status by retelling the story of life.
It has been theorized that another heavenly body collided into Earth, causing shattered debris to form the moon which acts as a very important stabilising factor that ensures that the Earth spins at a specific angle. This specific angle enables the Earth to have a consistent climate and environmental stability. When these vital factors are sustainable and a balance is in place, atoms and molecules can then form complex compounds that begin to gain the ability to replicate. Some continue reproducing while others have errors in the copying process. A competition for survival then ensues, as organisms devise and submit blueprints for what they perceive as the ultimate survival plan, program, or machine.
I can almost picture someone, if I were to personify this 'higher power' as a manly person, peering at Earth and thinking, "yes, this is the one," and ordering a asteroid to be flung at it so that a moon can be created to create the motions of the oceans that would breathe life into a barren piece of huge cosmo rock. And maybe he has tried to do that to Mars, but the plan failed for some reason, and all we have on that planet is a small patch of ice.
The uncovering of the many natural mechanisms that are in place that allow things to happen the way they have is like having the secret of anything at all that matters whispered proudly into our keen yet naive ears.
Yes, it is indeed enticing to personify and anthropomorphize simply because we humans are a sentimental lot.
In about 14 hours I will be on a coach to Kuala Lumpur til next Friday, so tschuss for now!
What does this all mean? If it can come to this, then my heart, deadened by the mind, has no part to play, and perhaps we can justifiably say that untrustworthy emotions are the purest of illusions.
Philosophy is a game with objectives and no rules. Mathematics is a game with rules and no objectives.
Audio Candy:
Pensive - Live Fast
Watched 10-man Manchester United trash West Ham 4-1. It was painful watching West Ham labourously struggle against a team with fewer players. Ronaldo is just insane, getting his goal tally to 40 in this game. He's a true blue fox in the box without even having to be a permanent fixture as a boxed striker. I swear he probably got so tired scoring with his left foot, right foot, back heel, head etc that he tried to use his dick to score the 2nd goal.
I started a 6hr Scrabble marathon back on the good ol' ISC server when I got home and, over 20-30 games, lost only twice and got my rating all the way up from 700+ to almost 1000. It stands at 929 as of now. It's about time to put myself where I wouldn't be considered underrated.
In one psychology experiment, a man had electrodes wired to his brain and mild currents were discharged to certain areas to trigger movement from him. Interestingly, it seemed that his awareness was entirely post hoc, i.e. he would commit an action and then justify it. For example, when an electrical wave was passed that caused him to bend down, he would say that he was actually bending down so that he could pick up his shoe, not because he felt stupid doing what he did but because he earnestly believed that it was an action he had wanted to do.
This somewhat implies that do we our everyday actions, and then reactively attempt to justify why we do what we do. This means that free will itself (not just awareness) could all simply be a big farce - that we aren't exactly the master of ourselves and our actions. This Plato's Cave, Brain-in-the-Vat derivative is consistent of sorts with the fact that we do have reaction time lags - there is a split second difference between our thinking and movement so they aren't exactly in sync.
This seems to support the scientific school of thought that everything is predestined, and has its roots in the dynamics of quantum physics, along the lines of creationist and Big Bang theory and how its incidence is too coincidental (or minimally probable) to be an accidental occurrence, i.e. there was some form of predestiny assigned to everything by some kind of 'higher power'.
If that 'higher power' were personified, for example, to be a Christian God, then it terribly contradicts with the goodwill virtues of Christianity's idea of free will presented to all persons (the rhetoric that you have a choice to be saved - you will be saved if you want to be saved, blah blah). If we consider this 'higher power' to be a neutral force, then things could be a whole lot less complicated.
When I was at Borders the other day, I recalled a couple of books I'd read halfway the last time I was there (which was Chinese New Year's Eve) so I found them and continued where I left off. Astromony and physics and other collateral subjects have always fascinated me immensely.
It is said that the 'word of God' is in the cosmos. When you consider the story (or theory) of the birth of the Universe and Earth and life as we know it, the indirect work of whatever engineers everything can suddenly seem so clear. The less coincidental, more intended Big Bang aside, we can see how it can be most enticing to think of whoever or whatever made life possible as a man of God-like status by retelling the story of life.
It has been theorized that another heavenly body collided into Earth, causing shattered debris to form the moon which acts as a very important stabilising factor that ensures that the Earth spins at a specific angle. This specific angle enables the Earth to have a consistent climate and environmental stability. When these vital factors are sustainable and a balance is in place, atoms and molecules can then form complex compounds that begin to gain the ability to replicate. Some continue reproducing while others have errors in the copying process. A competition for survival then ensues, as organisms devise and submit blueprints for what they perceive as the ultimate survival plan, program, or machine.
I can almost picture someone, if I were to personify this 'higher power' as a manly person, peering at Earth and thinking, "yes, this is the one," and ordering a asteroid to be flung at it so that a moon can be created to create the motions of the oceans that would breathe life into a barren piece of huge cosmo rock. And maybe he has tried to do that to Mars, but the plan failed for some reason, and all we have on that planet is a small patch of ice.
The uncovering of the many natural mechanisms that are in place that allow things to happen the way they have is like having the secret of anything at all that matters whispered proudly into our keen yet naive ears.
Yes, it is indeed enticing to personify and anthropomorphize simply because we humans are a sentimental lot.
In about 14 hours I will be on a coach to Kuala Lumpur til next Friday, so tschuss for now!
What does this all mean? If it can come to this, then my heart, deadened by the mind, has no part to play, and perhaps we can justifiably say that untrustworthy emotions are the purest of illusions.
Philosophy is a game with objectives and no rules. Mathematics is a game with rules and no objectives.
Audio Candy:
Pensive - Live Fast
Thursday, 1 May 2008
R.E.M. (Rapid Eye Movement, Or Random Emo Moments)
And even now, weak as it sounds, I'm still reeling each time I ponder about how everything has turned out, each blow that has turned on itself, and wonder pointlessly whether I could or should have done anything differently. Points in two cases tell me it's no one-off coincidence.
I have the edgy, muffled sensation in my head telling me I had a dream with it's cheekily planted remnants of something that was there - a setting, some people, a vague notion of what might've happened - but as always I'm always one to rarely recall or know what I dream about. I think on average I am aware of 1 dream per 1 or 2 months. It's not that I don't dream - REM research has found that people on average have up to 7 dreams a night - it's just that my sleep's probably usually deep enough that what's from my subconscious stays hidden. And when it doesn't stay hidden, and a little information overflows and trickles out, the frustrating feeling of any attempt to recollect, mostly out of curiosity, the great unfolding of these little suddenly created mental storybooks (that seem to be as quickly eradicated into my conscious oblivion) can be likened to seeing the tail of a very big and fast monster slip past a corner. By the time you rush to that bend to see what it was, it's gone. All I have left is that fleeting notion of knowing something was there, and I attempt to rebuild a story based on what I think the monster would've looked like from an imagination founded on past experiences.
And even more queerly, as time passes and I do not exercise any thought to anchor the sight of the 'tail' down, I begin to rapidly forget the colour and shape of it; then the dream becomes yet another one that got away, like ghosts that revel and dance under the steal of darkness and dreadedly shun the accusatory glare of daylight.
Under psychology we learn that dreams are important as a form of reorganising of mental data - of stuff we talk about and see in the day, and those secondary judgments that our subconscious mind makes from peripheral experiences that we haven't consciously come to terms with yet. It's kinda like a library. In the day, books are taken off the shelves, their information required for many purposes. And then they're either placed back in the wrong shelves or left all over the place. After the library closes (and the dreaming starts), the books need to arranged back properly so that the next day's referencing and reading activities can go on as efficiently as possible. A person has REM (rapid eye movement) when he or she dreams, so it has been found that when a person's dreaming gets interrupted, the incidence of REM will increase the next time around. Whenever a person continually gets his or her access to dreaming denied, he or she will end up being forgetful or incoherent in thought when awake.
Since it's 1330 on a lazy Labour Day, let me write about some friend's dreams I have starred in. I might get some plots totally wrong but hey I'm the star; balls to the accuracy of unreality!
Jacq's Dream
I'm not sure what this dream was about, but I appeared in it as a big, old, sage-like talking tree, like in Lord of the Rings.
Sab's Superhero Dream
Apparently Sab was some superhero, and she was fighting terrorists and there were other supervillains and superheroes. And I happened to pledge allegiance to the dark side by being Grasshopperman. Basically, other than being green, I could 'teleport' long distances by turning into a grasshopper. I also ended up crawling under her skin.
