Thoughts From Champions League Final 2009 - Part 2

I love sports. I enjoy watching and reading about sports. The artistic expression of human motions, displayed by men and women through their skill to perfection, or otherwise; the sparkles from the interaction amongst individuals as a team, attract my imagination and admiration. But what intrigues me most is the drama from the spirit of humanity going through the challenges of sports. For example, currently in golf, I'm waiting to see how Tiger Woods would reclaim his supremacy after his knee surgery (I'm quite sure he will); in tennis, Roger Federer after his fall of form (him, I'm not so certain). Football? The future direction of Ronaldo (who will most likely leave Manchester United), EPL's (or Ex-EPL's) Newcastles FC. Badminton? Our national team's perennial struggle to climb to the top, of course. Formula 1? The momentum of Ferrari with their recent revival in the just concluded Monte Carlo race, and Brawn GP ability to ride their spectacular waves of success at the top, etc.

I have no fvaourite team in the Champions League Final at Rome a few nights ago, it was an exciting and entertaining game of football to watch. I neither yelled in joy nor cursed in disappointment after the final whistle. But, when I watched Thierry Henry of the winning team dancing in celebration after the final whistle, I was pensive.

Thierry Henry started his professional football career in France, Italy and then England. It was during his spell in England with Arsenal football club that his star as a footballer (no, not soccer player) started to shine brightly.

Thierry Henry developed into a world-class footballer during his times in Arsenal. With Arsenal, he had won all major domestic club titles and set some impressive football records. Coupled with his successful international career, he has in his collection all the winner medals a footballer dreams to have, except one - the European Champions League.

He had his chance in achieving that in the Champions League Final of 2006 in Paris, when Arsenal played Barcelona from Spain. Arsenal lost 2-1 in the rain of Paris. Henry was 29-years old then.

In 2007, Thierry Henry faced a major crossroad in his professional football career. At the age of 30, the possibility of a downhill slide in form is looming. Finding him leading a young squad in Arsenal, dream of laying his hands on the winner medal of the Champions League remained elusive in the short term. In June 2007, when a decision was made, he left England for Spain after 8 years with Arsenal in pursuit of personal glory.

Thierry Henry didn't have a successful first year in Spain with his new team. But this year, his second, with a great team, Thierry Henry finally grabbed the coveted winner medal of Champions League. As I watched him dancing victoriously on the pitch after the final whistle, my eyes was gazing pensively on his shirts, in the colors of Barcelona FC.

The image of him holding the winner cup wearing a shirt of the football club that crushed his dream of glory 3 years ago was fascinating. My fascination of the competition was at its peak during the semi-final stage of the competition. When Arsenal had a chance to meet Barcelona in the final. The prospect of Thierry Henry playing against his old club, which he had no success with in this competition, in the final thrilled me to the tips of my hair. But, the greatest of irony did not materialise ... actually, the greatest irony would be Arsenal making it into the final and beating Barcelona to win the Champions League.

When Arsenal failed to qualify for the final, the whole world knew Thierry Henry made the right decision in 2007. When he wore the winner cup on his head after the final whistle in Rome, Thierry Henry knew his decision was fully justified - in terms of personal glory.

But to me, although he has all the winner medals that he dreamed of in his cabinet now, there's still something lacking in making him a football legend, even though he is undeniably a great footballer.

When he left Arsenal in 2007 for his personal glory, in my humble opinion, he has lost a very holy quality that would make anyone a legend - a holistic ideal. Mind you, I don't think he left without the blessing of his supporters, and he certainly left with the blessing of his then manager and mentor, Arsense Wenger. But chasing personal glory in sacrifice of a team humanized Thierry Henry. The decision swung him away from a potential legend to the worldly status of a great footballer.

If he had stayed, and never won the Champions League title, come close a few more times in winning it, I think he would be more of a football legend than what he has achieved now. Alan Shearer comes to mind - glory to the team before glory to an individual.

But still, congratulations to Thierry Henry to finally achieve his dream. I'm happy for him. But still, I just couldn't stop thinking about the significance of his decision in 2007 to leave his beloved Arsenal in the realm of team sport.

And that's when I think of my Part 1 post about my daughter's incident. Strange?


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Thoughts From Champions League Final 2009 - Part 1

"No, I think you shouldn't raise your hand," I interrupted.

