Even at this point of writing, it still hasn’t entirely sunk in yet. The little sleep that I had was with my eyes open. And all that’s left of my voice is the hoarse sound that Clint Eastwood makes when he coughs. But to quote a famous Manchester United chant, “This is how it feels to be City. This is how it feels to be small.” The task was simple. Beat QPR and City wins the league. (Given United doesn’t win 25 - 0 at Sunderland.) City was playing at the Etihad, a fortress where they had only dropped two points all season. QPR, on the other hand, had the worst away record in the league. Nevertheless, they were fighting to avoid relegation, there was no love lost between Mark Hughes and Manchester City Football Club, and Joey Barton was back with a vengeance. Okay, forget that last one. So I dared not point any of the following before the game but now that it’s all over, I’ll say it out loud… Even with nine fingers already on the trophy, deep down inside, after all these years of following the club, I could still feel the potential banana skin. As much as I wanted to deny it, the match had “Typical City” written on it. Because no matter how rosy things might appear to be, this club has a rich history of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. And I never wanted to be more wrong in my life. But I guess by now even the most armchair of United fans would know the outcome of that fateful afternoon. There’s probably no need to relive every second of that tumultuous 90 minutes. Even if I wanted to, there’s no way of stringing the right sentences to describe the ultimate rollercoaster of emotions accurately. Just search for “city qpr” or “mental torture” on YouTube. You’ll find highlights of the match. When Jamie Mackie scored the second goal for QPR, my life as a supporter of my beloved club flashed by me. The day my father showed a poster of Paul Walsh in the early 90s, and told me that blue is our color. The morning I spent scurrying through the football results in the Sunday newspaper; when we were in the third tier of English football, playing York away. The abuse I got for wearing a kit known only for the brand of printer it bears. And more recently, the endless torrents of posts on Facebook and Twitter whenever City stumble even after spending their alleged billions. I was already preparing myself for the lonely walk to the car, passing by the rows of United fans already gleaming at the prospect of swiping the title right under City’s nose. Friends were sending me text messages indicating the bombardment of abuse that was about to come my way. I was so helpless I couldn’t offer any retort to their mockery. We were flirting on the thin line separating the club’s greatest and most heartbreaking moments. Football though, is a funny game. And with City, it gets a bit funnier. Leave it to this club to make things hard on themselves and win by the skin of their teeth. Just as our morale was at its lowest, with footage of City fans crying and biting their scarves making its way onto the screen, Edin Dzeko headed in the equalizer for City with a few minutes of injury time left. His last goal for City came back in February. As the clock ticked faster and news that the other games had ended came into the corridors of the Etihad, the Manchester City offense which has been dominating 103% of the game’s possession surged toward the plane parked by Messrs. Hughes and Fernandes. Melodies of Blue Moon filled the air. Balotelli to Aguero, he dribbles pass Onuoha, and smashes the ball into the back of Kenny’s net. Time stood still, and in goes the goal that would go into history as one of the greatest comebacks of the game. I don’t even remember what happened next. It was the football equivalent of a photo finish. City came back from the dead. If there’s any team that would win the league this way, it could only be this club. Heck it was them for real. And Vincent Kompany lifted the Premier League trophy for the club for the first time in 44 years. Half way across the world, I sat in sheer contentment and recalled an old adage of the long-time City fans around here. “All I want is to see City on TV next season.”
The following article was published in The Star on May 13, 2012. 