Wendy's Psychology Class Gathering Dream
Wendy was having a NTU psychology class gathering when I appeared out of nowhere and pulled her with me and we starting running after a bus because it had something inside which I wanted to show her. When we caught the bus and got in, there were fishes inside, and I told her to look at them. Then the fishes died.
Til now nothing quite keeps me occupied in a fit of daydreaming as thinking about soccer. Sometimes, I can seriously spend up to 30mins straight just imagining moves, juggling sequences and dribbling patterns, and trying to conjure up some of my own in my head.
Soccer can be like chess sometimes. There are certain positions you and your opponent players can be in, and you'll find that they can never get the ball off you without committing a foul. And there are certain situations that occur which enable the team to get into an inspired, in-the-zone moment, and everyone will start playing like Arsenal or Real Madrid. It takes creativity and footballing genius to get into these situations, and arrange your opponents into positions that can be easily taken out.
And sometimes, I can achieve a state which I term 'mental vacuum'. It's a state of being totally awake and yet totally not consciously thinking about anything. And sometimes, in a sickening way, I can get stuck in it, 'refusing' to snap out of it (though refusing isn't quite the right word to use since it, in the sense of the word, is an activity that requires conscious effort), and on hindsight it can feel like I'm dead while alive for those few moments.
And then you reappear suddenly just as I've convinced myself that I'm through with these thoughts that only serve to poison when they linger, and honestly I might be taking it more affectedly than I guess I should. It sickens me of sorts that maybe I'm choosing to let it be this way, because I can't bear to let go or some other excuse along those silly lines. But then again, it's also different because now it's like I have whatever it is in my hands, at once observable and manipulable - a blasphemous marriage of the actor and spectator - and before long that smirk spreads itself across my lips once again.
If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.
Audio Candy:
Melee - Built To Last
I have the edgy, muffled sensation in my head telling me I had a dream with it's cheekily planted remnants of something that was there - a setting, some people, a vague notion of what might've happened - but as always I'm always one to rarely recall or know what I dream about. I think on average I am aware of 1 dream per 1 or 2 months. It's not that I don't dream - REM research has found that people on average have up to 7 dreams a night - it's just that my sleep's probably usually deep enough that what's from my subconscious stays hidden. And when it doesn't stay hidden, and a little information overflows and trickles out, the frustrating feeling of any attempt to recollect, mostly out of curiosity, the great unfolding of these little suddenly created mental storybooks (that seem to be as quickly eradicated into my conscious oblivion) can be likened to seeing the tail of a very big and fast monster slip past a corner. By the time you rush to that bend to see what it was, it's gone. All I have left is that fleeting notion of knowing something was there, and I attempt to rebuild a story based on what I think the monster would've looked like from an imagination founded on past experiences.
And even more queerly, as time passes and I do not exercise any thought to anchor the sight of the 'tail' down, I begin to rapidly forget the colour and shape of it; then the dream becomes yet another one that got away, like ghosts that revel and dance under the steal of darkness and dreadedly shun the accusatory glare of daylight.
Under psychology we learn that dreams are important as a form of reorganising of mental data - of stuff we talk about and see in the day, and those secondary judgments that our subconscious mind makes from peripheral experiences that we haven't consciously come to terms with yet. It's kinda like a library. In the day, books are taken off the shelves, their information required for many purposes. And then they're either placed back in the wrong shelves or left all over the place. After the library closes (and the dreaming starts), the books need to arranged back properly so that the next day's referencing and reading activities can go on as efficiently as possible. A person has REM (rapid eye movement) when he or she dreams, so it has been found that when a person's dreaming gets interrupted, the incidence of REM will increase the next time around. Whenever a person continually gets his or her access to dreaming denied, he or she will end up being forgetful or incoherent in thought when awake.
Since it's 1330 on a lazy Labour Day, let me write about some friend's dreams I have starred in. I might get some plots totally wrong but hey I'm the star; balls to the accuracy of unreality!
Jacq's Dream
I'm not sure what this dream was about, but I appeared in it as a big, old, sage-like talking tree, like in Lord of the Rings.
Sab's Superhero Dream
Apparently Sab was some superhero, and she was fighting terrorists and there were other supervillains and superheroes. And I happened to pledge allegiance to the dark side by being Grasshopperman. Basically, other than being green, I could 'teleport' long distances by turning into a grasshopper. I also ended up crawling under her skin.
Wendy's Psychology Class Gathering Dream
Wendy was having a NTU psychology class gathering when I appeared out of nowhere and pulled her with me and we starting running after a bus because it had something inside which I wanted to show her. When we caught the bus and got in, there were fishes inside, and I told her to look at them. Then the fishes died.
Til now nothing quite keeps me occupied in a fit of daydreaming as thinking about soccer. Sometimes, I can seriously spend up to 30mins straight just imagining moves, juggling sequences and dribbling patterns, and trying to conjure up some of my own in my head.
Soccer can be like chess sometimes. There are certain positions you and your opponent players can be in, and you'll find that they can never get the ball off you without committing a foul. And there are certain situations that occur which enable the team to get into an inspired, in-the-zone moment, and everyone will start playing like Arsenal or Real Madrid. It takes creativity and footballing genius to get into these situations, and arrange your opponents into positions that can be easily taken out.
And sometimes, I can achieve a state which I term 'mental vacuum'. It's a state of being totally awake and yet totally not consciously thinking about anything. And sometimes, in a sickening way, I can get stuck in it, 'refusing' to snap out of it (though refusing isn't quite the right word to use since it, in the sense of the word, is an activity that requires conscious effort), and on hindsight it can feel like I'm dead while alive for those few moments.
And then you reappear suddenly just as I've convinced myself that I'm through with these thoughts that only serve to poison when they linger, and honestly I might be taking it more affectedly than I guess I should. It sickens me of sorts that maybe I'm choosing to let it be this way, because I can't bear to let go or some other excuse along those silly lines. But then again, it's also different because now it's like I have whatever it is in my hands, at once observable and manipulable - a blasphemous marriage of the actor and spectator - and before long that smirk spreads itself across my lips once again.
If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.
Audio Candy:
Melee - Built To Last
Saturday, 26 April 2008
The Ball Is Round
Went for the Project Bonalai vaccinations yesterday, and then headed down to the printer to attempt to seal the deal. Things on the design end have been a bitch. When shit happens, it happens in streaks.
But looking on the brighter side of things, I eventually ended up at the Athirah prata place for dinner and they were showing the Mosconi Cup for 2007 in Vegas. Briefly, the Mosconi cup is an annual America Vs Europe pool tournament and, prior to 2007, Europe had only ever won once in a 13 year-old competition dominated by the US.
Over nasi goreng ikan bilis and kambing soup, I watched a couple of rounds of the usual stuff - unadulterated precision and immaculate placement - elements of the professional pool game. But just as I was done with my dinner, the singles game came on between Shane "the king of safety" van Boening of Team US and Tony "blink and you'll miss" Drago of Team Europe. Of course, being the noob I am, I never knew who they were until I was deep in the throes of the match which turned out to be sensational.
So I ended up staying another half an hour or more as I watched the two players bring 9-ball pool waaay up another notch. Tony Drago is nicknamed 'The Tornado' for the incredible speed and accuracy with which he wastes his opponents, and Shane van Boening is the master of intelligent play and safety shots (a safety is when you hide the cue ball so that the opponent doesn't have a clear shot). I later learnt from the commentary that the biggest criticism of young van Boening's game is his lack of aggression in play. Which made sense - if your strength is in defence, you can only be a reactive player. And Tony Drago tore him apart especially in 2 of the rounds, where he cleared the table in only a little over a minute. And they'd replay his entire round in quick motion just to show how fast he plays.
Drago won the game 6-2 in spectacular fashion, and that singles match was the turning point, as Team Europe caught up to eventually win the 2007 Mosconi Cup for only the 2nd time in 13 years.
American commentators are also really different from British commentators. As always, people talk about the subtle, dry wit of the British, which can be evidenced from EPL match commentaries, and compare that to the slapstick and more direct wit of the Americans, as can especially be observed in WWE matches. During the van Boening-Drago game, one commentator said, "he looks happier than Paris Hilton in a room full of cameras," when the camera caught a pleased Tony Drago after drawing first blood in the opening round. When there was fantastic placement of the cue ball after a rather tight shot, another remarked, "he couldn't have put it there any better with his hand!"