My nine-years old daughter came home with the story of how her class was given a collective punishment for being too noisy during one of her class. Apparently the mild-mannered teacher was too soft to control a bunch of noisy nine-years-old and the principal had to take over.

After giving a verbal lashing to the class, the principal decided to punish them for their misbehaviour. However, the pupils were given a chance to clear their innocence. The principal asked the one who didn't talk during the ruckus to put up their hand to avoid punishment. None took the offer, and all of them were punished.

"Well, did you talk during the class," my wife inquired.

"No, I didn't," the little girl replied.

"Then, why didn't you put up your hand?" my wife asked.

That's when I voiced my opinion.

My reasoning?

Firstly, it's not exactly a serious offense.

It's not a serious offence because ... nobody got hurt? Alright, maybe the pride of the teacher was dented. But in this case, being overpowered by a group of nine-years old? Anyway ...

Secondly, they are a group of nine-years old after all. The misbehaviour was probably out of cheekiness more than malice - it's a mischief. They were talkative, they were noisy, they were talking noisily, they were nine-years old, so what? Okay, they did it in front of the teacher, it's disrespectful and that's not good. They deserved the punishment.

The main point is - when the children were offered the chance to avoid punishment in such situation, should we encourage the child to raise her hand or stay quiet? My immediate reaction would be to remain with her mates.

Assuming I was right in pronouncing this misbehaviour as a "not-a-serious" offence, should we ask the nine-years-old to declare her innocence, as a matter of principle, and detach herself from her friends? Or should she remain quiet and "enjoy" the punishment together with her friends? Who knows, one day in the future, when they get together during a class re-union party of 10th or 20th anniversary, perhaps they'll look back and have a collective good laugh about the incident. It'll be like "Do you remember the soft teacher we had back in primary school and when the whole class was punished ..."

Poor Teach' ... But this post is not about the mild-mannered teacher ...

~

Y'know, I have had this subject at the back of my mind as my coming post for a few weeks. I didn't have the urge to put it down until three days ago - at the end of the Champions League 2009 Final at Rome between Manchester United and Barcelona ...


~ Part 2 ~


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Out with the hammer

There are regrets, and there are regrets, and there are regrets.

The cake recipe called for 5 eggs, B-grade. On cracking the 5^th egg, I wailed. A bad egg, it turned out. Sighed. Wasted 4 good eggs and stuck with smelly fingers. Should have known – don’t put all eggs in one egg-cracking bowl – I’d heard that probably a million times - ReGrets.

On the way home, I saw the road in front being jammed by a growing line of stationary cars. I smiled smugly. Putting on the left-turn signal, I cut into the next lane. I took a left turn for a short cut. Braking almost immediately after the turn. Aiyoh, a longer queue! What was thought to be a short cut had turned into an excruciating driving experience with constant nagging of “I’ve told you so!” from the wife (even though she didn’t say a thing before I made the turn) for the long hours that followed – RegretS.

Standing in a queue waiting to pay at the supermarket, I looked at the watch, my feet shifting intermittently. I cursed. The cashier had been working at the rate of a snail going for a stroll on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Finally, three more customers remained. At this point, a dispute broke out regarding the pricing of an item. After trying to look impatient and to be in a hurry, and appraising the dispensing rate of the next counter, which had five customers waiting, I decided to be bold and change queue. As soon as I stood behind the new line, dispute solved. The snail suddenly put on a turbo booster. Within seconds, the cashier had served five customers. I cursed. I was stuck behind another three customers and wondering whether to be thick skin and jump back to the previous counter which had two customers – reGreTs.

Hot day. Had been craving for an ice cream all days during work. Finally at home after dinner, I opened the fridge, knowing there’s one ice cream left. Panic. No ice cream. I saw my little boy licking happily at my object of desire by the TV. I’d to beg to get five licks, no-more-no-less, insisted my boy. Arrrgh… should have hidden the ice cream immediately after I stepped into the house – rEgrEts.

So tired. Turned off my alarm clock at three in the morning to go back to sleep. Probably just another boring game ending with penalty shootout, I thought. Turned on the TV in the morning for highlights from the Russia vs Spain Euro 2008 semi-final match. The fluency of the passing, the delicacy of the flicks, the speed of the attacking build-up, the ferocity of the barrage on goals, the three goals scored, and the roaring of the crowd… Arrrrgh… I missed all these just so I won’t nap during work??

