La Albicelestes

After revealing my devil's horns as a compulsive football gambler, I shall be shameless and admit that I had betted on Argentina to win tonight. After watching most of the first round matches and keeping up with the relevant scores,

Argentina is really the best team in the tournament so far.

The way they played epitomised how football should be after all. Keeping the ball on the ground, neat (i.e. short and quick) passes, always running and supporting one another, intelligent flicks, willingness to take on defenders in the box, and clinical finishing.

All shining examples of excellent technique and brilliant teamwork.

Like Greece who won the 2004 European Championships, Argentina also played to win. But that was where their similarities ended. Greece was a low class team which played negative football. Their priority was not to concede, and were not afraid to clear balls shamelessly back at the opponents. Keeping possession of the ball had never been their priority. They did not have the maturity and technique to do that anyway. They relied on set pieces to carve out their winners. The Czech Republic and Portugal were entertaining sides which played attractive attacking football. It was a real anguish for them to bow out in similar fashions to low class Greek corners. If you had not realised by now,

I hated Greek football to the core.

To be fair to them, the style of stifling and camping was a natural tactic for less accomplished teams against better opponents. I was guilty of employing that tactic during my stint as captain for my hall team. I had instructed my team to play just like that against TH, the defending champions. Although we did win eventually with a score of 1-0, and celebrated as if we had won the world cup, I knew football should not be played that way in my capacity as a football fan with a conscience.

Whatever we do in life should be proactive and positive, and not passive and negative. We should not be afraid of failure, because from the mistakes made we will learn to improve ourselves.

The Greek triumph plunged world football into dispair. Everyone saw for themselves the pragmatic worth of negative football and began emulating them in their teams. The popular formation of 4-4-2 was soon to be replaced by 4-5-1 in many leagues in the world, most notably the EPL. Chelski led the revolution, with their team built by Morinho worshipping the 4-5-1 religion. A solid defence coupled with a destructive defensive mid would starve the opponents of any chances. They would then attack on the counter and pump those long balls for the lone strong striker to chase.

Minimal risk, maximal capitalisation.

The mother fuckers of football. Even Man U had to change and adapt to that style. Gone were the days of Ferguson's huge successful 4-4-2 with two black dogs in front (Andy Cole and Dwight Yorke). The Man U of late was spotted with a 4-5-1 as well, with Van Nisterooy playing the lone strong striker up front too. Of course there were teams which played with attacking formations and styles like Barcelona and Arsenal. I was only trying to make the point that the trend was shifting towards 4-5-1 and negative football thanks to the Greeks.

Even Arsenal changed to 4-5-1 in Champions League 05/06 to impress with their 10 game run without conceding a goal.

Fine, I had been too judgemental here. It would be tactically unwise to risk opening up precious space and inviting the counter attacks by adopting an all out gungho style of play. This tactical imprudence would escalate to a disaster if the opponents are stronger than you. Examples?

Try asking Singapore to play an all out attacking style against Brazil and see what will happen.

Since the bulk of the world are teams lacking in calibre, it definitely warms the heart when a team of true pedigree like the current Argentina squad showed the world how football should be played.

Some frightening statistics. Argentina scored all of their 8 goals (so far) IN THE PENALTY BOX, and all were by foot. None of their goals were created by high balls.

One aspect of their game which totally impressed me, was how they perfected the triangles. It wasn't difficult to spot those beautiful triangles sprawled all over the pitch in whatever positions. Whenever Heinze got the ball, Sorin would spread wide and Cambiasso would back track. 1 triangle. Similarly for the other side, Ayala would be supported by Mascherano and Burdisso. Once either of the centre mids got the ball, midfield ace Riquelme would drift slight between them to form yet another triangle. If Riquelme had his back facing his own goal, he would just lay it back for the ball to be sprayed wide until the opponents would be drawn out. IF he received the ball facing the opponent's goal, the 2 strikers Saviola and Crespo would support to form the final triangle. If Riquelme manages to thread a through pass to either one of them,

Good game.

But why all the fuss about triangles? Not considering degenerate digons (i.e. straight lines), triangles are the polygons with the least number of sides. This means that they are easy to form (3 vertices equals to 3 players. Minimal waste of manpower), and allow the ball to cover a lot of ground in the least number of passes (Only need 2 passes to cover the rest of the vertices).

The prowess of the Argentines with their triangles do not lie. The second goal against Serbia and Montenegro was a classic. 24 passes leading up to that goal which Cambiasso finished it off with the simplest of touches.