Played soccer today back at the good ol' Hougang street soccer courts, and this time around there was a malay team present. They were quite decent, but after awhile things got overheated as Sanchin and one of the guys from the malay team threatened to come to blows. It was really unnecessary on their part, as they kept accusing us of rough play when it was really obvious they were much dirtier in their play, and when Sanchin pointed it out to them they were incensed. Furthermore, in one particular round, we'd knocked them out already; in petulance, they wanted to form another team (with their excess players) and immediately re-enter to play again. Sanchin stood his ground because we'd earlier criticised another team for fielding 2 teams when the rest of us had equally many players but only fielded 1 team. But because of his valiance, the malay team was most displeased and later sought to seek revenge by playing in the most fucked up manner ever (complete with dives and taunts - unbelievable stuff), and gave him quite a bit of shit whenever he got the ball or challenged for it.
But we kept our cool, didn't retaliate and eventually knocked them out again anyway. Kids.
Now that everyone's done with their papers we can bring on the soccer matches again - both in playing and watching. Heading down to Leon's later to catch the early EPL telecast. Woot, sweet summer.
Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are stiffened.
Audio Candy:
The Color Fred - If I Surrender
But looking on the brighter side of things, I eventually ended up at the Athirah prata place for dinner and they were showing the Mosconi Cup for 2007 in Vegas. Briefly, the Mosconi cup is an annual America Vs Europe pool tournament and, prior to 2007, Europe had only ever won once in a 13 year-old competition dominated by the US.
Over nasi goreng ikan bilis and kambing soup, I watched a couple of rounds of the usual stuff - unadulterated precision and immaculate placement - elements of the professional pool game. But just as I was done with my dinner, the singles game came on between Shane "the king of safety" van Boening of Team US and Tony "blink and you'll miss" Drago of Team Europe. Of course, being the noob I am, I never knew who they were until I was deep in the throes of the match which turned out to be sensational.
So I ended up staying another half an hour or more as I watched the two players bring 9-ball pool waaay up another notch. Tony Drago is nicknamed 'The Tornado' for the incredible speed and accuracy with which he wastes his opponents, and Shane van Boening is the master of intelligent play and safety shots (a safety is when you hide the cue ball so that the opponent doesn't have a clear shot). I later learnt from the commentary that the biggest criticism of young van Boening's game is his lack of aggression in play. Which made sense - if your strength is in defence, you can only be a reactive player. And Tony Drago tore him apart especially in 2 of the rounds, where he cleared the table in only a little over a minute. And they'd replay his entire round in quick motion just to show how fast he plays.
Drago won the game 6-2 in spectacular fashion, and that singles match was the turning point, as Team Europe caught up to eventually win the 2007 Mosconi Cup for only the 2nd time in 13 years.
American commentators are also really different from British commentators. As always, people talk about the subtle, dry wit of the British, which can be evidenced from EPL match commentaries, and compare that to the slapstick and more direct wit of the Americans, as can especially be observed in WWE matches. During the van Boening-Drago game, one commentator said, "he looks happier than Paris Hilton in a room full of cameras," when the camera caught a pleased Tony Drago after drawing first blood in the opening round. When there was fantastic placement of the cue ball after a rather tight shot, another remarked, "he couldn't have put it there any better with his hand!"
Played soccer today back at the good ol' Hougang street soccer courts, and this time around there was a malay team present. They were quite decent, but after awhile things got overheated as Sanchin and one of the guys from the malay team threatened to come to blows. It was really unnecessary on their part, as they kept accusing us of rough play when it was really obvious they were much dirtier in their play, and when Sanchin pointed it out to them they were incensed. Furthermore, in one particular round, we'd knocked them out already; in petulance, they wanted to form another team (with their excess players) and immediately re-enter to play again. Sanchin stood his ground because we'd earlier criticised another team for fielding 2 teams when the rest of us had equally many players but only fielded 1 team. But because of his valiance, the malay team was most displeased and later sought to seek revenge by playing in the most fucked up manner ever (complete with dives and taunts - unbelievable stuff), and gave him quite a bit of shit whenever he got the ball or challenged for it.
But we kept our cool, didn't retaliate and eventually knocked them out again anyway. Kids.
Now that everyone's done with their papers we can bring on the soccer matches again - both in playing and watching. Heading down to Leon's later to catch the early EPL telecast. Woot, sweet summer.
Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are stiffened.
Audio Candy:
The Color Fred - If I Surrender
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Unforeseen Foreseeing
This is gonna be a boring, random, egocentric post that may become characteristic of future postings now that days may become less objective.
Joined Jasper for some random midweek, mid-day footballing at Braddell Heights CC today, which was cut short by the rain. But it was a welcome reinitiation after about a month's layoff from the sport; I was badly out of shape though it was good to feel the ball at my feet again.
My usual soccer kaki consists of people mainly from NTU, so I'll have to wait til the end of this week before we can get together again. Actually, it's not just the waiting til the end of this week that's different. When we were JC mates and all that, we usually didn't care so much for the books. But they're in NTU engineering now and alot of them have changed to be much more studious by virtue of the nature of the faculty they're in, especially when there's a truckload of academically kickass foreign students in the competing pack.
There are always plenty of drawbacks in general terms of not following the crowd, or of not going the way your background is expected of you. Yeh I know this is stating the obvious, but I wanna be whiney, once in awhile at least. For one, soccer sessions for me are compromised this way. The interesting girls all have a 'cool religion' (hahar okay exaggeration I know). Clubbing is a way of life. Okay too many exaggerations and sweeping statements, shall stop.
If I could live long enough, I'd revisit my entire lifetime at least once, and if I could for longer enough, I'd do everything the other way to see what it could've been. And I guess I'm saying this only because I know that won't happen.
There's an upcoming documentary titled God is Green. It's somewhat of a call out to religious leaders to join in the global green environmental fray, because our governments and big corporations don't seem to be making things happen. The tagline in the advertisement that got me was that most, if not all, religious leaders should set their differences aside for once and come together to do it for Earth's sake, if not for God's sake.
I, or we in fact, have been at our lobo-est best the past few days, peaking with our arcade-going ventures and chilling out at the Coffee Beans and Starbuckses around town. I had lunch at the Allson Hotel coffeeshop yesterday with the guys and then we went to see Yinz and Daren off at Novena.
The rest went on for the C'est La Vie Butterfactory party but I resolved not to go for a couple of reasons so I headed home early. It's been good in terms of paying off my member-of-the-family dues because, now that I don't have school, the folks don't see any reason for me to be absent from home. Think of the usual 'you think home is a hotel ah?' sentiment. It's kinda gay for a 22 year-old to have to deal with this but that's just the way it has always been for me.
So since I'm home, and missing Mambo tonight, and I'm semi-done with the overdue forms I'm supposed to fill up for the Cambodia community service trip and realising I have a heap of stuff to sort out, this is a reminder-to-myself-cum-you-may-feel-like-this-is-pointless-and-you're-wasting-your-time-reading-this-shit-and-you're-probably-right list of upcoming endeavours:
25/4/08 (fri)
1330h
OCIP vaccination at Tan Tock Seng
28/4/08 (mon) - 30/4/08 (wed)
First Aid Course (wtf? Just found out about this.)
29/4/08 (tue)
Political Science Rahul Sagar Party
2/5/08 (fri)
Project Bonalai meeting
4/5/08 (sun) - 9/5/08 (fri)
KL and Genting trip
15/5/08 (thu)
Project Bonalai meeting
19/5/08 (mon)
Project Bonalai meeting
21/5/08 (wed) - 30/5/08 (fri)
Project Bonalai!
2/6/08 (mon) - 3/6/08 (tue)
Social Science sub-committee and facilitators' retreat
23/6/08 (mon) - 25/6/08 (wed) or 30/6/08 (mon) - 2/7/08 (wed)
Mock Camp 1
7/7/08 (mon) - 9/7/08 (wed)
Local SMU Matriculation
10/7/08 (thu) - 11/7/08 (fri)
Mock Camp 2
20/7/08 (sun) - 23/7/08 (wed)
Social Science Camp
25/7/08 (fri)
OCS Briefing
Okay I realise this is a rather damaging schedule for a disorganised and whimsical person like myself, where there is significant inertia accompanying many of the things I do. On top of these commitments, I'd like to work, draw, read and pick up on Spanish where I last left off, and do anything else or meet anyone else in between that might seem interesting. All in a bid to pursue the things I'd like to do when I envision myself being the kinda of person I wish I was, and hopefully prove the first paragraph of this post that the upcoming days may be less objective wrong.
