Passion
It’s a dark afternoon. A woman is lying in a hospital bed. Her face is completely pale and she stares
blankly at the ceiling. Four days prior to this, she was eight months pregnant. Three days prior to
this, a man raped her on her way home from work and her child was miscarried. Her friend sits by
the hospital bed and tries to comfort her. “Why are you still so sad?”, he asks, “It’s already been so
long since it happened. You and your husband can always try for another baby.”
Do you believe that anyone could be so insensitive? Neither did I. I thought that one’s friends
would sympathise with such a victim for as long as possible, and not treat life so callously.
Unfortunately, I was mistaken.
The 13th of May 2012 was the day the final round of Barclays Premier League fixtures were played for the 2011-2012 season. At the beginning of play, 3:00PM BST (10.00PM locally), two teams were still in the running for the Barclays Premier League title - Manchester United and Manchester City. Both teams were equal on points. However, United’s goal difference was far inferior to City’s, i.e. 8 less than City. Basically, United had given up hope on the title. The only way they could somehow win was if QPR beat City at the Etihad Stadium, City’s home stadium. Anyway, aside from all this background, I think it suffices to say that Manchester City vs QPR was very very important because it would basically decide who became champions.
As a lifelong Red Devil, I approached the game with as much trepidation as hope. Obviously, the chances of us winning were close to nil. However, obviously, all United fans still had expectation that QPR would somehow pull of a shock upset. Assuming United won their game, all we needed was for City to draw or lose. I was unable to study the entire day because my heart was heavy and every time I tried to open my books, the words entered my thought process, hit a wall of worry, congestion and bad feelings.
The game was everything a neutral could ask for, the ultimate way to win for City fans and the ultimate loss for United fans. To quote Dickens, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity...”
The game started off fairly well, and City took the lead before half-time. QPR equalised. At this point, I went absolutely mad. I was screaming, jumping and had absolutely no restraint on my emotions whatsoever. Shortly after, Joey Barton was sent off for what could only be described as absolutely disgraceful behaviour. Newcomers to the match who joined at that point would not have
The 13th of May 2012 was the day the final round of Barclays Premier League fixtures were played for the 2011-2012 season. At the beginning of play, 3:00PM BST (10.00PM locally), two teams were still in the running for the Barclays Premier League title - Manchester United and Manchester City. Both teams were equal on points. However, United’s goal difference was far inferior to City’s, i.e. 8 less than City. Basically, United had given up hope on the title. The only way they could somehow win was if QPR beat City at the Etihad Stadium, City’s home stadium. Anyway, aside from all this background, I think it suffices to say that Manchester City vs QPR was very very important because it would basically decide who became champions.
As a lifelong Red Devil, I approached the game with as much trepidation as hope. Obviously, the chances of us winning were close to nil. However, obviously, all United fans still had expectation that QPR would somehow pull of a shock upset. Assuming United won their game, all we needed was for City to draw or lose. I was unable to study the entire day because my heart was heavy and every time I tried to open my books, the words entered my thought process, hit a wall of worry, congestion and bad feelings.
The game was everything a neutral could ask for, the ultimate way to win for City fans and the ultimate loss for United fans. To quote Dickens, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity...”
The game started off fairly well, and City took the lead before half-time. QPR equalised. At this point, I went absolutely mad. I was screaming, jumping and had absolutely no restraint on my emotions whatsoever. Shortly after, Joey Barton was sent off for what could only be described as absolutely disgraceful behaviour. Newcomers to the match who joined at that point would not have
been blamed for thinking that it was a prize fight instead of a football match. I remember screaming
“No, no!” when the referee brandished that terrifying red card, while pulling out tufts of hair and
banging the floor with my bare fists. My voice was already hoarse at this point, but the game had
only just begun. Nine minutes later, QPR took the lead against the run of play on the counter
attack. When Cissé blasted the ball into the net past Joe Hart, I thought I was in a delirium. At that
point, although I didn’t show it, I thought that United’s 20th league title was in the bag already. The
score was 1-2 to QPR.
