DEC 12 — Match vs Selangor U-21. Pantai. 8pm. Bring black shirt.

I read the message again. Under-21? I hung my head low. I could feel my knees and back pleading for mercy, begging me not to go through with this.

I made it to the stadium early. Naturally, a comedy of errors ensued. I went to the wrong pitch, got dressed and sat myself confidently amongst a group of players who were kind enough not to ask me what the hell I was doing there.

Precisely five minutes to 8pm, Kuhan texted me again:

WHERE YOU? WE R ALL HERE, WARMING UP.

Realising I was at the wrong venue, I hurriedly made my way to the correct pitch. Kuhan met me halfway and greeted my arrival with some creative description of the human reproductive organs and its similarities to my face. I graciously thanked him for his patience and lauded his impressive command of English and his vast knowledge in the field of biology.

I warmed up with the team. Some familiar (read: old) faces were in it, but the team mostly comprised young boys eager to prove their mettle against the top junior players in Selangor. I glanced at the end of the pitch, where our opponents were warming up. My heart sank…

The boys looked thin, a word no longer associated with me or my teammates, unless used to describe hairline. They moved at dizzying speed and were obviously excited to be playing against a team boasting the inclusion of several former national stalwarts like S. Kuhan, K. Keevan Raj, Faizal Daud and of course your beloved columnist.

The coach — my ex-teammate and a dear friend — gathered the group together for the customary pre-match briefing. He looked at me and smiled.

“Bro, what position do you want to play?”

“I’m fine anywhere, coach,” I replied.

He nodded and said: “Great! Sit on the bench, then.”

Everybody’s a comedian.

I received a turn on the pitch 10 minutes into the game. Kuhan, Faizal and I manned the strikeforce.

Kuhan, our captain by default, was his usual brilliant self, executing dribbles and passes only few in the country can — only this time, at considerably lower speeds. Faizal, once the human embodiment of everything Ferrari, now shifts and accelerates like a beat-up Saga with creaky suspensions and leaky radiators (man, that guy can sweat!).

Keevan, so often the pulsating heart of the team — stringing passes and tearing opponents apart in the middle of the pitch — now provides the team a somewhat irregular beat, at times appearing to go into cardiac arrest.

I was the stand-out player, naturally. Why wouldn’t I be?

I was on the bench, most of the time. 

We had a tonne of fun. Laughter was aplenty and we poked and prodded the other into doing crazy things throughout the game. We won the match 7-3. Kuhan, Faizal and I scored a goal each. Keevan strung the passes that made these goals possible.

Not bad for a group of old blokes, eh? 

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malay Mail Online.