Its said that a pictures is worth a thousand words. How apt. While flipping through my photo album the other day, a collection of about half a dozen snaps got me thinking of those prized items every boy of a certain age-group longed to possess during my primary school days. An ‘album’ was that highly prized and much coveted paraphernalia which we boys went to all lengths to painstakingly build from old newspaper photo cuttings from the sports pages, stuck together with bubble gum on some tattered scrap books (old exercise books). Needless to say, the content of any ‘album’ would exclusively be snap shots from both local and international football action.
The bigger the variety of photos in your ‘album’, the greater the self-esteem you would command within the young fanatically fan base clique. A couple of coloured photos in your album made for an expert collector [back then, a colour photo on the newspapers was a rarity]. Predictability, albums were banned accessories in school but more often than not, a few daring souls would sneak their crude contrabands into class to gleefully display to their smitten classmates in between lessons. It can only be left to the imagination the kind of punishment our overly strict educators of the day meted out on any cheeky fellow (and his accomplices) found in possession of these illicit paraphernalia. Shamefully, a chronic deficiency of old newspapers in our household meant that I never I got to own an album; something I rue to this day.
At the risk of being branded old-fashioned, I dare say that, to me, that was the height of ingenuity. Long gone are the ‘albums’ - the passion and grief they elicited not withstanding. Instead of the daily kick-about we indulged in on dusty play grounds, the modern kid now has the Play Station. And for our obscure ‘albums’, he has an autograph booklet. Whatever became of innovation?
But I digress. I was talking about my photo album – the real one. In the midst of these nostalgic memories, my attention is sharply drawn by this small collection of photos that I once took from the stands of some little known football ground in Naivasha. Honestly, there is nothing really impressive about the quality of these photos, having been taken by the amateur photographer that I am. Worse still, is the fact that the camera in use was a cheap manual Kodak model that I got a few years ago as part of the promotion package when I bought my now faded and malfunctioning Motorola 110 cellphone. Ironically, these priceless photos truly occupy the centerpiece of my album – of course for obvious reasons which have everything to do with football. And the story around these photos is a rather interesting one.
Sometime back in 2005, towards the end of the 2006 FIFA World Cup qualifiers, a star-studded Ghanaian national team quietly checked into the country and found their way to Naivasha town where they pitched camp at the luxurious lakeside Simba Lodge. The high flying Black Stars were making a training camp stopover en-route to Cape Town for their penultimate tie against the Bafana Bafana. For some reason our befuddled football administration seemed reluctant to accept the West African’s request for a much-needed International friendly match. For Harambe Stars, who themselves had an upcoming encounter against Morocco, this was a God-send opportunity for an invaluable build-up match against one of the stronger African sides. Regrettably, the opportunity came and sadly passed us by, all thanks to KFF!
Deprived of a meaningful match-up with their host, the West African football giants were thus left to do with routine mid-morning training sessions at the nondescript Oserian Stadium – formerly the home of two time Kenya Premier League champions, Oserian Fastac. A day before their departure down south, the Ghanaian officials hastily arranged for an ‘international friendly’ against the fledgling Oserian FC – a revived version of the defunct Oserian Fastac.
Time and chance conveniently placed me, then, at the flower farm through professional vocation for a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet and rub shoulders with renowned football celebrities. The Ghanaian contingent boasted big names. In the house was captain Stephen Appiah, goalkeepers Richard Kingstone and Sammy Adjei and of course the biggest attraction was none other than Chelsea midfield dynamo Michael Essien. This was a match I wasn’t gonna miss for anything in the world!
But then, being a weekday (Wednesday) the problem of poor timing of the match (3pm) was always going to pause a small challenge. After some long and serious consideration, I firmly resolved to cut my working hours by a good two hours. Amid all the anxiety to sneak out of the office unnoticed, I completely forgot to carry along my autograph book! But thank God for my cheap Kodak camera… I ended up with half a dozen snap shots of Africa’s finest.
Just for the records, the ‘Black Stars’ hardly broke any sweat in walloping Oserian FC 4-0 during that match. A few days later in Cape Town, the Stephen Appiah led team upset Bafana Bafana 2-0. Meanwhile our own Harambe Stars could only muster a 1-1 draw at home to Morocco in a match blotted by the death of a teenage fan following a stampede. The Ghanaians eventually won their group to book a flight to Germany for a first ever World Cup finals appearance as Kenya were trounced 2-0 by the Carthage Eagles of Tunisia before an empty gallery at Kasarani to crash out.
Showing posts with label De'Stefano's Memoir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label De'Stefano's Memoir. Show all posts
Friday, April 24, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
THE STADIUM – EVERY FAN’S ABODE
“Football is a game of the gentlemen watched by thugs… Rugby is a game of thugs watched by gentlemen and Golf is a game of the gentlemen watched by gentlemen…” these are the famous words of Prime Minister Raila Odinga as once quoted during a rare day out at the golf course together with his nemesis-turned-partner President Mwai Kibaki.
In as much as the man must have made his rib tickling off-the-cuff remark purely to lighten up the otherwise informal occasion, it was a statement that anyone whose ever set foot on a football or rugby pitch must have concurred with – only that the modern day rugby player is becoming an increasing suave athlete.
But all that is beside the point. Any serious sports fan, will agree that nothing beats the experience of catching the action ‘real time’ on location as the drama unfolds. Forget about all those beer guzzling armchair/barstool fans that are perversely taking over sport. The stadium -football, rugby or otherwise- is a special place to be in if you want a piece of the real ‘action’. The stadium is the real deal - a shrine, a sacred place, some sort of a sports’ follower’s ‘Mecca’ - a place where every serious fan should occasionally take pilgrimage purely to unwind if not to fellowship with other devotees.