I’m not going to relive the agony of the last five minutes by trying to describe it, but let me just say that I was screaming, shouting, and crying at the same time. It was an absolutely crushing defeat. The feeling I felt when Aguero scored was similar to the one I had when I found out that my cousin’s one year old son had leukaemia.
Nevertheless, despite all my sadness and agony, my friends (mostly Arsenal supporters- God knows what THEY were celebrating about!) gave me absolutely no chance on the Monday after the game. To say they were revelling in my anguish would be an understatement.
One of the main things I received criticism for was that I took football too seriously. I strongly disagree with this. There is no such thing as taking football to seriously. Who is to decide what can be taken seriously and what cannot? I think I am entitled to grieve for as long as I want over United’s title loss as anyone would be allowed to grieve over his grandfather’s death. The only reason people think death is serious is because of mental conditioning from the time they were young. Human beings try to disassociate themselves from “mysterious” or “unknown” things, and since we know so little about death it therefore becomes scary. Human beings try and cling onto life as best they can, although the possibilities after treatment are sad and perhaps dehumanising.
Let’s take an example situation. A man finds a lump on his body, goes to the doctor, boom! It’s an advanced stage cancerous tumour. The doctor tells the man that if he goes for treatment he has a 5% chance of making it past 12 months. The treatment, medicines plus hospital bills et cetera are estimated to cost about RM150,000. If you were in this situation perhaps you might not. But what if the person in question was your father? Would you not definitely take the terms of the treatment? Is that much money really worth such a small chance of surviving for only another year? Definitely not from an economic perspective. A person could do a lot with RM150,000 and whether he dies tomorrow or the next year he still ends up six feet under. Even if he survives his quality of life will be absolutely crap. He’ll be in and out of hospitals, bedridden and in constant pain. Would you want this? Or death? It’s a tough choice and the resultant choices aren’t examined quite as intellectually and closely as they should be.
I’m not going to relive the agony of the last five minutes by trying to describe it, but let me just say that I was screaming, shouting, and crying at the same time. It was an absolutely crushing defeat. The feeling I felt when Aguero scored was similar to the one I had when I found out that my cousin’s one year old son had leukaemia.
Nevertheless, despite all my sadness and agony, my friends (mostly Arsenal supporters- God knows what THEY were celebrating about!) gave me absolutely no chance on the Monday after the game. To say they were revelling in my anguish would be an understatement.
One of the main things I received criticism for was that I took football too seriously. I strongly disagree with this. There is no such thing as taking football to seriously. Who is to decide what can be taken seriously and what cannot? I think I am entitled to grieve for as long as I want over United’s title loss as anyone would be allowed to grieve over his grandfather’s death. The only reason people think death is serious is because of mental conditioning from the time they were young. Human beings try to disassociate themselves from “mysterious” or “unknown” things, and since we know so little about death it therefore becomes scary. Human beings try and cling onto life as best they can, although the possibilities after treatment are sad and perhaps dehumanising.
Let’s take an example situation. A man finds a lump on his body, goes to the doctor, boom! It’s an advanced stage cancerous tumour. The doctor tells the man that if he goes for treatment he has a 5% chance of making it past 12 months. The treatment, medicines plus hospital bills et cetera are estimated to cost about RM150,000. If you were in this situation perhaps you might not. But what if the person in question was your father? Would you not definitely take the terms of the treatment? Is that much money really worth such a small chance of surviving for only another year? Definitely not from an economic perspective. A person could do a lot with RM150,000 and whether he dies tomorrow or the next year he still ends up six feet under. Even if he survives his quality of life will be absolutely crap. He’ll be in and out of hospitals, bedridden and in constant pain. Would you want this? Or death? It’s a tough choice and the resultant choices aren’t examined quite as intellectually and closely as they should be.