“Blue moon, you saw me standing alone. Without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own.” In the shower, in the car, on the can, those seem to be the only words lingering in my head these past few days. Not as a celebration. Far from that. For nothing has been won yet. But as a pacifier. A feeble attempt at calming myself down. Because 345,600 seconds from this point of writing, Manchester City will play the biggest game in the club’s history. And I’m nervous as hell. Imagine the feelings of going out on a first date, getting your exam result, going into the operation theatre and calculating your tax return, all mashed into a blob of heavy matter stuck right smack in the middle of your chest; refusing to go away until the fat lady sings. Maybe I’m over-exaggerating here but hey, some people do get goosebumps doing their taxes. After an insane season of ups and downs, it has finally come down to this for the title contenders. We have been following each other’s trails and watched each other play other teams -- converting ourselves to hardcore fans of the each other’s opponents for 90 minutes. And we’ve cursed at the sight of each other grinding that odd win after an ugly performance on the pitch. The mind-games played by both managers have been intense with one trying to push the right buttons and the other, playing things down and keeping his Italian feet on the ground. In the case of this particular title race, those who say real champions don’t depend on other teams, are not entirely accurate. For here we are, heading into the final day of the season. Fighting to the end as only one of us shall prevail on May 13th. Lucky May 13th. The title will stay in Manchester. That’s for sure. But which side? Never short of optimism and chewing gum, Sir Alex Ferguson has already said that United fans may have “the biggest celebration of their lives” come this weekend. But before one could claim Fergie as getting ahead of himself, certain quarters of the Red Devils faithfuls had already printed “Champ20ns” t-shirts for sale in March, with eight games still to be played. So his timing wasn’t too far off. Roberto Mancini, on the other hand, would still probably say it’s not over even if City wins the thing. The composure shown by the debonair gaffer and restraint shown by the players are nothing short of admirable. And it’s no mean feat. Usually verbose with their spelling-error laden posts, the players have been rather quiet both on Twitter and in the media. Maybe they were handed a memo from the club’s upper echelons. About how much winning the title would mean to the fans. 44 years is a long time. Tears have been shed, and blood has been bled. As bad as that sentence sounds, most City fans who have endured the darker days of Creaney and Negouai would know what I’m talking about. (“Who?!” asks a newer fan.) And over the years, the club has seen managers of many forms and shapes come in and out of the organization. One of them, may have a point to prove on Sunday. City’s opponent, Queens Park Rangers, is managed by an ex-United player who was allegedly ruthlessly dismissed from the club even after a stellar performance of breaking the record for the most number of consecutive draws in a season, or something like that. So it won’t be easy. With a superior goal difference, the bookies are raving about the odds being on City’s side. But as a fan who has learned all the life lessons that the club could offer, I am not counting my chickens just yet. So I’m with Mancini. It’s not over ‘til it’s over. Come on City.
We were in Yogyakarta, Indonesia a few months back. And after many moons of waiting for my wife to develop her iPhone photos in the darkroom, here's the story on our travel blog, Busking Barefoot. 
 Photograph: John Sibley/Action ImagesIf I was an island castaway who was saved this past Monday morning, there could be only one question as I flipped through the in-flight newspaper on the rescue helicopter, "United has won the league?" At least that was the impression given by the media after Manchester United knocked neighbors City off the perch over the weekend, for the first time since October, by a massive one-point lead. Paranoid City fans would call it a conspiracy by the press to infuse panic at Carrington. As much as I’d like to agree, it’s probably best if we leave the self-victimizing to Liverpool. One City fan appeared to be crying after super-sub Luke Moore headed in Swansea’s 83rd minute winner. The man has repeatedly denied that he was weeping but the image of his frustration remains a portrayal of the City side fielded at the Liberty Stadium on that fateful day. Dire, uninspired, and bad enough to make their opponent look like the FC Barcelona of Wales. I am not one to question Roberto Mancini’s tactics. Else I’d be writing an application (and post-sacking appeal) letter for the Chelsea job instead of this article. But when you have to substitute a non-injured player 30 minutes into the game, you know something is not right. Gareth Barry did little in hiding his anger from the dugout though often times, he is the more reserved member of the squad. Then again, everyone is when you have Mario Balotelli in the camp. Further up the M6, Wayne Rooney was bagging goals to the euphoria of loyal United fans wearing Norwich scarves in the stands. Their trip from London that afternoon was well worth it. West Brom was given a footballing lesson through the sheer determination and teamwork shown by the men in red. It was a reflection of the fighting spirit that Sir Alex Ferguson has instilled into his squadron. It was the sign of true champions. Or, in the words of United fans celebrating prematurely on the Internet, ‘Champ20ns’. And it didn’t help that West Brom simply didn’t show up, just like anyone else when they play United -- bar Athletic Bilbao. With 10 games to go and 30 points to play for, the two-horse title race still does appear to be open on paper. But looking at the matches both teams are to play in, the odds seem to be slightly against City. While United is scheduled to play (surprise surprise) dwellers of the league’s bottom-half, City is due to face Chelsea and Arsenal who are struggling for a place in the Champions League. Nevertheless, this is the Premier League. The thrill and drama of watching these twenty teams play, with the injury time winners and underdog surprises, makes it probably the biggest reality show on the planet. And the last stretch of the season is usually the time when teams at the wrong end of the table regain momentum in their fight to avoid relegation. I know so. We’ve been there. The fact that City stayed in the top flight even after shamefully scoring only 10 goals at home in the 2006/07 season speaks volume. It wasn’t until the end of that season that I first saw Georgios Samaras running successfully without tripping over the ball. So it won’t be all rainbows and butterflies for the Red Devils either. Both managers have come out to expectedly say things that we know already. Mancini remained defiant by claiming that City will "fight until the end". Ferguson, meanwhile, has given assurance that his side "won’t get nervous". Which is quite a compliment considering his previous assessment that City will never be top dogs; not in his lifetime. Ferguson does have the upper hand, though. His side had lifted the league trophy time and again over the years so the experience they have garnered would provide the mental strength. Even if history repeats itself again this season, it’s not entirely a failure for Mancini as progress has been made. I, for one, wouldn’t have thought that City would do this well at the beginning of the season. It’s been a record-breaking run and at one point, we were scoring an average of three goals per game. Not anymore. Teams had figured us out, I reckon. Which is simply not good enough an excuse considering the £900 trillion that have been pumped into the club (source: The Sun). As football journalists tirelessly sensationalize this title-race as the greatest ever, and the prospect of seeing the return of Manchester’s Sweetheart Carlos Tevez, the 163rd Manchester Derby at the Etihad is set to be a showdown. The corresponding fixture at Old Trafford earlier in the season pale in comparison to the magnitude of this epic clash. So pale that I’ve totally forgotten the score of that game. Anyone?
