All of a sudden everyone’s talking about football.
Amazing. Just a few months ago, the world watched in awe as the World Cup was played in South Africa. The World Cup fever was nevertheless not as intense here compared to other countries whose love for football is almost a religion.
Until last week when the less-loved Philippine football team known as the Azkals beat Vietnam and advanced to the semis of the tough Suzuki Cup, the Southeast Asian region’s version of the World Cup.
Now, all of a sudden everyone’s attention is now with the Philippine Football team. The less-loved Azkals have become household pets overnight.
I was watching replays and newscasts of the Suzuki Cup from my hotel room in Manila and who would not embrace the Azkals for a pet? Everyone, even foreign television commentators are one in saying the win by the PH Azkals over Vietnam is historic. Amazing. Magical moment. They heaped a lot of praises for the once favourite whipping boys of Southeast Asia.
Here is a national team who would not even earn a trip to the Southeast Asian Games because it does not have a realistic chance of winning. Here is a national team with its national sports association in disarray, its leadership shaken by financial imbroglio and its president recently booted out.
I thought the only kick Philippine football is capable of making is kicking out its unwanted president. Those two goals in Vietnam reverberated across every football pitch. Forty thousand fans watched in disbelief. Millions more at home were in a state of shock. The cheers and the praises drowned all the troubles within the PFF.
When the ole-ole in Vietnam simmered down, the bickering back home started to be heard again. It rose to a crescendo when the Azkals themselves rued the leadership of Philippine football upon their arrival. And now, they cannot even play their home game at home.
In football, a home game is very important. It gives you a psychological advantage. It will pit eleven men against thousands on hostile ground. You would not want to experience that if you were a visiting team, do you? Hell, no.
As it stands now, the Azkals will have to face thousands in Indonesia for two games.
I have seen how hard it is to play football when you’re a visiting team in Indonesia. In 1997, I covered the football finals of the Southeast Asian Games pitting home team Indonesia against the visiting Thailand, the defending champs. Outside the Senayan Stadium, vendors sell “water bombs” inside plastic cellophane. The gold liquid turned out to be a concoction of urine and chili.
When the Thais scored in the first half, a portion of the Stadium was set to fire. Officials had to stop the match when the crowd became rowdy. In the second half when the Thais scored again, the bombs rained. When the game was over, the entire Senayan complex was a complete mess. Rowdy fans burned tarps, turned cars over and set fire part of the bleachers.
This was a complete turnaround from another sport where the Indons could stand losing. When the Philippines, starring Rommel Adducul and Danny Ildefonso, beat the Indons with Ali Budimansyah in basketball the night before, the Indons took the beating in stride.
But it was different at the pitch. This is football, Indonesia’s national passion.
This is what playing at home means to the Azkals. To have some warm shoulders to run to. Too bad, because of politics in its own ranks, the Azkals will have to play like stray dogs again, running on the streets of the enemy.
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