Personally, some of my most memorable excursions happen to have been at the rugby grounds. Having transferred to Nakuru midway through high school after my family moved from Nairobi, I took up rugby as a sport. Coincidentally, our new neighbourhood happened to have been just a stone throw away from the Nakuru Athletic Club, literally. Infact, from the balcony I could comfortably follow proceedings on any match day undeterred. But then, just to get up and close to the action, attending the Great Rift 10 Aside tourney became a ritual that I religiously observed year in year out, just before schools opened for the 2nd term.
The atmosphere was always sizzling - for two straight days! And the crowd? There is one particular guy by the name Arigi who was something of a permanent phenomenon during theses events. Although many rugby followers will recall that Arigi owed his allegiance totally to University of Nairobi’s Mean Machine, over the years he gained notoriety (or perhaps popularity) as the official cheerleader of the students’ team who would seized every opportunity available to relentlessly engage the opposing fans in a lighthearted banter. Regardless though, his touchline antics, with a barrage of brickbats to boot, were always worth all the while.
If the rugby grounds were a standup comedian’s launch pad- ala Arigi, then the football stadium must have been a hooligan’s paradise. During my primary school days, this is the one place that I vividly recall my old man admonishing us from exploring. His concern was obviously borne out of fear that such ventures would inevitably expose us to the hoodlums who were a commonplace at the football arenas. But being the brats that we were, the temptation to sneak out every Saturday afternoon was often overwhelming.
Ironically, most of the times - being kids - the much prized match tickets were way too prohibitive. For all our troubles, we often found ourselves cooling our heels at the gates for a good part of the match, only to be let in through the benevolence of the gatekeepers barely ten minutes to the end of the game. ‘Ten Percent’ was the common parlance for this little misadventure back then.
Thankfully, all that is a thing of the past. Nowadays I can afford the occasional match ticket. The only worrying trend is the shrinking crowds, which have dampened the once memorable stadium experience. Gone are the days of the bitter rivalry pitting Gor Mahia and AFC Leopards that would practically bring all business in town to a standstill on the day of the big derby. The intensity and hype of the pre-match buildup and thereafter the celebration parties that would often degenerate into running battles between the two group of fans by far makes the so called Man U-Arsenal charades in Nairobi’s drinking holes a mere child’s play.
But its not all gloom to those who, like me, still hold the beautiful game close to heart. For me, the football stadium remains the choice destination on any Saturday afternoon. Yes, the matches are rather drab but all the sideshows by devout and passionate fans on the terraces makes up for all the bad football.
In as much as the man must have made his rib tickling off-the-cuff remark purely to lighten up the otherwise informal occasion, it was a statement that anyone whose ever set foot on a football or rugby pitch must have concurred with – only that the modern day rugby player is becoming an increasing suave athlete.
But all that is beside the point. Any serious sports fan, will agree that nothing beats the experience of catching the action ‘real time’ on location as the drama unfolds. Forget about all those beer guzzling armchair/barstool fans that are perversely taking over sport. The stadium -football, rugby or otherwise- is a special place to be in if you want a piece of the real ‘action’. The stadium is the real deal - a shrine, a sacred place, some sort of a sports’ follower’s ‘Mecca’ - a place where every serious fan should occasionally take pilgrimage purely to unwind if not to fellowship with other devotees.
Personally, some of my most memorable excursions happen to have been at the rugby grounds. Having transferred to Nakuru midway through high school after my family moved from Nairobi, I took up rugby as a sport. Coincidentally, our new neighbourhood happened to have been just a stone throw away from the Nakuru Athletic Club, literally. Infact, from the balcony I could comfortably follow proceedings on any match day undeterred. But then, just to get up and close to the action, attending the Great Rift 10 Aside tourney became a ritual that I religiously observed year in year out, just before schools opened for the 2nd term.
The atmosphere was always sizzling - for two straight days! And the crowd? There is one particular guy by the name Arigi who was something of a permanent phenomenon during theses events. Although many rugby followers will recall that Arigi owed his allegiance totally to University of Nairobi’s Mean Machine, over the years he gained notoriety (or perhaps popularity) as the official cheerleader of the students’ team who would seized every opportunity available to relentlessly engage the opposing fans in a lighthearted banter. Regardless though, his touchline antics, with a barrage of brickbats to boot, were always worth all the while.
If the rugby grounds were a standup comedian’s launch pad- ala Arigi, then the football stadium must have been a hooligan’s paradise. During my primary school days, this is the one place that I vividly recall my old man admonishing us from exploring. His concern was obviously borne out of fear that such ventures would inevitably expose us to the hoodlums who were a commonplace at the football arenas. But being the brats that we were, the temptation to sneak out every Saturday afternoon was often overwhelming.
Ironically, most of the times - being kids - the much prized match tickets were way too prohibitive. For all our troubles, we often found ourselves cooling our heels at the gates for a good part of the match, only to be let in through the benevolence of the gatekeepers barely ten minutes to the end of the game. ‘Ten Percent’ was the common parlance for this little misadventure back then.
Thankfully, all that is a thing of the past. Nowadays I can afford the occasional match ticket. The only worrying trend is the shrinking crowds, which have dampened the once memorable stadium experience. Gone are the days of the bitter rivalry pitting Gor Mahia and AFC Leopards that would practically bring all business in town to a standstill on the day of the big derby. The intensity and hype of the pre-match buildup and thereafter the celebration parties that would often degenerate into running battles between the two group of fans by far makes the so called Man U-Arsenal charades in Nairobi’s drinking holes a mere child’s play.
But its not all gloom to those who, like me, still hold the beautiful game close to heart. For me, the football stadium remains the choice destination on any Saturday afternoon. Yes, the matches are rather drab but all the sideshows by devout and passionate fans on the terraces makes up for all the bad football.
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