REGRETS!!

With finals of major tournament usually less open and entertaining, hopefully I won’t whine about having to sit through 120 minutes watching 22 men on the filed playing defensive football not to lose a game on Monday morning, and then snooze through the rest of the day at work, or else, I’ll bring out the hammer again.

I'm neither Red nor Blue

After 120+ minutes of football, 2 goals, 1 red card, 19 pairs of tired legs (1 pair left early), and 2 pairs of not-so-tired legs leave their position on the field. It now comes to the penalty shoot-out, a battle of will and composure, plus a contest to catch the wink from Lady Luck. Rain is pouring onto the pitch, the crowd and the players.

Coin tossed, and MU will be the first to shoot. Petr Cech stands on the goal line. Carlos Tevez steps up, cool as cucumber. Score. 1-0 to MU.

Van der Sar’s turn to guard the goal. He stretches out his arms. Seemingly a smaller figure than the towering Petr Cech. Hmm … seems like Chelsea has an advantage.

As Michael Ballack walks up to the box, German’s efficiency and dependable quality comes to mind. And he does not disappoint. All square at 1-1.

Michael Carrick is next. The first Englishman to step up. Tevez did not put a dent into the reputation of Argentine’s skillfulness; neither did Ballack bring shame to German’s reputation of robustness. Now what reputation can an Englishman fall back on. Hmm … nothing comes to mind. He runs, lifts his leg, kicks the ball, the balls flies from the spot … straight into the goal. Well done. Advantage MU, 2-1.

Juliano Belletti’s next. Juliano who? How millions did he cost? Anyway, he scores. 2-2.

After four shootouts, it does seem that Van der Sar’s a bit more vulnerable than Petr Cech, letting in goal with much more ease.

Now, Ronaldo walks towards the box. Player of the year, 40+ goals during this season, steps over, etc, etc all do not come to mind, except his penalty miss against Barcelona.

“Score the goal. Score the goal. Score the goal … go, go, go, should I go, or should I stay? Go or stay? Go or stay?”, probably something going through his mind as he walks towards the spot.

One step, two step, halt. Smell the rose a bit. One, two, three, and the ball flies. Roar, from the fans of Blues. Penalty saved.

Head down, hands on hips, “Damn! I’ll probably stay on to redeem myself.” If that’s the reflection, probably it’s a half-full glass.

Ronaldo walks back to the circle. Score remains at 2-2, with Chelsea given a chance to take the lead.

“For you, Mom, “ a probable Frank Lampard’s thought as his turn comes up. He scores. Van der Sar never seem likely to produce a save. Looking at the sky, he reaches out his hand towards it, along with a silent prayer. Advantage Chelsea, 3-2.

Owen Hargreaves equaliser follows. Only for Ashley Cole to take back the advantage. Score: 4-3.

Everybody is holding his breath as Nani steps up. Moment of truth. You can almost hear a pin drops, almost. Score, the game goes on. Save, the game ends. He scores. 4-4.

John Terry steps up to an opposite scenario. Score, the game ends. Save, the game goes on. One step forwards, two steps, three steps, slip … the ball hits the post. Probably by the similar divine intervention to Lampard’s goal, Terry’s did not get a favourable response. This time the divine one’s wearing red. The slip bears similarity to the one by another ex-England captain, David Beckham, though now the miss would put the captain arm-band a bit further from his reach.

Heartbreak all round for those wearing blues. Terry cries.

Score remains at 4-4. Back to square one.

The substitutes show their mettle as both Andersen and Kalou scores from the spot. 5-5. It seems the nerve-wrecking exercise’s going to continue for a while.

The man who equaled the appearance record 10 days ago for MU, and scored, is next. Ryan Giggs has now gone one better and break the appearance record. Now can he score, though? Experience counts. He scores for MU to go ahead. 6-5.

Chelsea new boy who joined mid-term, Nicholas Anelka, steps up. Now, is he blue enough to feel the pressure generating from expectation of millions of Chelsea's fans, or is he not blue enough to to carry out his task indifferently, coolly and professionally?

The seemingly easiness with which Van der Sar lets in the goals would suggest another even score.

This is Football, though. Van der Sar saves.

Crowd erupts. Fist punching, head hanging, bodies jumping up and down, bodies slumping to the ground, joy and sorrow all round. The European champion is born in the middle of a Russian downpour. And they are wearing reds.