To make me feel like turd, keep me devoid of decent social exchange for a few days or so. I wither without social expression and a nice round of idea exchanging.
Every mother generally hopes that her daughter will snag a better husband than she managed to do, but she's certain that her boy will never get as great a wife as his father did.
Audio Candy:
So They Say - Wake Me Up
Joined Jasper for some random midweek, mid-day footballing at Braddell Heights CC today, which was cut short by the rain. But it was a welcome reinitiation after about a month's layoff from the sport; I was badly out of shape though it was good to feel the ball at my feet again.
My usual soccer kaki consists of people mainly from NTU, so I'll have to wait til the end of this week before we can get together again. Actually, it's not just the waiting til the end of this week that's different. When we were JC mates and all that, we usually didn't care so much for the books. But they're in NTU engineering now and alot of them have changed to be much more studious by virtue of the nature of the faculty they're in, especially when there's a truckload of academically kickass foreign students in the competing pack.
There are always plenty of drawbacks in general terms of not following the crowd, or of not going the way your background is expected of you. Yeh I know this is stating the obvious, but I wanna be whiney, once in awhile at least. For one, soccer sessions for me are compromised this way. The interesting girls all have a 'cool religion' (hahar okay exaggeration I know). Clubbing is a way of life. Okay too many exaggerations and sweeping statements, shall stop.
If I could live long enough, I'd revisit my entire lifetime at least once, and if I could for longer enough, I'd do everything the other way to see what it could've been. And I guess I'm saying this only because I know that won't happen.
There's an upcoming documentary titled God is Green. It's somewhat of a call out to religious leaders to join in the global green environmental fray, because our governments and big corporations don't seem to be making things happen. The tagline in the advertisement that got me was that most, if not all, religious leaders should set their differences aside for once and come together to do it for Earth's sake, if not for God's sake.
I, or we in fact, have been at our lobo-est best the past few days, peaking with our arcade-going ventures and chilling out at the Coffee Beans and Starbuckses around town. I had lunch at the Allson Hotel coffeeshop yesterday with the guys and then we went to see Yinz and Daren off at Novena.
The rest went on for the C'est La Vie Butterfactory party but I resolved not to go for a couple of reasons so I headed home early. It's been good in terms of paying off my member-of-the-family dues because, now that I don't have school, the folks don't see any reason for me to be absent from home. Think of the usual 'you think home is a hotel ah?' sentiment. It's kinda gay for a 22 year-old to have to deal with this but that's just the way it has always been for me.
So since I'm home, and missing Mambo tonight, and I'm semi-done with the overdue forms I'm supposed to fill up for the Cambodia community service trip and realising I have a heap of stuff to sort out, this is a reminder-to-myself-cum-you-may-feel-like-this-is-pointless-and-you're-wasting-your-time-reading-this-shit-and-you're-probably-right list of upcoming endeavours:
25/4/08 (fri)
1330h
OCIP vaccination at Tan Tock Seng
28/4/08 (mon) - 30/4/08 (wed)
First Aid Course (wtf? Just found out about this.)
29/4/08 (tue)
Political Science Rahul Sagar Party
2/5/08 (fri)
Project Bonalai meeting
4/5/08 (sun) - 9/5/08 (fri)
KL and Genting trip
15/5/08 (thu)
Project Bonalai meeting
19/5/08 (mon)
Project Bonalai meeting
21/5/08 (wed) - 30/5/08 (fri)
Project Bonalai!
2/6/08 (mon) - 3/6/08 (tue)
Social Science sub-committee and facilitators' retreat
23/6/08 (mon) - 25/6/08 (wed) or 30/6/08 (mon) - 2/7/08 (wed)
Mock Camp 1
7/7/08 (mon) - 9/7/08 (wed)
Local SMU Matriculation
10/7/08 (thu) - 11/7/08 (fri)
Mock Camp 2
20/7/08 (sun) - 23/7/08 (wed)
Social Science Camp
25/7/08 (fri)
OCS Briefing
Okay I realise this is a rather damaging schedule for a disorganised and whimsical person like myself, where there is significant inertia accompanying many of the things I do. On top of these commitments, I'd like to work, draw, read and pick up on Spanish where I last left off, and do anything else or meet anyone else in between that might seem interesting. All in a bid to pursue the things I'd like to do when I envision myself being the kinda of person I wish I was, and hopefully prove the first paragraph of this post that the upcoming days may be less objective wrong.
To make me feel like turd, keep me devoid of decent social exchange for a few days or so. I wither without social expression and a nice round of idea exchanging.
Every mother generally hopes that her daughter will snag a better husband than she managed to do, but she's certain that her boy will never get as great a wife as his father did.
Audio Candy:
So They Say - Wake Me Up
Monday, 31 March 2008
The Revival Of The Toon
Tottenham 1-4 Newcastle
It was really on the cards. When Newcastle tucked Fulham away 2-0 at home, the signs were there. Keegan's back in the driving seat, and Newcastle are playing 4-3-3 just like the bloody exciting good ol' days.
And now this, away from home to an illustrious team like Spurs. Hahar! Well faith has paid off after the last few years of despairing darkness. It feels great to be a Toon Army fan all over again. :]
It was really on the cards. When Newcastle tucked Fulham away 2-0 at home, the signs were there. Keegan's back in the driving seat, and Newcastle are playing 4-3-3 just like the bloody exciting good ol' days.
And now this, away from home to an illustrious team like Spurs. Hahar! Well faith has paid off after the last few years of despairing darkness. It feels great to be a Toon Army fan all over again. :]
Q: Why do so many housewives love Newcastle?
A: Cos they stay on top for ages and then come second.
Q: What is black and white, black and white and black and white?
A: A Newcastle fan rolling down a hill.
Fire brigade phones Bobby Robson in the early hours of Sunday morning: "Sir Bobby, St James Park is on fire!"
"The cups man! Save the cups!" replies Sir Bobby.
"Well... The fire hasn't spread to the canteen yet, sir."
Q: Why do they call Bobby Robson Hitler?
A: Because he cant win in Europe either.
Q. What's the difference between the Toon keeper and a taxi driver?
A. A taxi driver will only let in four at a time.
Why do Geordie Supporters have Moustaches?
A: So they can look like their Mothers.
Q: What do Toon fans and laxatives have in common?
A: Both irritate the absolute crap out of you.
Quasimodo asks Esmeralda, "Am I really the ugliest bastard in the world?"
"Why don't you go upstairs to the Magic Mirror and ask?" says Esmeralda.
Quasimodo goes upstairs to the mirror and returns a few minutes later.
As he hobbles in Esmeralda asks, "Well, what did the mirror say?"
To which Quasimodo replies, "Who's Peter Beardsley?"
Audio Candy:
Silverstein - Smile In Your Sleep
Sunday, 30 March 2008
The Soccermania! Fairytale
Went to NUS for Soccermania! today to play for Likoon's team. I invited Ayam, the goalkeeper from one of our opponent teams during saturday soccer games, to come and keep goal for us. And Edmund and Rajesh were there, old timer pals, all of us playing for the same team. There was some really good competition today and I thought it was a pity I couldn't get the usual soccer guys down, but today was somewhat incredible in its own way.
There were 6 groups and each group had 4 teams so each team plays 3 qualifying games.
I sat out the first game with Rajesh and watched as Edmund, Likoon and co. got whooped by a really lousy team 2-0. It was horrendous - not so much on the people side but there was no structure to the play at all, which meant that we couldn't attack nor defend. They clearly lacked competition experience. So I told them that we had to man-mark, first of all, because in street soccer that's just the way it is. Zonal's suicide.
I played the second game and we ended up drawing 0-0. Not good, I thought. For 3 matches in qualifying, having no wins by your 2nd game sounds very very bleak.
But Likoon did the math and found out that we still had a chance, as long as none of the other teams win - i.e. the next 2 matches end up as draws - and we win our last qualifying game.
Our match was the very last one in the group stages, so we sat through 2 nail-biting games. And it was so fscking incredible and miraculous the way the next 2 games unfolded that I actually wonder if it was all rigged or something.
