Day -649. WorldCup2018
Tomorrow while I will probably be driving on a highway outside of
Toronto, Malta and Scotland will kick off their World Cup qualifying
campaign. I've been looking forward to this for a while not just because
it gives me some real material to talk about, or because of the
excitement of Malta being in Scotland and England's group, but also out
of nostalgia brought on by not being able to attend.
I have not
lived in Malta a number of years and have made my home elsewhere, but
when I do remember the days when it was home a big part of those
memories belong inside Ta' Qali stadium. It is no cliche to say that I
can still smell the cigarette smoke wafting through the air while
sitting in a half empty stand listening to the bad jokes and the inane
comments about players' habits and the reasons why we are losing again.
For sure, every set of supporters in every country have their style and
their peculiarities, but in your own country they are more significant
because you understand them. I will never try explain the comment about
the Portuguese goalkeeper looking like a "duster" that came from behind
me many years ago. It just won't do justice to the humour of the
comment.
That match against Portugal, by the way, was one of those
oh-so-close 1-0 defeats, greeted by a mixture of relief that it wasn't
five or six nil and disappointment that we were so close to finally
getting a positive result. But the again 0-1 was kind of positive. Ah.
The life of a supporter of perennial minnow and underdog.
And
there were many more stories. I was there for numerous 0-5s, 0-6s but I
also witnessed the epic 2-3 against West Germany. I remember the
excitement of rushing home from school to go see the Rijkaard/Van
Basten/Gullit Dutch team and experiencing the contradictory emotions of
wanting to be awed, expecting them to be amazing, yet feeling cheated by
Malta's performance that Van Basten could score 5 goals as they beat us
8-0. Equally terrible was arriving 14 minutes late for the match
against Sweden and sitting down just as Ibrahimovich scored his third
goal. His third. In the 14th minute. He scored one more and we lost 7-0.
I was also there for the loudest cheer I have ever heard at the
stadium: as the Maltese players came onto the pitch to play Spain. It
was a shout of revenge in the air, revenge for the infamous 1-12. We
lost 2-0 but didn't make it easy for them. As we didn't for Italy,
losing 2-1. And we missed a penalty. But it was almost more exciting
that if we were to score just one goal that it came from open play and
not a penalty.
And there was the fun of being there to witness
the Republic of Ireland supporters celebrating qualifying for the first
ever World Cup. The match? We lost 2-0. But nobody really cared. We had
never seen supporters like that.
There was the mini excitement
of leading 1-0 at half time against Croatia who a few months earlier had
played in the World Cup semifinal. In the end we lost 4-1 but that was
an enjoyable half time.
And I was there on an early Spring
evening, with probably 300 other people, to watch us beat Jordan 3-1.
Jordan. Yes. So what. We won. And I was there. That was one of those
matches where I thought I should receive a special mention from the
Malta FA for being a loyal supporter. Who would go to watch Malta play
Jordan, my friends would say.
There were many hours spent
laughing at the helplessness of our team, with friends (one fellow long
suffering one in particular who made all the trips there more enjoyable)
and father and brothers. There were also many matches watched by myself
when the being there was a wonderful experience which brought joy to me
and could not be explained to most of my friends. It was my place to
go, where I had my fun listening to the men around me arguing not about
the match in front of them but what they were listening to on their
radios, commentary from Italy or England.
It therefore goes
without saying that I will miss being there tomorrow. There is an
organised supporters group now which adds to the fun, and the tickets
are a little bit more expensive. But there will still be many of the
same characters who were there 30 years ago. And they will still be
watching Malta, and complaining about how bad they are, and throwing
out their best English swear words at the Scottish players. And they,
like I a few thousand kilometres away, will still be hoping for that
rare win
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