Notes From an Even Smaller Island Read online

  The S-League was born in 1996 and Singaporean teams started playing each other instead. With the island being so small, the talent pool is obviously limited and the fan base of each club is even smaller. Consequently, the playing standards and the numbers on the terraces have dipped tremendously from those glorious Malaysia Cup days. There is also nothing like the added incentive of national pride to make you play and cheer that little bit harder, but that too died, to a certain extent, in 1994.

  Moreover, no self-respecting kiasu parent is going to allow his or her child to pursue football, or any other sport for that matter, as a long-term career when the chances of success are very slim. Sports can be played at school, and possibly at the weekends when all the homework is finished, but that is about it. I mean, how could you let your son pursue his dream of being the next Fandi Ahmad and earn up to S$5,000 a month when he could probably earn that in a week working for a dot.com company? I have to say that when I was involved with the Tanjong Pagar United Fan Club, I noticed that the Malays tended to have a slightly different perspective. Many were more philosophical in the sense that if football was an opportunity for an improved standard of living, then so be it. After all, Fandi Ahmad had a tough, kampung upbringing and now he is a millionaire and a role model for the Malay community and Singapore in general. In contrast, Chinese Singaporeans tend to play the odds carefully. They believe that a child who hits the textbooks more often than he hits the back of a net has a greater chance of financial success.

  Unfortunately, such an attitude can only have one result. In February 2001, the Singaporean national team competed in some pre-World Cup qualifying matches at the National Stadium. Not a single player in the starting XI was Chinese. They were either Malay or Indian. Knowing that this country has over four million people from which to choose its sportsmen and women, 77 per cent of whom are Chinese, the implications are obvious. Unless rare exceptions like discus thrower James Wong or the swimmer Joscelin Yeo come along on a regular basis, sporting glory will remain the stranglehold of countries that regard sports as more than just something to watch on television or, worse yet, to place a bet on.

  Just listen to this. I was sitting at my desk eagerly waiting for the first English FA Cup final of the new millennium to start. I had a vested interest. Turning to a colleague, I said, ‘I hope Chelsea wins today.’

  ‘But you’re not a Chelsea fan, are you?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my brother.’

  Then she said something that I thought was outrageously funny. ‘Why? Did he “take” Chelsea to win?’

  ‘“Take” Chelsea to win? He’s only nine years old. He doesn’t “take” teams. He supports them. How many nine-year-olds do you know that hang out in betting shops?’

  But wait, there is more. During the Euro 2000 tournament, another colleague was upset because her beloved Italy had lost in the final. I consoled her by saying, ‘At least your team made it to the final, my team didn’t get past the qualifiers.’

  A friend walking past at the time heard this and enquired, ‘Who was your team then?’

  ‘England, who else?’ I replied, somewhat perplexed.

  ‘Yeah well, I’m Singaporean but I don’t always “take” Singapore. Sometimes I take Thailand.’

  We were on different wavelengths. I was talking about supporting a team; he was talking about ‘backing’ a team. Do not get me wrong. When Scott and I were studying in Manchester, we would pop over to Ladbrokes every Saturday morning for a little flutter on the Premiership. We were serious punters and sometimes we would go all the way and bet £1 but never against our own team.

  However, this is where gambling takes on a whole new meaning. My very first assignment as a sports reporter here was to interview an English football player who had been called up by the Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau (CPIB) for questioning. He played in defence for a team that was competing in the S-League and his team had been throwing in some crazy goals at the time. He was found not guilty of match fixing but the impression I get from some players is that match fixing, so prevalent in this part of the world, still goes on in the S-League. Simply because gambling is everywhere.

  When Singapore Pools legalised football betting in 1999, S-League attendances mushroomed overnight and matches took on a certain edge for some people. When I was helping out with the fan club for Tanjong Pagar United, I vividly recall one Chinese chap sitting a few seats away who was positively beside himself with anxiety. He was off his seat every few seconds, screaming the most awful abuse at the referee. Unless he usually sat in another part of the stadium, which I seriously doubt, I suspect that it was the first time that he had been to the ground; just a week after the betting system had been introduced. Call me a cynic but you can spot a genuine fan from a fake one just by reading a person’s body language and this guy was definitely a phoney.

  Of course, local sports gambling must be put into perspective. I know for a fact that the majority of fans are not there for financial reasons. Nor are they there to beat the living daylights out of their opponents’ supporters. I have yet to find a grunting ape with tattooed forearms and cropped hair sitting on an S-League terrace and singing ‘You’re gonna get your fucking ’ead kicked in.’ I have, however, encountered quite a few of these gentlemen at West Ham matches in England. I have even had the pleasure of being punched on the jaw by one of them. This happened at a reserve match when a drunken cripple on crutches (I am not making this up) mistook me for a Millwall supporter. In contrast, I have witnessed nothing serious in the stands of the S-League. Although there was one particularly heated conversation that almost become serious. A lovely auntie and a dedicated Tanjong Pagar fan once gave Scott two fingers of a Kit-Kat while I only got one. This left me quite antagonistic but I retained my composure and let the woman off with a stern warning.

