Sunday Bloody (Brilliant) Sunday
It had been a very cold period relatively speaking in the remote countryside of Sisaket by our home for a week or so. I had been feeling a bit under the weather with a cough and chest complaint. That could probably be put down to getting on in years and overdoing things for the previous month.
As the wind howled on Saturday night, I stayed indoors and watched some EPL action using the best-known cure to man. Some single malt Scotch whisky with cheese and biscuits. Well, it certainly worked for me over many years anyway. It helped me sleep and withdraw any thoughts of giving the match the next day a miss.
There was an extra special reason for me not to. I love my matchday, ensuring that I squeeze every last drop out of a few hours away from home. While I equally adore the peacefulness of our abode and having an occasional cycle ride and generally relaxing, it is important to have a chat in English as well as the one day of the week I eat predominantly western food. And of course, the football fills in a couple of hours of the adventure.
While I have no problem keeping myself entertained and going to a match alone, it is generally more enjoyable being in the company of others. It provides conversation and opinion, often pointing out things it’s so easy to miss while in a private cocoon. Indeed, it was while I was chatting to Peter, the amiable owner of Hong Kong Garden, my pre-match venue of choice, that he happened to mention expats he knew who never went anywhere and spent their lives in a room working online.
John, my friend and fellow Sisaket fan was away for the foreseeable future. I badly missed meeting him and going to games together. In the meantime, since his departure, I have attended matches with friends, some visiting the area who seemed to enjoy the experience of what is a special part of the world to me as well as what matchday brought. Indeed, it was friends visiting the previous week that would lead to me being introduced to a new ally.
The write-up of that day, for those who read my scribblings as they are released, will go online just before Christmas. Sort of apt for Thai football where one club decides and dictates when they play their matches throwing everything out of sync.
Anyway, it was in Leo’s after the match seven days previously that we came across Per, a passionate Arsenal supporter from Tromsø in Norway who lived in Sisaket. If that makes any sense. My only connection to his home city is remembering Chelsea playing there on a snow-covered pitch on TV. It broke the ice, so to speak, especially as Per spoke good English, as all his countrymen seemed to.
We became friends on Facebook, and I sent him a message leading up to the match. The amazing thing was that although Per loved football, he had no idea of any clubs or leagues in Thailand, which says everything about the potency of local marketing. He seemed astonished and equally delighted when I told him I went to most home games, even more so when he discovered that the city has a second stadium where Rasisalai United play in the third tier. He messaged me just as I alighted the train from Kathararom and headed for my food and beer.
He was waiting outside the Sri Nakhon Lamduan Stadium ahead of schedule a little later, as keen as mustard. We wandered around to the far side where I knew there would be a better atmosphere and settled down to beers, on a cold and windy night, served by the usual friendly ladies on the stall as he tried to take it all in.
He told me of his football experiences through work going to games in London, the expensive nature of it, and the wonderful people he had met along the way. It was great to meet someone else who was clearly enjoying the whole experience, even from an initial stage.
I often lament how I would love to find the same buzz once more as my initial taxi ride from Don Muang Airport in 2004 and seeing the incredible sights which grabbed my heartstrings followed by a night downtown. Then my first taste of Thai football in 2010. If someone could bottle those emotions, then surely, they’d be a millionaire. Seeing someone else getting similar enjoyment is not a bad second best.
We headed upstairs to watch the proceedings unfold. His first comment was the state of the pitch, saying he thought it resembled The Dell, from Southampton’s old home. He knew his stuff, quickly sussing out that the ref could be easily manipulated. The hosts, pushing towards the playoff places, went ahead through Caique Ribeiro in the early exchanges.
Fellow Brazilian Danilo then missed a chance that I would have been upset to fluff. Per thought it wonderful that this previously unknown competition had Brazilians playing in it. Danilo was impressive every week with his strength and game management. If only he could finish with the same aplomb that he is said to display when polishing off meals in certain local establishments. But then again, we wouldn’t be watching him ply his trade in the second tier of Thai football if he was highly competent in front of goal.
Nakhonsi had been on an awful run of form. Despite this, they played with a surprising amount of confidence, with some clever flicks and smart passing movements. They brought around twenty fans with them, showing some real dedication travelling nineteen hours by road. My friend was bang on the money when he said it was not fair to give them the worst view in the entire ground. He couldn’t believe it when I explained that they were also charged more for the privilege.
The hosts were made to pay for missing their opportunity when Bianor Neto headed home from a narrow angle from a corner with Sisaket goalie Adisak flapping like a loosely fitted letterbox as was his norm. It was soon after that referee Piyapong Thonkhain and his nearside official got in on the act, or at least they should have done.
Wongsakorn was fouled by a visiting defender, with the offence clearly inside the box. The official gave a free kick outside the area. His assistant offered no assistance. It was as well that the bloke behind me from the previous week was missing or he’d have required hospital treatment. Astonishing stuff, but highly entertaining for those without too much skin in the game.
However, it was the ref who in the end decided the game in the second half when he gave Sisaket a penalty for an offence that seemed to be making up for his previous error of judgement. The crowd certainly played their part in helping him make up his mind. They can be a feisty bunch once they’ve had a beer or two. Danilo slotted home the resulting spot kick with eleven minutes remaining on the clock.
The Lamduan saw out the rest of the game for another three points with another unconvincing performance. We wandered around back to where I was to get a lift and where Per had parked his motorbike. By the open gap below the away section, a farang was applauding the Nakhonsi side who’d gone to acknowledge the magnificent support that they had received. We joined him.
I commended him on his loyalty, making such a journey only for him to reveal he was a Sisaket fan who lived an hour north of the city. Si was originally from south Wales but had become a Hull City fan, the larger team I cheer for in England, after he studied at the university there. It seemed inconceivable that our paths hadn’t previously crossed.
He told us where he sat for home games, so hopefully, that would lead to another friendship being created by attending Thai football. What a splendid day. I was so overcome with emotion my wife had to recall my driver after I left my phone in the back of his car after he had dispatched me before I recalled most of the day to her. Often repeating myself. What a lucky lady.
For reasons of which I have no idea, she went to bed and didn’t want to watch the Brighton v Crystal Palace game with me, so I made the best of the company of the remaining whisky and snacks before they bid farewell. I contemplated that this could well have been the last live game that I attended in 2024.
Unless I lost my sanity and headed to Ubon v Suranaree
Black Cat in the League 3 Cup the following Wednesday…..
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