Football

Unsurprisingly football is very popular with all levels of society. at the roots kids play on grass long enough to occupy the culinary concerns of herd of clove hoofed animals for at least a couple of weeks. in true jumpers-for-goalposts style the joy of the beautiful game is expressed widely across their faces with beaming grins as bare as their feet and as basic as the improvised balls of cloth, paper and twine they bandy around like flawless ideas. this is set to the backdrop of traditionally singing in other areas of the open meadow-come-playingfield as the day passes into the middle of the afternoon. In the early evening countless teams of young men train with real balls, while the less skilled watch on for enjoyment. Great pleasure was sought from the spectacle of a tall, gangly white man trying to play out from the back. I coped quite well, but blame my breathlessness on the altitude (at 1600m this is a poor excuse). Of course i turned up in football boots with a crisp, freshly starched uniform and well waxed moustache ready for a firm but fair game.... and i was surprised to find that at least half of my compardries were dressed in a similar fashion, regrettably the other half were bear footed. Needless to say i reserved my natural indomitably physical style of play and instead opted for a demeanour akin to that of a ballerina on eggshells. Still, i must have impressed as they asked me back with a view to playing a league game in the local stadium; it must be novelty value (cue the 'Big Top' theme)? Over my first weekend I took in a game at the stadium; Dedza-Dedza Medicals, The local hospital team, came from behind to beat an out of town team 4-2 to progress to the national stage of the Presidential Cup (national knockout comp) along with five other teams from the central region. Teams with names of note on a national scale are Nkhotakota Tracterpool, who like Dedza Medicals are from the central region, Rumphi-Bolero Medicals from the northern region, and Chikwawa-Rebbeca Hammers from the southern region. Priceless.

The story of televised football almost starts and finishes with the English Premier League with some Spanish and less African based programming. Ask any man or boy (and some women for that matter) who they support and the answer will almost defiantly associate the 'Fanatic' with one of the English big four (Man U, Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool). They discuss as if they are a part of the team, referring collectively to their chosen club as 'us', and expressing genuine disappointment or notable pride with the way 'We' played at the weekend; this emotional bond is confirmed on match day by their umms and arrghs, their wailing and whooping directed at the screen in one of Dedzas many bars. This honest sentiment could betray, that is if I should forget that I am in one of the poorest countries on the poorest continent on earth. In reality, the vast majority of them hold little chance of ever watching their team in the flesh, a dream i have all-to-often heard spoken of in my short time here. Only once have i heard of this dream being realised, and that was by a man with a Masters Degree in Economics from a UK University. I am sure this is the case across the globe.

To my mind all this is certainly a consequence of a world decreasing in size and the subsequent expansion of media networks, facilitating a global market through which this widely loved commodity can be consumed. the magnitude of such markets goes some way in explaining the astronomical sums given to the icons of the modern game, paid by the observers to entertain irrespective of their global position, and apparently in spite of my version of common sense. So logically this obsession confuses me, but no more than the similar affiliation of a Maltese Man U fan, a Bangladeshi Gooner or a Liverpool supporter from Truro. It is now a fact of modern life that reflects peoples age old desire for a balance between convenient and best quality goods, its just playing out over a larger marketplace. Yet I can help but let it sadden me. The triumphant Medicals play out their victory in front a half full stadium, while many football fans watch their adopted teams in one of Dedza's numerous bars, lusting after unreachable dreams beamed from 6000 km away, while a worthy story i tasted with a full array of senses played out under a warm sun down the road for less than one-third of the price of a bottle of beer? (The toasted ground nuts were good too). Yet what is the point of lamenting? I or my perverse common sense wont change the motion of globalisation.

In the 'Boiz Club' bar last night, where I go to indulge my taste for the finer points of satellite beamed sports and news, I had a heated discussion with a drunkard who couldn't believe that I chose to follow Colchester United rather than one of the big four? I tried to explain the loyalty in following your local club, the solidarity in collective despair as your team falter. The buzz of the win. he didn't understand even when i explained about my earliest memory of professional football and how it included my Granddad, my Dad, the family enclosure at Layer Road and the Mighty U's. why not support the winner? Urrgh *sigh*? After our discussion revolved a few times in the way only a drunk man can direct (I was sober as an African judge), I informed him of his lack of footballing knowledge and left... neglecting to mention that in my formative years, in spite of having watch them live no more times than I can count of one hand, I had professed to support the Arsenal? I suppose that we all desire success, and why deny anyone their dreams no matter how distant or unrealistic? After all, like the Medicals the U's also play in front a half full stadium, so who am I to preach? I was all to often missing from the Layer Road crowed, as i still am from the one that now congregates at newly built 10,000 seat Cuckoo Farm (I must be homesick!) As for my aspirations on a African football career; a week has passed since my initial foray, during which time I have sheepishly reserved my self to talking a good game at the Boiz Club. Although I may soon venture back onto the training pitch in pursuit of my modest goal where i woo a half filled stadium with a 'solid' English Sunday-league interpretation of the global game, after all it wont happen after I return to Blighty. Break out the suntan lotion and cue the circus music this whited-sepulchre not only begs to deceive, but also to dream.