  Chocolate bars aside, I enjoy watching S-league matches as and when I can. Each club now has a small base of dedicated supporters who bring some atmosphere to the games and there is little risk of me being clumped by a drunk old man. I just feel that the local football scene and Singaporean sports in general could be much bigger and more lucrative if they were not hindered by kiasuism and their lack of social status.

  Tragically, this mindset applies to the arts too. Singaporeans are more than happy to drag themselves to the cinema every week to marvel at Western talents like Tom Hanks – it is the national pastime. However, if a Singaporean child told his parents that he wanted to be a singer or an actor, I think we both know what the response would be. After all, where is the financial security in that? Prancing around on stage every night is not going to pay for the maid, let alone the condominium to put her in.

  Of course, the situation is not helped by the likes of James Lye. For those who are not familiar with his work, Lye was a handsome, hardworking Singaporean actor. In fact, I will have to be honest and say that he is extremely good-looking as my other half constantly reminded me every time he stepped into frame. In Singaporean terms, he was at the peak of his professional powers. He came across as a pleasant guy and he delivered the goods on both English and Chinese shows. He had even crossed over to Hong Kong-financed movies, which were distributed across the region. He was, undoubtedly, a decent role model for budding local actors.

  What did he go and do? He quit working in television to become a product manager with one of the largest banks in the region. Far be it from me to question his motives as I am sure the guy had valid reasons for making such a radical career shift. When I heard the news, however, two things struck me. First, and perhaps predictably, the media and the general public by and large saw the move as a positive one as he faced greater financial prospects in the long term, better chances of promotion and all that other materialistic bullshit. The more worrying concern for me, and I know I am being idealistic here but I do not care, was what kind of message was being sent out regarding the local arts industry? Something like ‘For heaven’s sake, do not consider
a career in the arts, the exposure is good but the pay is terrible’ or ‘Give up your dreams, put on your best smile and sell your bank’s lucrative interest rates to wealthy investors.’ Call me naive but I did not think that was what the arts was supposed to be about.

  Two of my big screen heroes, Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, lived hand to mouth in their early acting days but they did not quit. Somehow, I could not imagine De Niro going up to Martin Scorsese and saying, ‘Yeah, I know Taxi Driver will be great exposure but I’m in a bit of a pickle. You see, First National Bank has offered me this great desk job and the hours are fixed. There’s even a subsidised canteen and, wait for this, I get a travel allowance to boot. I’ve got my long-term security to think about, you know.’ It just would not happen, would it? And before the obvious retort comes in, these guys were not always earning millions of dollars per film but they still took the gamble.

  Like I say, only James Lye will know why he really quit the acting profession. It was the public reaction that was so depressing. My cynical friends said that he was probably commanding the sort of high salary in his new job that would tempt the devil himself. Please do not tell me that it just comes down to the filthy lucre again. It is bad enough that we now have to watch uncomfortable Singaporean actors try to deliver their lines in Anglicised accents. Do we want to eradicate them completely by encouraging them to take up secure positions in the corporate world? There is enough American rubbish on television as it is and I, for one, would like to see this junk continue to be diluted a little with more local productions. Singapore is not the biggest of islands and if it discourages the very few talented young performers that it has from pursuing a career in the arts, then this country will never be able to take the business of fun very seriously.

  The infuriating irony for me is that I know that talent is out there. I am no scout but I can certainly tell a good actor from a bad one. When I worked as a speech and drama teacher, I was convinced that there were a couple of rough diamonds that had the potential to be polished. After lessons, I discreetly informed these students that I believed they had potential in the dramatic arts. In return, they shot me looks that suggested I had just told them that each of them had the makings of a fine pimp.

  Undeterred, I pursued the issue and offered to pass them telephone numbers of some television casting agents but to no avail. They told me that they intended to be engineers or lawyers because that was what they and their parents supposedly wanted. Both are fine careers with rewarding futures but I just wanted them to consider all the options available to them. Nevertheless, I sympathised with the pressure they were under and I appreciated the fact that parents insisted that their children should choose careers in engineering or law. I grew up around kids whose parents did not give a toss about academic pursuits. My own father was none too impressed when I told him that I was going to university but, in the next breath, admitted that he had almost cried when my younger brother scored a great volley in a Sunday league match. Now, if that is not a cultural irony, then I do not know what is.

  In fact, my own upbringing helps to explain why I was so insistent that my drama students considered other career options. When I left primary school, my report book read ‘Neil has a gift for drama’. If I recall correctly, I had co-written two plays, directed one of them and performed in both by the age of eleven. We also did a reworking of The Wizard of Oz. I played the part of Scarecrow and the sizeable audience was treated to the sight of an anorexic beanpole with an uneven haircut performing a song and dance routine. Not bad for a young lad brought up in one of the worst boroughs in the country, academically speaking. However, the next time I did anything remotely dramatic was when I read for a part for some ridiculously pretentious play at university.

