How Strange, this World...

I don't know what got into my head. Was it patriotism, or sentimentalism? Maybe it was a cauldron of both. As the sun hung high in a cruel blaze, I was at the old lady for her supposedly last matches. I don’t know how I survived all six hours, from three plus in the steaming dome to night fall at nine plus. But I left, a satisfied boy-man wearing a smugly smirk, swept by the memories of the golden age, of Malaysia Cup, of Fandi, David and company. None of my peers had believed what a night this could be, even though the Lions lost, the progress was there to see.

To think, my peers swooned over Transformers, when by far The Girl Who Leapt through Time is a more accomplished work. Then again, where is the comparison when it is substance versus hype? How strange, this world; just like the local lads shouting for Harry Kewell, or Mark Viduka simply for their famous red or black and white jerseys. Someone quipped: Is Liverpool playing? Well, it’s obvious how the Socceroos - without Harry that is – panicked in face of speed merchants like Khairul Amri and Ridhuan Muhammad, having to tack, hack in desperation and crookedly.

Beyond expectation, when the whistle sounded for the start, all the boys and girls in EPL jerseys roared: “Go Singapore, go!” How strange, this world; the young must be befuddled. And kudos to them, for singing their hearts out at our nation anthem; this uncle heard you loud, in fact, my eardrums almost burst. Thus the Lions breathed fire, and there is hope yet.