Although the chance of qualifying was there, we thought it was quite a slim chance because in the next 2 matches our opponents were gonna play (we shall call them crunch game A and crunch game B), there exists 1 much stronger team each so the likelihood of at least 1 team winning in the next 2 matches is very high.
But what happened next was baffling to say the least.
As expected for crunch game A, Strong Team A scored; 1-0. Then Weak Team A made a rare foray into the opponent's half and Strong Team A's keeper had to come out early to meet a 50-50 challenge with Weak Team A's striker. The keeper got to the ball first but ended up kicking the ball up high in the air just above him. As the ball came down, he failed to catch it and it hit his tummy (he is seriously fat) and went straight into the goal. Talk about bizarre! Strong Team A then launched a barrage of attacks but Weak Team A held out. Final score for crunch game A: 1-1.
Crunch game B wasn't so bizarre, but we had to sit through 10mins of heavy attacking from Strong Team B and desperate defending from Weak Team B. Final score: 0-0.
Well, cool then. The stage was set for us to get the win to qualify (a draw wouldn't suffice). But we were clearly underdogs, not only in the tournament, but especially against this team we were up against.
I dunno exactly why but the opponent team was perhaps slacking off or off-form or something, so we didn't get attacked as much as we thought we would be. In fact, we started carving out half-chances of our own (although they were obviously superior and dominating possession). Then suddenly, we received a free kick at the edge of the penalty area for a dubious foul on one of my team mates. Nobody thought anything of it; not us, not even the opponent team, to their detriment. Instead of shooting, my teammate laid the ball to Neo and he blasted the ball into the back of the net. The rest didn't matter after that. Gay way to win, but final score: 1-0, against the fsckin' odds, and into the knock out stages!
It then started to rain, so we had a little break. When the downpour stopped, the tournament resumed with the courts wet. Fortunately, we had 1 or 2 matches before ours, so the ground dried up pretty much and we didn't have to deal with the slippery surface.
The next team we played against was also quite a good team with some pretty decent foreigners; some negroes and a caucasian I reckon. But by then, we had gained some momentum, and I started playing on the left which I really should've done from the start because it's my more natural position. I managed to get to a loose ball and hammered in for a 1-0 win. We were into the quarters, something totally inconceivable at the start.
But alas, our fairytale run ended as we lost our quarter-final game 1-0. I only recall that we were getting outplayed and the opponents got their goal cos 2 of our defenders couldn't stop him as he cut in to shoot and score, something specific that I still can't quite reconcile as of now (2 defenders!). But it was okay I guess; the little motley crew that was our team had run its luck so far and the time was up, or perhaps even in overtime. And I was exhausted as I'd played every game ever since the 2nd one.
I just thought it was quite incredible the way things unfolded though. It's things like these... Tell-tale signs that say that something's bound to happen. Just like when a team keeps hitting the post or missing their shots, you know it's kinda like that feeling that it's on the cards they're gonna end up losing. I felt that we were meant to qualify once those 2 draws happened. It was just too ridiculously coincidental that no other outcome was meant to be.
Arsenal created their own fairytale comeback yesterday night when, at half time, they went 2-0 down to Bolton with Diaby sent off, only to bounce back and win 3-2. Incredible stuff. When Arsenal got the penalty (even before Van Persie converted it), I could sense it all coming.
There's no I in 'team'. But there's ME. And MEAT. And maybe 'inspirational' lines like these are for really stupid uninspired people.
Audio Candy:
Dream Theatre - A Change Of Seasons
There were 6 groups and each group had 4 teams so each team plays 3 qualifying games.
I sat out the first game with Rajesh and watched as Edmund, Likoon and co. got whooped by a really lousy team 2-0. It was horrendous - not so much on the people side but there was no structure to the play at all, which meant that we couldn't attack nor defend. They clearly lacked competition experience. So I told them that we had to man-mark, first of all, because in street soccer that's just the way it is. Zonal's suicide.
I played the second game and we ended up drawing 0-0. Not good, I thought. For 3 matches in qualifying, having no wins by your 2nd game sounds very very bleak.
But Likoon did the math and found out that we still had a chance, as long as none of the other teams win - i.e. the next 2 matches end up as draws - and we win our last qualifying game.
Our match was the very last one in the group stages, so we sat through 2 nail-biting games. And it was so fscking incredible and miraculous the way the next 2 games unfolded that I actually wonder if it was all rigged or something.
Although the chance of qualifying was there, we thought it was quite a slim chance because in the next 2 matches our opponents were gonna play (we shall call them crunch game A and crunch game B), there exists 1 much stronger team each so the likelihood of at least 1 team winning in the next 2 matches is very high.
But what happened next was baffling to say the least.
As expected for crunch game A, Strong Team A scored; 1-0. Then Weak Team A made a rare foray into the opponent's half and Strong Team A's keeper had to come out early to meet a 50-50 challenge with Weak Team A's striker. The keeper got to the ball first but ended up kicking the ball up high in the air just above him. As the ball came down, he failed to catch it and it hit his tummy (he is seriously fat) and went straight into the goal. Talk about bizarre! Strong Team A then launched a barrage of attacks but Weak Team A held out. Final score for crunch game A: 1-1.
Crunch game B wasn't so bizarre, but we had to sit through 10mins of heavy attacking from Strong Team B and desperate defending from Weak Team B. Final score: 0-0.
Well, cool then. The stage was set for us to get the win to qualify (a draw wouldn't suffice). But we were clearly underdogs, not only in the tournament, but especially against this team we were up against.
I dunno exactly why but the opponent team was perhaps slacking off or off-form or something, so we didn't get attacked as much as we thought we would be. In fact, we started carving out half-chances of our own (although they were obviously superior and dominating possession). Then suddenly, we received a free kick at the edge of the penalty area for a dubious foul on one of my team mates. Nobody thought anything of it; not us, not even the opponent team, to their detriment. Instead of shooting, my teammate laid the ball to Neo and he blasted the ball into the back of the net. The rest didn't matter after that. Gay way to win, but final score: 1-0, against the fsckin' odds, and into the knock out stages!
It then started to rain, so we had a little break. When the downpour stopped, the tournament resumed with the courts wet. Fortunately, we had 1 or 2 matches before ours, so the ground dried up pretty much and we didn't have to deal with the slippery surface.
The next team we played against was also quite a good team with some pretty decent foreigners; some negroes and a caucasian I reckon. But by then, we had gained some momentum, and I started playing on the left which I really should've done from the start because it's my more natural position. I managed to get to a loose ball and hammered in for a 1-0 win. We were into the quarters, something totally inconceivable at the start.
But alas, our fairytale run ended as we lost our quarter-final game 1-0. I only recall that we were getting outplayed and the opponents got their goal cos 2 of our defenders couldn't stop him as he cut in to shoot and score, something specific that I still can't quite reconcile as of now (2 defenders!). But it was okay I guess; the little motley crew that was our team had run its luck so far and the time was up, or perhaps even in overtime. And I was exhausted as I'd played every game ever since the 2nd one.
I just thought it was quite incredible the way things unfolded though. It's things like these... Tell-tale signs that say that something's bound to happen. Just like when a team keeps hitting the post or missing their shots, you know it's kinda like that feeling that it's on the cards they're gonna end up losing. I felt that we were meant to qualify once those 2 draws happened. It was just too ridiculously coincidental that no other outcome was meant to be.
Arsenal created their own fairytale comeback yesterday night when, at half time, they went 2-0 down to Bolton with Diaby sent off, only to bounce back and win 3-2. Incredible stuff. When Arsenal got the penalty (even before Van Persie converted it), I could sense it all coming.
There's no I in 'team'. But there's ME. And MEAT. And maybe 'inspirational' lines like these are for really stupid uninspired people.
Audio Candy:
Dream Theatre - A Change Of Seasons
Monday, 24 March 2008
The Big Four
Today was a neutral's dream, with Manchester United 3-0 Liverpool and Chelsea 2-1 Arsenal.