Imagine if death was not taboo, and we openly talked about it. Both my grandmothers are still alive
and I sometimes try and talk about their eventual deaths because I want to remove the stigma that
is associated with these events. Me speaking about it is neither going to delay nor bring their
deaths forward. Both my grandfathers passed away before I was born and while I was in high
school one of my most common excuses for skipping extracurricular events was “my grandfather
died” (strictly speaking - not a lie) or “my grandfather is planning to die on that day” (OK - a total lie,
obviously, but this was used more in jest). I know the proposition of doing something like that is
horrifying to many. Again, this is because of preconditioning. From the time we’re born life is
celebrated while death is treated with kid gloves. Death should equally be some sort of celebration
- even the most religious of people often overlook the “he’s gone to a better place” part.
From an early age I’ve always had social anxiety. I’m unable to speak to new people or participate in group activities with people I’m unfamiliar with. I can sit in complete silence for half an hour and just completely ignore the tension and awkwardness. Ergo, because of what I consider to be my ‘self-dependent’ reactions to things, I receded into a shell when I was young. Manchester United became my constant companion. Every Saturday or Sunday I would be in front of the television watching a match. I learnt to breathe to the rhythm of the Manchester United heartbeat. Their pain became mine, their joys I shared equally. Why? I’m often asked what economic benefit I gain by supporting them. None. But equally there is no economic benefit from treating late stages of cancer bar a really rare miracle. To me these are one and the same thing. From young I was mentally conditioned to live and breathe Manchester United, and therefore it means as much to me as the death of a loved one would mean to you. When I feel down I think of the times I saw a fantastic goal, or the time I saw the “Sir Alex Ferguson Stand” in person, or the time I knelt down in front of the great Sir Matt Busby’s statue to pay my respects in the freezing winter. To me, Sir Alex Ferguson is a living legend, a deity, and it would be wrong of anyone to say that what I believe in is preposterous.
Before I sign off, I’d just like to say to everyone who claims that it’s the beginning of a City era: Rubbish. Okay, maybe City won this year, but we were level on points with them. When Roman Abramovich took over at Chelsea they won two consecutive titles in 2004-05 and 2005-06, but United bounced right back and won THREE titles. City, we’ll be right at you from the start next season. Remember, your hero Sergio Agüero wasn’t even conceived yet when Sir Alex took over at Manchester United.
BY NICHOLAS MING-AN BALAGURU
From an early age I’ve always had social anxiety. I’m unable to speak to new people or participate in group activities with people I’m unfamiliar with. I can sit in complete silence for half an hour and just completely ignore the tension and awkwardness. Ergo, because of what I consider to be my ‘self-dependent’ reactions to things, I receded into a shell when I was young. Manchester United became my constant companion. Every Saturday or Sunday I would be in front of the television watching a match. I learnt to breathe to the rhythm of the Manchester United heartbeat. Their pain became mine, their joys I shared equally. Why? I’m often asked what economic benefit I gain by supporting them. None. But equally there is no economic benefit from treating late stages of cancer bar a really rare miracle. To me these are one and the same thing. From young I was mentally conditioned to live and breathe Manchester United, and therefore it means as much to me as the death of a loved one would mean to you. When I feel down I think of the times I saw a fantastic goal, or the time I saw the “Sir Alex Ferguson Stand” in person, or the time I knelt down in front of the great Sir Matt Busby’s statue to pay my respects in the freezing winter. To me, Sir Alex Ferguson is a living legend, a deity, and it would be wrong of anyone to say that what I believe in is preposterous.
Before I sign off, I’d just like to say to everyone who claims that it’s the beginning of a City era: Rubbish. Okay, maybe City won this year, but we were level on points with them. When Roman Abramovich took over at Chelsea they won two consecutive titles in 2004-05 and 2005-06, but United bounced right back and won THREE titles. City, we’ll be right at you from the start next season. Remember, your hero Sergio Agüero wasn’t even conceived yet when Sir Alex took over at Manchester United.
BY NICHOLAS MING-AN BALAGURU
