Life in a Second Division Wilderness (part 2)
by Phil Williams
I followed Samut Prakan City for three glorious seasons in the Thai Premier League (well, two of them were) and I’ve supported them home and away for just over half a season in the M-150 Championship. What are the major differences between the two divisions as seen through the eyes of a foreign football fan?
You get easily excited
I've called my wife into the room just to tell her that we've signed a new Burmese striker. And there's his photo on the official club Facebook page! He might be five foot nothing, seven stone wringing wet and holding the club scarf upside down, but it's a new Burmese striker. And what's this photo below? Another new arrival! I don't think my heart can take much more. This time it's an African defender, who rather than return to his war-torn homeland has decided to call himself a footballer in order to extend his Thai visa. He might not be lightning quick, his left foot might be just for standing on and he might be totally unwilling to put his body on the line when you're battling for a point at an almost deserted Kasertsat Stadium...but he's African. Forget the half dozen Bambi-in-the-snow substitute appearances that will follow and the realisation that he's clearly not the answer to your prayers, it’s that ‘breaking news’ adrenalin rush that matters.
The sad decline of the Facebook graphic
When clubs drop to the second tier, costs and corners need to be cut in order to preserve finances. And one of the first out of the exit door will be the Facebook page graphics man. We wave a teary goodbye to the only guy at the club who knew how to use Photoshop. Oh how we looked forward to those graphics showing the team-line up, alongside an expertly cropped, fist-pumping centre-half. In his absence, the responsibility now falls to someone who, and let’s be charitable here, isn’t quite up to the task. He does his best but artistic flair will never make it on to his resume.
His attempts to combine three players in one photo leaves you wondering if Halloween has come early. The centre forward has a strange ghostly shadow around him and the right winger’s got a head the size of an orange! And the last time you saw a font like that was when ‘The Hills Have Eyes’ was box office. The only thing missing is blood dripping from the letters.
A toast to absent friends
For all those seasons in the premier league, they were part of the stadium furniture. The husband/wife or boyfriend and girlfriend couple that you saw at every home match and on most away trips. They would wave flags, sing through megaphones and proudly hold their scarves aloft when the team came over at the end of a game to applaud the travelling fans. And although your interaction with them never went beyond a nod, a smile and a ‘sabai dee mai khap?’, you considered them close mates. They were a treasured part of your intimate circle.
But being part of plummeting second division home attendances is just not for them and they’ve now found better things to do with their Saturdays. The saddest part is that you’ve remained friends with them on Facebook. The odd photo pops up on your timeline of the two lovers slurping noodles at Suki Teenoi or making twee heart gestures in a field full of sunflowers. They’re living life to the full; it’s just a life outside football. You want so desperately to message them and simply ask ‘why don’t you go to the matches any more? I really miss you’. But the question feels too invasive. At the end of the day, it’s none of your fucking business.
The unwritten law of acceptance
I recall a game at Ratchaburi in those heady days when Samut Prakan occupied a place in the premier league’s top six (yes, I know it feels like a lifetime ago) Leading 2-0 at half time and strolling their way to three points, Samut Prakan capitulated in the second period and ended up on the wrong end of a 5-2 final scoreline. Come the end of the match, I was incensed. I turned to one of the few Samut Prakan fans who had a reasonable command of English and said “if I was in charge of things, I’d make the fucking lot of them walk home” I realised instantly that I had committed a horrific cultural faux pas. No matter how bad things are, you never ever criticize the club or its players. It’s just not done here.
When we were relegated to the second division, that underlying but ever present acceptance grew stronger if anything. Almost every defeat is met by dozens of comments on social media, but very rarely are they negative. Ultimately there’s one over-riding theme - “keep fighting! We are doing our best” The problem is that ‘keep fighting’ are just empty words when the team keeps losing.
So what few foreign supporters we have (especially those who have come from a British football culture), along with the odd extremely westernised Thai, have had to form their own little online community where we can chat in secret, away from the rose-coloured spectacle wearers. Stuff gets kicked around like ‘why can’t they update us on team news before kick off?, why don’t they announce the official attendance during the half-time break any more?, what’s that terrible stink that comes up from under the E stand? And a whole host of other issues that simply can’t be debated in public.
The T3 fear factor
“Don’t worry, things might look bad now but rest assured, we’ll bounce back” Confident words that I’m sure have been used by most owners who have seen their club go through the ignominy of relegation. Sadly it doesn’t always work out that way. At least Samut Prakan’s owner has been honest and open - “to be relegated to the third division would be a disaster for our club”
From a fan’s point of view it’s easy to see why, because I’m assuming relegation for Samut Prakan would mean a place in the wilderness of the Bangkok regional league, battling it out in front of one man and his dog at the likes of Chamchuri United and STK Muangnont (shudder). There are no travel opportunities (Nonthaburi and Ayuthaya are about as exotic as it gets) The vast majority of the matches kick off around 3pm, in the white hot heat of the day (my wife would just love that). There are fewer teams in each regional division, which means fewer games (probably just 26 league matches a season) It’s also just a six-month football season (meaning technically six months without a footy fix) and to cap it all, many lower division clubs don’t even bother entering the cup competitions. Is there anything to actually get enthused about apart from the comedic value?
The thought of life in T3 keeps me awake at night. Seriously, I’m not 100% sure I would have the stomach for it?
You somehow get to know players’ families, ex-players and all sorts
At our last away match, I was approached by a husband and wife couple wearing Samut Prakan shirts. They told me they had shouted ‘Phil! Phil!’ from a moving car as they drove past me on a hilly road north of Chiang Mai, but unfortunately I didn’t hear them. It turned out they were our star striker’s Mom and Dad. Also this season, I’ve had a midfielder’s Mother present me with a huge bag of snacks and some grey-haired guy shake my hand and tell me he was once the centre half for Samut Prakan Superpower or some previous incarnation of the club that no longer exists. There are no airs and graces down in division two; everybody is part of the same club family. Either that or I’ve just got one of those faces and blank expressions that look like I’ll talk to anybody.
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