For the Love of Balls

Written by: Eng Sze Jia.

Of course, I could have chosen to stay back at the guest house to catch up on sleep and avoid the crowd, but what a waste it would have been if I had done so, instead of being out there to witness a sea of supporters of Holland and Spain! If there is one area of knowledge I fail in, it’s my knowledge in soccer. And with that, the existence of the World Cup has systematically marginalized me from all its hype and daily conversations with people who would ramble on and on about the matches that happened the previous night.

Unlike mamaks back home, the vibrant Chiang Mai night life is filled with great bars and taverns that are frequented by many tourists and backpackers. The main reason why I decided to go out that fateful night was because my roomies convinced me that by staying back I would be missing out on a chance to witness a moment in world cup history a) in another country, b) with this sort of company, and c) in a place like Thailand. We did not need to endure an extra hour of sleeplessness that night, since the time in Thailand is one hour behind Malaysia.

But on a more honest note, I am a skeptic of the (in)famous Paul the octopus. I went out also because, along with my bunch of friends, I really wanted to watch it predict the results of the match wrongly. As soon as we walked down the lane into the main road, we saw a sea of people who were wearing orange and crowding in front of the The Wall - a Holland bar, whose existence is not surprising, since Chiang Mai is frequented by many Europeans. There was also an Irish bar just across the road, situated at the opposite of the Holland bar. A litter of red stood here and there seemingly unperturbed. The orange people kept on coming; climbing out of tuk-tuks and zooming around with scooters flocking the area.

In our troop of seven, there were two Spain supporters; decked in the Spanish jersey, we braved the stares as we walked past one bar after another and cheered with fellow Spanish supporters.

Since the bar that we planned to go had its crowd spilling into Ratwithi Road, we walked around in search of a cosy place that could accommodate us (and our rather tight budget) somewhere nearby. We finally settled at John’s Place two blocks away from the screaming Holland fans. We sat at the balcony, where we were greeted by the beautiful night scenery of Chiang Mai’s historical moat.

The part that affected me the most was that tourists were complete strangers to one another but became friends through undignified collective euphoria. A howl would echo in unison every time the team missed a goal. In addition, we were united in a lack of comprehension of Thai commentary. Yet the occasional names mentioned in English gave us a sense of place. It made us feel like we had finally arrived in Thailand. As I occasionally glanced at the road while watching the match, I noticed there was barely any traffic.

With beer in one hand and clenched fist in the other, Spain’s goals were an emotional release for those who had been supporting Spain, and also for those who wanted to go to bed. As many thank yous, goodbyes and profanities were exchanged, it was a pity that the two Spanish supporters had to wade their way through a sea of orange. Such is fate that they had the last laugh. The Octopus was right. Blast!

We can only speculate if the magic of the octopus would continue to live on.