And I've got some MSN conversational gems with Sab and Mikaela.
jose says:
and shit man. today we had arsenal vs chelsea and man u vs liverpool and i watched 1.5 of the games and now i feel like exploding cos im not playing soccer right now.
sab says:
hahahahahahahahahat
sab says:
its still going on right?
jose says:
yeh. and arsenal are losing. ]:
jose says:
arsenal is like my summer fling.
jose says:
when u have a wife like newcastle, it cant be helped.
jose says:
whats the standings now?
javier frickin mascherano says:
man utd 1st, chelsea 2nd, arsenal 3rd, liverpool 4th
javier frickin mascherano says:
the rest blah blah blah
jose says:
wah wah.
jose says:
what the hell.
javier frickin mascherano says:
i think bolton and fulham are at the bottom
jose says:
hahar.
jose says:
what happened to my fling.
jose says:
change fling!
javier frickin mascherano says:
change to united
javier frickin mascherano says:
hahahhahaha
javier frickin mascherano says:
later rachel whack you
jose says:
no lar cannot fling with man utd. thats like sleeping with the devil.
jose says:
im so frickin punny!!!!!!!! ZOMG
javier frickin mascherano says:
(((:
javier frickin mascherano says:
of course you're so punny you're making my sides split
sab says:
i used to have a crush on kewell
sab says:
when he was in liverpool (i think)
sab says:
is he still there?
jose says:
he still is la walau.
sab says:
hahahar~
sab says:
now tht daena is gone i have become a soccer noob like most of my gender.
sab says:
if anyone thinks i sound like a bimbo.. you're not alone. i think so too.
:]
A behaviorist is someone who pulls habits out of rats.
Audio Candy:
Orson - No Tomorrow
And I've got some MSN conversational gems with Sab and Mikaela.
jose says:
and shit man. today we had arsenal vs chelsea and man u vs liverpool and i watched 1.5 of the games and now i feel like exploding cos im not playing soccer right now.
sab says:
hahahahahahahahahat
sab says:
its still going on right?
jose says:
yeh. and arsenal are losing. ]:
jose says:
arsenal is like my summer fling.
jose says:
when u have a wife like newcastle, it cant be helped.
jose says:
whats the standings now?
javier frickin mascherano says:
man utd 1st, chelsea 2nd, arsenal 3rd, liverpool 4th
javier frickin mascherano says:
the rest blah blah blah
jose says:
wah wah.
jose says:
what the hell.
javier frickin mascherano says:
i think bolton and fulham are at the bottom
jose says:
hahar.
jose says:
what happened to my fling.
jose says:
change fling!
javier frickin mascherano says:
change to united
javier frickin mascherano says:
hahahhahaha
javier frickin mascherano says:
later rachel whack you
jose says:
no lar cannot fling with man utd. thats like sleeping with the devil.
jose says:
im so frickin punny!!!!!!!! ZOMG
javier frickin mascherano says:
(((:
javier frickin mascherano says:
of course you're so punny you're making my sides split
sab says:
i used to have a crush on kewell
sab says:
when he was in liverpool (i think)
sab says:
is he still there?
jose says:
he still is la walau.
sab says:
hahahar~
sab says:
now tht daena is gone i have become a soccer noob like most of my gender.
sab says:
if anyone thinks i sound like a bimbo.. you're not alone. i think so too.
:]
A behaviorist is someone who pulls habits out of rats.
Audio Candy:
Orson - No Tomorrow
Sunday, 23 March 2008
Epiphaniac
Sat through my first international game today - Singapore vs Australia at the old National Stadium - though I was only present for half a game because the match, for some stupid reason or other, started much earlier than the stated time on the ticket and also because I had to queue 20 minutes for KFC which ate into the match time.
There wasn't much to cheer about, only a lot to groan, whine and bitch about considering the number of clear cut chances that Singapore had and squandered. It's really matches like these that make you wish you could be on the pitch playing so badly instead of those chickens monkeying around such that you feel like you're gonna implode on yourself. One other team that never fails to make me feel this way is Newcastle.
Rachel was quite enthusiastic and the others were going on about it and teasing her quite a bit, but soon enough I started getting quite animated myself. Yins, Mikaela and Angie were clearly quite amused for very irrelevant reasons.
The game ended goal-less. The rain really killed things I think. The atmosphere could've been so much better. Catching the Singapore vs Lebanon qualifier match on wednesday; I'm really hoping quite badly that it'll be a great deal better than today's.
Although I've already decided on 'Is Democracy A Universal Value?' for my political science term paper, I've been struggling to simply get started on it since over a week ago. So I decided to try pretending that I was gonna blog on it like some other random pointless topic by typing it out using blogger.com, and everything just started coming out. And I'm quite damn amazed. Just like how I get mental constipation from attempting to do work in the library, using a formal program like Microsoft Word to work on my essay causes my mind to simply shut off because, well it's no surprise anyway, I hate the idea of doing work.
I have interestingly just managed to fool myself. Hmm.
This unofficial 1-week break is effectively screwing up my whole sleeping cycle. I feel as if, without the civiling influence of school and institutional order, I'm naturally revertible to being nocturnal. Can't help it; night time is preciously zen.
And so I start to forget about it and move on, just like that. And when you think about how hard it is, especially perhaps for girls to do so, it makes me wonder what kinda quantum leap it takes for us to be convinced enough to see the light and take the more enlightened path; the path that would have less pointless self-induced suffering. We're inherently wired differently.
And come to think of it, why did I even have those different states of mind? Why did it have to take such circumstances of rude awakenings and the like before I could have a change of heart? Why couldn't it be a matter of my own will to not get trapped? What kinda will power does it take? It is so fascinating. We are truly such experential creatures at the end of the day. :]
Intel has announced its next chip: the Repentium.
Audio Candy:
Stereophonics - Have A Nice Day
There wasn't much to cheer about, only a lot to groan, whine and bitch about considering the number of clear cut chances that Singapore had and squandered. It's really matches like these that make you wish you could be on the pitch playing so badly instead of those chickens monkeying around such that you feel like you're gonna implode on yourself. One other team that never fails to make me feel this way is Newcastle.
Rachel was quite enthusiastic and the others were going on about it and teasing her quite a bit, but soon enough I started getting quite animated myself. Yins, Mikaela and Angie were clearly quite amused for very irrelevant reasons.
The game ended goal-less. The rain really killed things I think. The atmosphere could've been so much better. Catching the Singapore vs Lebanon qualifier match on wednesday; I'm really hoping quite badly that it'll be a great deal better than today's.
Although I've already decided on 'Is Democracy A Universal Value?' for my political science term paper, I've been struggling to simply get started on it since over a week ago. So I decided to try pretending that I was gonna blog on it like some other random pointless topic by typing it out using blogger.com, and everything just started coming out. And I'm quite damn amazed. Just like how I get mental constipation from attempting to do work in the library, using a formal program like Microsoft Word to work on my essay causes my mind to simply shut off because, well it's no surprise anyway, I hate the idea of doing work.
I have interestingly just managed to fool myself. Hmm.
This unofficial 1-week break is effectively screwing up my whole sleeping cycle. I feel as if, without the civiling influence of school and institutional order, I'm naturally revertible to being nocturnal. Can't help it; night time is preciously zen.
And so I start to forget about it and move on, just like that. And when you think about how hard it is, especially perhaps for girls to do so, it makes me wonder what kinda quantum leap it takes for us to be convinced enough to see the light and take the more enlightened path; the path that would have less pointless self-induced suffering. We're inherently wired differently.
And come to think of it, why did I even have those different states of mind? Why did it have to take such circumstances of rude awakenings and the like before I could have a change of heart? Why couldn't it be a matter of my own will to not get trapped? What kinda will power does it take? It is so fascinating. We are truly such experential creatures at the end of the day. :]
Intel has announced its next chip: the Repentium.
Audio Candy:
Stereophonics - Have A Nice Day
Monday, 25 February 2008
This Overdue Glory
Went down to NUS today for the futsal tournament organised by Khairul (who couldn't play because of his knee ligament injury) with the good ol' assemblage of Sanchin, Koon, Arvinder, Chengjun and Zhiquan, and some much-needed goalkeeping help from Xuanyou, our ex-NYJC volleyball winning team's captain.
We then went on to blaze through our qualifying group stages and the knock out rounds totally unbeaten and came out champions, with the following scores:
Group stages:
2-0
3-2
2-0
3-1
Semi-final:
5-1
Final:
2-1
Bagged myself 3 or 4 goals. The team we won 3-2 in the group stages eventually became our final opponents whom we beat 2-1, both very tight games.
As I type, the vibe still reverberates as strongly as ever; a combination of a truckload of thoughts and emotions about where I, or perhaps we, stand today and of all the circumstances that have preceded this.
For one, to say I love soccer is an understatement. I owe a huge part of what I am today to the sport because of the many things it entails. And I take a lot of pride in my game; I don't think it's unfair for me to say that I'm quite a decent player who might've deserved more.