  My secondary schooldays went by without so much as a dramatic whimper. You see, in my working-class world, the only people who did any sort of acting or singing were homosexuals. Wearing make-up and pretending to be someone else on stage meant that you were gay and you risked social castration. I hate to say it but many of my peers and their families were so prehistoric back then that you could be a bricklayer when you left school and command serious respect but you could not dress up and deliver a few lines.

  Consequently, I have been a part of two cultures in which many people just do not get the point of the arts. In England, for example, I only went to the cinema for two reasons. When I was young, it was to ogle beautiful young girls. When I was older, it was so I had a place to kiss average-looking girls.

  In Singapore, as we all know, people like to go to the cinema so they have a quiet place to answer their telephone calls. Just as the on-screen killer is about to pounce, you hear ‘Hallo, what you want, ah? No lah, cannot. I’m watching movie one. No, cannot what. Show damn good. Yeah, after show, can. We go for makan. Can, no problem.’ Before you get a chance to think, you have already turned around and said, ‘Look you little prat, if the movie’s that good, why don’t you just turn your fucking bright yellow handphone off? Second, a “show” is something like a circus that has elephants and live performers jumping around. We, however, are watching a series of moving pictures projected onto that large screen, hence the word “movie”.’ Well, honestly.

  When handphones are not beeping all over the place in the cinema, you can be sure that those stupid red laser pointers are being flashed all over the screen. A couple of years back, my friends and I went to see The Crucible, a film I had been waiting to see for some time as I like the work of both Arthur Miller and Daniel Day Lewis. The opening titles had barely gone up when the red laser appeared. Before you knew it, the red spot was tickling Lewis’s ear, going up actresses’ noses and generally being really boring. No one in the auditorium seemed to find the prank even mildly amusing and I was really losing my temper when I heard ‘For fuck’s sake, turn it off.’ I turned to my friends, who were all staring at me with horrified expressions on their faces. That was when the penny dropped and I realised that the voice must have belonged to me. Momentarily humiliated, a round of applause at the back of the cinema lifted my spirits and I am delighted to say that the red laser was not seen again.

  The bottom line is that the arts have not yet acquired the kind of social status that they have in other parts of the world. As long as local universities continue to plug their technological and scientific (money making) degrees, sports and the arts will continue to take a back seat. Watch any play at Victoria Theatre and you will invariably meet young actors and directors outside the building trying to hand you flyers and desperately encouraging you to come down and support their next production. These are the Singaporeans that I truly admire. They appreciate that the buzz that comes from audience applause cannot be matched on a balance sheet. Along the way, they have probably had arguments with relatives over their career choices but these guys have persevered and they are Singapore’s only chance of creating a so-called funky town.

  Until that day happens, Singaporeans are going to have to continue to live with certain things. They will still have to rely on the West or Japan for their entertainment, be it on the stage, in the cinema or on the Walkman. There will always be a dearth of artistic talent as long as Singaporeans are encouraged to be stockbrokers or personal bankers. Artists in Singapore should not have to beg you to come and watch their performances nor should they have to tell you to switch off all irritating electronic devices once you are inside the theatre or cinema. But they do. And I cannot see this changing until there is a mindset shift and Singaporeans begin to see a career in the arts as something that can be emotionally rewarding.

  The same can be said for sports. No parent can guarantee that their son will grow up to be the next Fandi Ahmad so it is much safer to play the percentages and send him into the corporate world of large salaries and fixed bonuses. When these ‘safe’ corporate citizens return home, they can switch on their televisions and watch real winners like Manchester United, the Los Angeles Lakers or Pete Sampras, or perhaps they will watch a Hollywood movi
e and add a few dollars to one of Tom Cruise’s bank accounts.

  In fact, most Singaporeans were probably doing one of the above on a glorious night back in 1998 when, against all odds, Singapore won its first national soccer trophy, beating Vietnam 1-0 in the Tiger Cup final. I sat on the edge of my seat for 90 minutes. When the final whistle was blown, I ran around the room cheering. I felt privileged that I had somehow been a part of Singaporean sporting history. I was the only one cheering, though. When England scored against Germany in the 1996 European championship semi-final, you could hear the whole street celebrating in Dagenham. However, here, I was in an HDB block with common corridors and I did not hear a thing. I went out into the corridor to overhear the television sets and the majority were switched to one of those period dramas, with lots of kung fu fighting and crying. Hardly anyone was watching the final. It must have been assumed that Singapore had forgotten how to win a football match. Now that they had, no one was really interested. To me it was a really deflating, anticlimactic realisation, a bit like being smacked on the jaw by a man who supports the same team as you. It became obvious that sports, like the arts, are considered something that you do at school or play occasionally to keep fit but neither are considered viable career options. All the Tiger Cup wins in the world will not change that. Depressing? It is enough to turn you into a personal banker but, please God, don’t.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Scott was given seven days to leave Singapore. Just a day after he had opened his first bank account and a month after he had moved into his own room with a lovely Indian family, he was ordered to clear off back to England. We were both devastated. When I returned from work that Saturday night, I was shocked to find Scott and our friend Victor sitting on Saudita’s sofa. Scott broke the silence saying, ‘Immigration has told me to fuck off. I’ve got until the end of the week. The bastards.’