That goal alone was enough for me to root for them all the way in this world cup. La Albicelestes.

The White and Sky Blue.

Sweden versus Paraguay

Many would doubt why I had expressed interest in such a low profile match, especially when it did not involve the seeded or high profile teams like England or Brazil. However, the bulk of the first round games were low class shit. The only good games decidedly were Poland vs Ecuador, Argentina vs Ivory Coast, and Australia vs Japan. The English games were so boring and lousy that I had difficulty keeping awake. Brazil were also playing more of European football than their world renowned samba.

Determined not to waste time watching lousy games, I scoured second round fixtures for a truly entertaining game.

Sweden versus Paraguay fitted the bill, since both teams needed a win to keep their world cup hopes alive. Enough ingredient to make the match a genuine contest.

That made me stay up this morning to catch the match live on RTM 1.

Right from the first whistle, Sweden made their intentions very clear. From their sense of urgency and shoot on sight policy, the Paraguayans would be idiots if they had not figured out what was in Swedish minds.

There was certainly no lack of creativity about Sweden, with most of the good things flowing from Ljungberg and Kim Kallstrom, who had been restored to the side by coach Lars Lagerback.

Just 15 minutes into the game, Kallstrom struck a fantastic left-footed shot from 25 yards after picking up Ibrahimovic's chested pass but Aldo Bobadilla pulled off a tremendous diving save. It was such a pity that a good shot like that could not go in.

10 minutes later Kallstrom stuck again. He drove in a thunderous volley from 30 yards that was too high but sparked an impressive Mexican wave from the 72,000 fans, overwhelmingly Swedish, in the Olympic Stadium.


Kallstrom was beginning to make his mark in the game.

On the 32nd minute, Sweden almost paid the price for their lack of poor finishing in front of goal. Paraguay finally created a decent chance but Roque Santa Cruz snatched at his shot from the edge of the box and watched the ball fly wide.

His strike partner Nelson Valdez then tried his luck but was no closer with a wild volley. Valdez was one of the few Paraguayan players who truly earned my respect. Against the English, he continued to cover every blade of grass on the pitch industriously despite his conspicuous shag face.

Without taking a drink every now and then unlike the English muti millionaire stars. Fucking wimps.

Tonight again Valdez showed why he was worth the accoladates showered upon him. If there was Paraguayan who deserved to score tonight, it must be him.

On the contrary the Swedish star Zlatan Ibrahimovic was playing football which was bereft of his pedigree and pre match hype. He never looked like he was ever going to threaten the Paraguayan defence. All his contributions was to control the long balls and lay off to others. No dribbles, no through passes.

No courage to try.

He was deservedly substituted at the break with Marcus Allback, once of Aston Villa.

Paraguay never gave up although Sweden had the bulk of the possession and decent chances. But it was them who threatened first to break the deadlock with Nelson Valdez again turning away from two defenders before hammering the ball into the side-netting.

Valdez drove wide again after turning past Olof Mellberg, then Bobadilla turned aside Larsson's fierce free-kick after Ljungberg had been felled right on the edge of the box.

Roberto Acuna sent a low strike thudding into Isaksson's arms, before a poor offside decision saw Kallstrom halted with the goal at his mercy.

Finally at the 70th minute mark, I thought the game had been settled. Sweden thought they had done it when Tobias Linderoth's ball over the top caught Paraguay flat-footed, and

Allback had chipped the ball over the oncoming keeper!!!

He had an empty goal all to his mercy with the ball destined to land inside the it. Surely this must break the deadlock. However as complacency descended upon him, his lack of the urgency to confirm the goal invited the chance for Caniza to arrive in the nick of time to acrobatically hook the ball off the line.

What a let off for Paraguay.

That gave a sucker punch to Sweden in the stomach, for all that they were worth for in the rest of the match was to return the ball back to a resolute Paraguayan team with 10 men behind the it. No way would they be able to penetrate a Paraguayan team awoke by that screamer of a lob minutes before. Sweden just could not score in this world cup, despite being one of the most prolific teams in the European qualifying campaigns.

Just as all seemed lost, salvation arrived with two minutes left for the Swedes, thanks greatly to substitute Johan Elmander who delivered a peach of a cross to Allback at the far post.

He unselfishly chose to head the ball back across the six-yard box rather than go for goal himself. Ljungberg saw it and gratefully arrived in the nick of time to direct a header into the net!

GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With less than 5 minutes of playing time left (including extra time), the game was good as over. It had been a great match. Lots of tension, lots of passion, lots of fustration, and finally euphoria at the dead to eradicate any possibility of an anticlimax. I had not stayed up in vain. Most importantly,

I can collect my winnings from the betting outlet later :)

Simple Man, Simple Life.

Given the month long holiday derived from clearing leave, my blog ought to be flourishing. Unfortunately the contrary was true. I had ample of time but the same could not be said for my inspirations. A blog drought would be an appropriate term to explain this phenomenon.

Comfort dulls the mind indeed.

There were more pressing things to be done in place of blogging. My NUS transcript had to be prepared before I start work in NIE, my passport to be renewed, unpack my duffel bag... Those were considered chores.

As for leisure activities, I rented books to decorate my table, and met up with friends whom otherwise I seldom got the chance to. (Tuesday dinner with Bollocks, Wednesday K box with hostel friends, Friday dinner with Math Honours classmates, Saturday lunch with my Godsister.) In between those I went shopping with mum and had dinner at Crystal Jade with my sister (real one) and her boyfriend. I had also brought my brother to watch X-Men at Tiong Bahru GV.

Those were my exploits away from home.

As for the other weeks spent at home, I lived life like a wastrel. I no longer wake up at 0600 hours. My actual waking hours would be 5 hours later or so. I eat 2 meals a day (Brunch and Dinner), and I don't exercise. On certain days at my disgusting best, I would play dota from lunch till bed time!

In case anyone thought I was the ultimate loafer around, the saving grace was that I became a MR.

MR as in MaRia.

Maria Khoo would wash the bowls and plates after the meals, vacuum and mop the floor, buy lunch for his brother, keep and fold the laundry, and PACK THE MESSY ROOM (Pigsty) which once belonged to me but was desecrated by my stupid brother over the years I spent away from home.

Let me dwell into the life of Maria.

#1. Wash Bowls.
Soap the forks and spoons first, and wash them off with water above the bowls. The water collected could be used to rinse the other crockery, thus saving water. Soap the crockery and then wash with water. The clean water from the final wash was then poured into a pail for storage.

#2. Vacuuming + Mopping the Floor.
After becoming a pro with brooms from area cleanings in the morning, a vacuum cleaner was a god send! The floor became so much cleaner and easier to clean!

Do not mop the floor WITHOUT ordering KSH (my brother's intials) to wash his feet, unless you want black footprints to emblazon the path where the mighty one once walked.

Tips for homemakers to be : 1 cupful of mop solution in a pail would create too much foam to mop the floor effectively. 1/2 a cup would wonderful.

#3. Brunch
To save money, I stock up on cereals and milk for breakfast. However when my stock got depleted by the freeloader, he would preempt my money saving attempts by dialling for Macdonald breakfast... (Now I know how $10 notes grow wings.)

The Cai Fan (assorted rice) at the kopi tiam downstairs sells for $2.70 for 1 meat, 1 egg, and 1 vege. Not a bad deal for the convenience. But my personal favourite would still be the lasi lemak stall at Tanjong Pagar Hawker Centre. $2.00 for a big packet of rice and meat!

#4. Folding and Keeping Laundry
Just don't fold them like SAF number 4 can already, because there are no ranks, name tags, and guards tabs to display in a ziploc bag or in the cupboard for any black man to see. I would hang my clothes in my cupboard neatly, and throw KSH's ones all over the floor.

#5. PACK THE FUSTRATING ROOM.
Pictures say a thousand words. When I first took over the room after returning from the army, it looked like this:

There was very little space left to maneuver, bed sheets were not laid, and the study table was filled with rubbish instead of books. KSH had abused the table until it became a storage place for his Gundam models instead of a place for him to do his work.

I had to plan a massive refurbishing to rectify the intolerable. Walking space was scarce, and dust was collecting on his trash which were unmoved for years! I had enough of this nonsense. My room was supposed to be a place of comfort satisfying a whole range of purposes like providing a good sleeping environment, training ground for my dribbling skills, exercise area, and study haven.

KSH had ruined them all.

I got down to work immediately. Fortunately SK training in SAF had helped me become more robust towards sickening chores. Synonymous with the ritual that signified my determined intentions at the start of any endeavour,

I took off my shirt and flexed my muscles.

The table (as well as his bag loads of Gundam models) had to go. Easier said than done. The table was too large for the door, and had to be disassembled into its original components for disposal.