But me, and the other guys as well, have never really lived up to that potential due to many circumstances, such as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, having to focus on studies more, not having a good enough coach etc. And I daresay that the team mates I played with today, the same guys who went through NYJC soccer with me, can really whip up a very mean game. From the way we played today, we were practically obliterating every other team and clearly coming out tops each time, and those were good opposition in a conventional sense. Who'd expect a bunch of university kids to be pwning much fiercer non-university opponents? The way universities always lose to polytechnics and ITEs is somewhat embarassing. Circumstances in the past have cumulated to deny us so many chances and opportunities to have achieved any form of illustriousness with soccer and most people may not understand it, but it has been quite upsetting for me at times and I won't doubt the frustrations the others feel too, especially when we had so much in us to achieve. It is really such a pity.
Sab says it's better late than never, and yet also that being over-competitive can kill the passion for the game, especially when team mates start fighting for personal glory. And one other thing is that the ones who've achieved success can start to lose their desire to keep going once they've tasted the sweetness of being at the top.
I think it is this predicament of ours, because of our circumstances leading up to our prestige-deficient present, that has built in us a character that I'm quite proud to say we have. From what Sab has said, I guess we can be considered as the perpetual underdogs, the under-rated team or the under-performing team, depending on how you'd wanna look at it. Because I really think we've got what it takes to get to the top but we always never make it far enough somehow.
And this character of ours is something that is quite different from the many lame mainstream teams out there. The guys I play soccer with and call my team mates every weekend have really modest roots and are incredibly humble for the skills they possess. Perhaps it is this humility that has been a restraining cap on any audacious initiative on our part to take a step forward towards more ambitious ends such as going for club trials and playing for varsity, but it has allowed us to compete at the highest level without any selfish personal glory or senseless egoistic pride taking over. I see these inflated egos in so many teams and players I've played against and I wouldn't hesitate to classify SMU as a really egoistic team that promises too much and under-delivers; and for all that lack of glory they seriously still think very highly of themselves. Most other university and JC teams are like that too, because the big talkers with huge egos tend to be the ones who believe they're good enough to make the team and are more willing to prove their point. There are many far more talented players who are simply overshadowed by the less humble.
We don the old NYJC PE shirt that belonged to a past era and I don't even wear branded shoes to play, but we were scalping the ones who had their Adidas jerseys and Nike shoes and shouting at each other for making mistakes and then making mistakes themselves. When we play, I think our team's quietness can seriously be scary to our opponents, and yet our play and teamwork is almost telepathic. Simple passes, effective runs and discipline in marking; that's all we do. A lot of local soccer players have got it misconstrued that you have to be technically gifted or individualistic to play; they seriously have no idea. We were scoring goals by stringing countless simple, unbroken passes without even needing to be showy or dribble past anybody. And our opponents, though seemingly more technically gifted, couldn't even break out of their halves. That's the vintage way we play and today summed up over a decade of frustration and destroyed it for good, my only gripe being that it might be somewhat too late. Who knows what else we might've achieved and conquered if only, if only.
It may be asked what's with this glory obsession. It's somewhat like 300, as Dilios says of King Leonidas' wish, "'Remember us.' As simple an order as a king can give. For he did not wish tribute, nor song, or monuments or poems of war and valour. His wish was simple. 'Remember us,' he said to me. That was his hope, should any free soul come across that place, in all the countless centuries yet to be. May all our voices whisper to you from the ageless stones, 'Go tell the Spartans, passerby, that here by Spartan law, we lie.'"
Of course, I do not expect anyone to know of us as of today because in the bigger scheme of things, we're like mere grains of sand in the Sahara. But victory, at long last, like today, does solidify things and, to some extent, is a form of closure to this flickering light of potential, just like finally giving a name and destiny to an old yet unnamed child. So we won't be forgotten to ourselves of who we were and what we know we were capable of when the light has finally died and we will play no more.
It's the first time I've won an official tournament, though we've come close a couple of times in the past. I'm just really glad to have such a team to play in. The team we played against twice provided for some really dramatic moments, reminiscent of the other times we came so close to winning it all only to lose it at the end. Both matches were close fights and, in the final when we won 2-1, we actually went 1-0 down with 3 minutes to go but clawed our way back to draw 1-1 and score the golden goal in extra time. On top of that, they were much older and were starting to get extremely hostile and a fight seemed to be tethering on the edge of breaking out. Soccer's such a game of male pride sometimes that the dark side of it all keeps rearing it's ugly head.
Arvinder scored both goals in the final, making him the hero, and the funny thing was that after he scored the golden goal and won the game for us, he immediately changed and went off because the tournament was dragging way too long and he had a meeting to attend, so it was almost as if he's saying, "eh don't waste my time already la" and scored so that he could end it and leave.
Had a quiet and simple celebratory dinner at Vivocity's Kopitiam (anti-climax) before heading home. It's been a really good day.
People are very open-minded about new things as long as they're exactly like the old ones.
Audio Candy:
Jason Mraz - Curbside Prophet
We then went on to blaze through our qualifying group stages and the knock out rounds totally unbeaten and came out champions, with the following scores:
Group stages:
2-0
3-2
2-0
3-1
Semi-final:
5-1
Final:
2-1
Bagged myself 3 or 4 goals. The team we won 3-2 in the group stages eventually became our final opponents whom we beat 2-1, both very tight games.
As I type, the vibe still reverberates as strongly as ever; a combination of a truckload of thoughts and emotions about where I, or perhaps we, stand today and of all the circumstances that have preceded this.
For one, to say I love soccer is an understatement. I owe a huge part of what I am today to the sport because of the many things it entails. And I take a lot of pride in my game; I don't think it's unfair for me to say that I'm quite a decent player who might've deserved more.
But me, and the other guys as well, have never really lived up to that potential due to many circumstances, such as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, having to focus on studies more, not having a good enough coach etc. And I daresay that the team mates I played with today, the same guys who went through NYJC soccer with me, can really whip up a very mean game. From the way we played today, we were practically obliterating every other team and clearly coming out tops each time, and those were good opposition in a conventional sense. Who'd expect a bunch of university kids to be pwning much fiercer non-university opponents? The way universities always lose to polytechnics and ITEs is somewhat embarassing. Circumstances in the past have cumulated to deny us so many chances and opportunities to have achieved any form of illustriousness with soccer and most people may not understand it, but it has been quite upsetting for me at times and I won't doubt the frustrations the others feel too, especially when we had so much in us to achieve. It is really such a pity.
Sab says it's better late than never, and yet also that being over-competitive can kill the passion for the game, especially when team mates start fighting for personal glory. And one other thing is that the ones who've achieved success can start to lose their desire to keep going once they've tasted the sweetness of being at the top.
I think it is this predicament of ours, because of our circumstances leading up to our prestige-deficient present, that has built in us a character that I'm quite proud to say we have. From what Sab has said, I guess we can be considered as the perpetual underdogs, the under-rated team or the under-performing team, depending on how you'd wanna look at it. Because I really think we've got what it takes to get to the top but we always never make it far enough somehow.
And this character of ours is something that is quite different from the many lame mainstream teams out there. The guys I play soccer with and call my team mates every weekend have really modest roots and are incredibly humble for the skills they possess. Perhaps it is this humility that has been a restraining cap on any audacious initiative on our part to take a step forward towards more ambitious ends such as going for club trials and playing for varsity, but it has allowed us to compete at the highest level without any selfish personal glory or senseless egoistic pride taking over. I see these inflated egos in so many teams and players I've played against and I wouldn't hesitate to classify SMU as a really egoistic team that promises too much and under-delivers; and for all that lack of glory they seriously still think very highly of themselves. Most other university and JC teams are like that too, because the big talkers with huge egos tend to be the ones who believe they're good enough to make the team and are more willing to prove their point. There are many far more talented players who are simply overshadowed by the less humble.
We don the old NYJC PE shirt that belonged to a past era and I don't even wear branded shoes to play, but we were scalping the ones who had their Adidas jerseys and Nike shoes and shouting at each other for making mistakes and then making mistakes themselves. When we play, I think our team's quietness can seriously be scary to our opponents, and yet our play and teamwork is almost telepathic. Simple passes, effective runs and discipline in marking; that's all we do. A lot of local soccer players have got it misconstrued that you have to be technically gifted or individualistic to play; they seriously have no idea. We were scoring goals by stringing countless simple, unbroken passes without even needing to be showy or dribble past anybody. And our opponents, though seemingly more technically gifted, couldn't even break out of their halves. That's the vintage way we play and today summed up over a decade of frustration and destroyed it for good, my only gripe being that it might be somewhat too late. Who knows what else we might've achieved and conquered if only, if only.