For a guy like me with little patience, the fuss of unscrewing all the bolts and nuts was too much to take. I picked up karate on the spot and smashed the fragile wooden planks into halves. That really sped things up and freed up acres of spaces. Then came the unenviable task of arranging his old textbooks properly and folding his clothes that were sprawled all over the place.

Finally after much hard work, my room looked a lot better! Isn't that wonderful?

Just as I was rejoicing...

The monster wreaked havoc again!

I should have known better. Who could resist the temptation to mess up a newly packed room? (Especially it was the from the painstaking efforts of his brother.)

As I stood there shell shocked and close to tears, the state of my room a direct reflection of my mood.

Back to work as usual...

Finally, my room is neater and tidier than before!

I had to be fair to my much maligned brother. The previous 4 pictures were posed (Beginning from the one with KSH in it). I was the one who messed up the room and took a picture of it. I was the one who asked my brother to strike that silly pose. I was the one who pretended to be the mature and sensible brother folding the blanket.

Both of us had nothing better to do, so we decided to have some fun by messing up the room. It had been a years since I had so much fun with KSH. He had been a P4 kid when I first left home for army, and now he is a towering sec 3 adolescent (I'm still taller than you ok!) So glad to have him hanging around during my leave. Home alone for 1 month would be unbearable.

However, it was a real chore motivating him to study during his hols.

In the end I gave up trying. He had been working hard during school to be fair. Let him have some rest and slack for a couple of weeks.

Ideally for me, one month of slacking would apt. Anything longer than that and I would reproach myself for being a bum. Anything shorter and the effect of a rest would not be felt.

As this month draws to a close, I would have to gear myself up for many things. A new life in the working world, and of course the world cup! I would miss this holiday for a long time to come. Not only because I was a simple man living a simple life, but

My life had been brilliant.

Why Do We Fall Down?

Today my sunday league team went into our fourth game of the season on a high. We were on the top of the table with maximum points. 3 wins out of 3. Deep down inside each of us before the game started, we knew we wanted to win today's game as well, and we were quietly confident we could.

But whoever up there had other plans.

The first half which was below par considered our usual standards. We had created not only more chances than the opponent, but also the closer among the two teams. We had more corners and freekicks than them. We had slightly more possession than them. But we also had our woeful finishing to blame.

The half ended 0-0.

There was a need to up another gear in the second half if we still harboured any hopes of winning this game. We did just that after the restart. Starting brightly, Ah Koh (our striker) connected with Teck's (left winger) perfect cross without a complementing header from our first attack. That signalled our intentions without doubt as to who wanted the game more.

Unfortunately, it had to happen.

Still tied in a deadlock after 20 minutes into the second half, they had a counter attack from one of our corners. Their centre half sprayed the ball to their left wing, who squared the ball across our defence to their striker. I had positioned myself ideally such that I was able to cut out the square ball within one step in front of me and yet not compromising the space behind my right back in case their winger wanted to take him on. I would be there to sweep either ball or man if he tried to push the ball past my player.

As I had said earlier, he chose the safe option and passed a square ball across our defence. That was within my anticipation. All I had to do was perform an usual drill used so many times over the years.

Dig my right boot behind me, push my body forward, and stretch out my left foot to block the ball coming from the right.

It was not a very difficult maneuver, if not I would not even have thought of using it on a league game. Simple was always the best. And yet to my horror, instead of having a firm grip on the ground, my right boot slipped and toppled my balance.

I fell flat on my face.

As I watched the ball trickle nicely to the striker for a shot so helplessly on the ground, I knew chances of it going in was high. My keeper came out to reduce the angle, but it was too little too late. The shot had beaten him.

The first thing I had to do after I go on my feet was to pick up the ball from the net.

Honestly that slip was tragic. It changed the momentum of the game and killed off much of our spirit. It had even damaged my pride to a large extent. All defenders hate to concede goals, and hate even more to commit mistakes that lead to a goal directly. I was guilty of all of the above. I had a fairly good game before that incident. Why a sudden surge of bad luck and caused me to slip? If I had conceded a goal due to not reading the game well I would have felt less exasperated. But something so inexplicable as a slip... If there was a God, I would have raised my middle finger firmly towards and sky and let him know my opinion of him.

"Fuck you God! Haven't you got eyes? Can't you see we don't deserve this shit?"