It may be asked what's with this glory obsession. It's somewhat like 300, as Dilios says of King Leonidas' wish, "'Remember us.' As simple an order as a king can give. For he did not wish tribute, nor song, or monuments or poems of war and valour. His wish was simple. 'Remember us,' he said to me. That was his hope, should any free soul come across that place, in all the countless centuries yet to be. May all our voices whisper to you from the ageless stones, 'Go tell the Spartans, passerby, that here by Spartan law, we lie.'"
Of course, I do not expect anyone to know of us as of today because in the bigger scheme of things, we're like mere grains of sand in the Sahara. But victory, at long last, like today, does solidify things and, to some extent, is a form of closure to this flickering light of potential, just like finally giving a name and destiny to an old yet unnamed child. So we won't be forgotten to ourselves of who we were and what we know we were capable of when the light has finally died and we will play no more.
It's the first time I've won an official tournament, though we've come close a couple of times in the past. I'm just really glad to have such a team to play in. The team we played against twice provided for some really dramatic moments, reminiscent of the other times we came so close to winning it all only to lose it at the end. Both matches were close fights and, in the final when we won 2-1, we actually went 1-0 down with 3 minutes to go but clawed our way back to draw 1-1 and score the golden goal in extra time. On top of that, they were much older and were starting to get extremely hostile and a fight seemed to be tethering on the edge of breaking out. Soccer's such a game of male pride sometimes that the dark side of it all keeps rearing it's ugly head.
Arvinder scored both goals in the final, making him the hero, and the funny thing was that after he scored the golden goal and won the game for us, he immediately changed and went off because the tournament was dragging way too long and he had a meeting to attend, so it was almost as if he's saying, "eh don't waste my time already la" and scored so that he could end it and leave.
Had a quiet and simple celebratory dinner at Vivocity's Kopitiam (anti-climax) before heading home. It's been a really good day.
People are very open-minded about new things as long as they're exactly like the old ones.
Audio Candy:
Jason Mraz - Curbside Prophet
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Economies Of Scale
I got my laptop back on Monday only for it to crash again, so I had to send it back to Edwin for another fix. I have no idea what's wrong with it and it's been a real pain to deal with of late, especially when it's an additional burden (both of having to deal with, and of not having a laptop to do work with) amongst other things I have to worry about.
So I'm using my dad's laptop that functions at frikkin' jet fighter speed but it's okay 'cos I really miss being connected to the world from my bed.
Actually, I guess political science seriously takes the cake out of the 'amongst other things' I'm talking about. I'm doing this unofficial jigsaw group thing with Isaac and Angie and others who wanna join and I really hate it because I'm at best a responsible bummer and at worst a vitriolic apathetic. Personally, when I'm not interested, I'm really just not interested and nothing can get me going on it. So when I've read pol science readings to the point where I seriously don't wanna continue, I'd just really forget it and not bother to read.
But in this jigsaw group thing, I can't do that! And it really pisses me off to know that I can't just stop reading when I don't feel like it already because I'm responsible for someone else's knowledge. So far I've had 2 sessions already and each session just kills me. I will be doing this for another week because it's my presentation next week. I'm truly at my production possibilities frontier, after which I guess I'll just allow myself to get into a recession, 'cos honestly I really can't be more bothered about it. I think this is really starting to remind me of the time I decided to unofficially drop social studies in secondary school. Yes I know, "huh can drop meh?" You can't. So I just basically stopped paying attention, stopped studying and after awhile stopped attending classes. Literature saved my humanities component of the 'O' levels.
Anyway I was at NUS on saturday to supposedly catch Sab in action for the inter-hall soccer games but she sprained her ankle last minute and so couldn't be fielded. I had the privilege of watching 2 matches, though she thinks it was embarassing to have me come all the way down to see them lose. Then she was telling me about a life of mediocrity later, but there's a somewhat abstract relation to all this with some other thoughts I had.
I've never really had any real success at soccer myself, though I'd consider myself a 'got pedigree' player, aside from the little juggling competitions I win every now and then but that's really peanuts. There's always a time when you're young and only 15 years old and running circles around the older guys, being the one to look out for. Time passes, and now I'm the older guy. Though I don't let 15 year-old kids run circles around me, there isn't really much in it for me anymore and university will pass without me partaking in any varsity soccer games, arguably the last chance at playing soccer institutionally and meaningfully. I'm still playing competitive street soccer games every now and then, and weekends are still spent at the neighbourhood street soccer courts kickassing, but for how long more? We used to scoff at the oldies who'd hog the court but soon it'll be my turn to start seeing kids 5 years younger than me jump in and takeover.
And this is Sab's last IHG also, so I decided that there's no harm having a look. It's interesting watching girls play soccer anyway. Emo stuff aside, I didn't go there to watch it for the glamour of winning; it was indeed quite warming to see the universalities of emotions pertaining to the sport, and they say that the emotional aspects of the ladies' game can be much higher.
I think there's a lot more I'd probably wanna say but I'm not half done with the stuff I have to prep for tomorrow's pol science meeting and it's bloody 1am already. Anyhooser, I'm gonna put up a post from the past with each new entry I post so yeah y'all can look out for that one. Some of the stuff written's quite g4y but it's for archiving and nostalgia's sake.
So I'm using my dad's laptop that functions at frikkin' jet fighter speed but it's okay 'cos I really miss being connected to the world from my bed.
Actually, I guess political science seriously takes the cake out of the 'amongst other things' I'm talking about. I'm doing this unofficial jigsaw group thing with Isaac and Angie and others who wanna join and I really hate it because I'm at best a responsible bummer and at worst a vitriolic apathetic. Personally, when I'm not interested, I'm really just not interested and nothing can get me going on it. So when I've read pol science readings to the point where I seriously don't wanna continue, I'd just really forget it and not bother to read.
But in this jigsaw group thing, I can't do that! And it really pisses me off to know that I can't just stop reading when I don't feel like it already because I'm responsible for someone else's knowledge. So far I've had 2 sessions already and each session just kills me. I will be doing this for another week because it's my presentation next week. I'm truly at my production possibilities frontier, after which I guess I'll just allow myself to get into a recession, 'cos honestly I really can't be more bothered about it. I think this is really starting to remind me of the time I decided to unofficially drop social studies in secondary school. Yes I know, "huh can drop meh?" You can't. So I just basically stopped paying attention, stopped studying and after awhile stopped attending classes. Literature saved my humanities component of the 'O' levels.
Anyway I was at NUS on saturday to supposedly catch Sab in action for the inter-hall soccer games but she sprained her ankle last minute and so couldn't be fielded. I had the privilege of watching 2 matches, though she thinks it was embarassing to have me come all the way down to see them lose. Then she was telling me about a life of mediocrity later, but there's a somewhat abstract relation to all this with some other thoughts I had.
I've never really had any real success at soccer myself, though I'd consider myself a 'got pedigree' player, aside from the little juggling competitions I win every now and then but that's really peanuts. There's always a time when you're young and only 15 years old and running circles around the older guys, being the one to look out for. Time passes, and now I'm the older guy. Though I don't let 15 year-old kids run circles around me, there isn't really much in it for me anymore and university will pass without me partaking in any varsity soccer games, arguably the last chance at playing soccer institutionally and meaningfully. I'm still playing competitive street soccer games every now and then, and weekends are still spent at the neighbourhood street soccer courts kickassing, but for how long more? We used to scoff at the oldies who'd hog the court but soon it'll be my turn to start seeing kids 5 years younger than me jump in and takeover.
And this is Sab's last IHG also, so I decided that there's no harm having a look. It's interesting watching girls play soccer anyway. Emo stuff aside, I didn't go there to watch it for the glamour of winning; it was indeed quite warming to see the universalities of emotions pertaining to the sport, and they say that the emotional aspects of the ladies' game can be much higher.
I think there's a lot more I'd probably wanna say but I'm not half done with the stuff I have to prep for tomorrow's pol science meeting and it's bloody 1am already. Anyhooser, I'm gonna put up a post from the past with each new entry I post so yeah y'all can look out for that one. Some of the stuff written's quite g4y but it's for archiving and nostalgia's sake.
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