I was clearly devastated. But somehow I just did not give up on the game. Fuelled by thoughts of "my team had nothing to lose and I could not do anything more stupid than that" in this game, I got more reckless and aggressive. I vented my fustration on the legs of those whoever dared to bring the ball near my tackling radius. I slided whoever I didn't like. (Everyone in fact). No long balls would sail over my head. I returned anything they probed into our defence back with first time headers and clearances. (I didn't have the mind to control the ball and pass to my team mates.)

Even the opponent grew wary of me. They stopped attacking down the centre and tried more of the wings. No use. Ah Lang the possessed wolf was unfatiguable. He just hounded and bit anyone who dared to try him.

In the end he stopped their attacks single-handedly, but he also destroyed his team's attacking play single-handedly. The ball just shifted from their defence to Ah Lang and back. No one was playing other than them and Ah Lang. Nothing was played except for long balls and clearances.

How to attack like that?

Somehow I still believed God existed and God is fair. Clutching my remaining bits and pieces of faith, I screamed a prayer right then.

"If you had eyes, if you are not blind, can you show me some justice?"

Just as I finished, the ball trickled to me from a deflection. For the first time in the game, I did something constructive with the ball. I stopped it and made a clean pass to my right wing (who also happened to be my captain). He seemed to fully understand my intentions, and reciprocated the favour by swivelling his marker and laid a through ball for our striker. He latched onto the through ball and dashed into the penalty box. Two defenders closed him down and maliciously brought him down. You do not have to be an idiot to know he was not diving. His feet was hooked by the defenders. The ref immediately blew his whistle and pointed to the spot.

Penalty!

Our star player (the left wing) stepped up and blasted it to the right, but not without sending him the wrong way in the process.

Somehow the game stagnanted after the penalty. Our defence virtually closed shop by the converting our defensive mid into a stopper. 4 of us plus a sweeper just kept sending the ball back to them first time. The opponents were physically tired as well and their body language suggested a reluctance to attack. The only saving grace was that our wingers and strikers were still diligently chasing down all our long balls and carving out chances of their own. They believed that the goal was a sign to follow up with more, while the defence took it as a sign to close shop.

Finally the whistle went, and the score ended at 1-1. It was a fair result. Both sides deserved something from this game. Despite comforting words from my friends telling me that "we couldn't blame the defence for everything, the goal shy attack was at fault too", "it wasn't my fault", and "a slip was just bad luck, not a mistake", I knew I had to bear some responsibility for it.

We never know when we will take a stumble and fall in life. Sometimes we could see it coming, sometimes we couldn't. And sometimes when we thought we had things well-planned, well-covered, and firmly under control, we could still end up landing on our backsides. The important thing is not to do whatever we can to prevent it, because that will be impossible. We do not have a crystall ball to help us see the future. In fact when it had to happen, it will happen no matter what we do to try prevent it.

The important thing is what we do after we took a tumble.

As I recalled from my captain the things he told me so many times after I had made mistakes during a game,

"Su Lang Mai Su Seh."

Which literally meant you can lose the game but never your pride. Don't make your opponents lose their respect for you when you give up on yourself. Make yourself worthy opponents to others. And of course,

Never give up fighting.

"Ah Lang, don't give up when we are only one goal down. Ji liap nia, must always believe we can come back into the game. Show them what you got!"

Of course his intentions were not to psych me up into the mad tackling man which I became, not to kill their legs, but just to make my presense felt by sticking closer to the man. And don't try risky stuff like intercepting the ball.

Despite the all the unhappiness surrounding that slip, I finally realised why God made that happen. In that brief few minutes while I was playing like a possessed man, I saw through my own eyes the player I was in the past which earned me my nickname "Ah Lang". Ah Lang simply meant "The Wolf", who would hound and bite whoever dared to venture into his territory. The way I played in the past was someone who would chase down any striker or winger and give them bone crunching tackles for their own good.

Seeing Ah Lang play now is a sad story of the past. His tackles had deserted him. Fear of making mistakes had fashioned him into a cautious defender who would only track endlessly without making a single tackle even when he had a clear chance to. Quite simple, a wolf which did not bite. No teeth. "Bo Gay".

God wasn't trying to tell me to play recklessly and injure others. All the more he did not want me to commit opponents aimlessly all the time and lose my position.

All he wanted me to do was to be myself.

The Ah Lang who would tackle to win balls, tackle to stop opponents, tackle to stamp his authority, but never tackle to injure. Ah Lang was always able to end his trackings with a tired opponent stopping to pause for a breath. And while the loser stopped to weigh his options, that Ah Lang tackle would come.

That was how I played in the past which made me enjoy football so much.

If we do not fall down,

How would we ever grow?