I had a lengthy discussion with a few friends about the KFC squabble the other day. Here's our in-depth analysis of the incident. 
Alright. Perhaps it's time I quell the nasty rumor that has been going around. To those who have lost sleep over it, no, I am not Ryan Gosling's Hollywood body double. I have no idea how the rumor came about and I am deeply concerned over the confusion it has caused. Maybe some schmuck from E! or TMZ spotted me going to the gym. You don't get confused as Ryan Gosling's Hollywood body double just like that. It takes determination, discipline, a strict diet, and a blatant lie. But let's put that to rest for now. I guess it's just one of the things that happen to you when you start going to the gym. No wonder I've been seeing new fitness centers the size of international airports popping out of nowhere. The promise of a body to-die-for is just a membership away, for RM200 per month, with a 20% discount if you're willing to give out your friend's number, and end your friendship with him. To ensure results are delivered, you are assigned a certified trainer and termination of your membership is usually more difficult than entering North Korea. Nevertheless, that is the trend nowadays. People commit their monthly expenses to a contract that binds them to a place they'll never go. Not me, though. No sir. I've been shrewd enough to save the numbers of Fitness First and its cohorts in my phone -- just as I do with insurance agents. So dodging their calls is usually a breeze. Recently, however, my employers decided that their staff members haven't been healthy enough. So in the spirit of promoting work-life balance, 20 gym cards were distributed to be shared by the 200 of us. A generous card to staff ratio, if you ask me. Considering the number of people who actually utilize the card, a ratio of 1:200 would be more practical. I've never spent much time at the gym. There was the odd visit or two when I was in college. Visits that lasted no longer than 3 minutes. The sight of other students doing 400lb bench presses with biceps the size of Cee Lo Green was demoralizing. I was intimidated, if you will, by the grunts and groans of people pumping iron. And it didn't help that most of them were women. Considering that fitness isn't really an area of interest in the corporate world, I thought I'd give it another shot. How bad could it be anyway? Half the guys have waistline double their age. So I'm a part of the majority. Competition must be less aggressive around here. Above all, it's free. At least I don't have to pay to be humiliated. Hope that clears the air.
Alright you guys have waited 364 days for this so here it is, "My 2011, In Tweets". Goes out to all of my loyal fans out there. Both of you. January: Married the most beautiful girl in the world, @azaliasuhaimi. Here's the card I made (using her photo). http://yfrog.com/kipnx7j February: Drove into Singapore for the first time to watch Clapton live. Found out I had pack of Wrigley's in the car all the while. I win. March: MRSM Pengkalan Chepa Class of 2000 Reunion. A great nostalgic day out with the guys who are mostly married, and permanently pregnant. April: I turned 28. My wife took me to a boutique hotel on an island up north. Now I can't settle with anything that's not boutique. May: Man City lifted the FA Cup after 35 years of insurmountable pain. I was bleeped like a Kardashian during a TV interview after the game. June: Busking Barefoot, our travel blog, was launched. I do the writing and my wife does the photography. Most people come for the pictures. July: Moved into our own place and welcomed a new member to our small family, Zalo the plastic bag eating tabby cat. http://yfrog.com/h81igcqj August: First Ramadhan as a married man. A month of self-reflection, soul-cleansing, and failing to wake each other up for sahur. September: First Raya as a married man. The month I learned why men gain weight after marriage. Two sets of families, friends and Raya food. October: Sweet Charity and Blues Gang reunion. Minetrane's first gig, on stage with Blues Gang. And United 1 - 6 City. It was an okay month. November: Kicked off my venture into freelance copywriting. Hit me up if you've got a gig or two. It won't be that bad and that's a promise. December: My brother got married to the girl of his dreams. Welcome to the family Siti. Sorry the balding gene skipped me for your husband. 2011 has been a great year of learning and re-learning, whatever that means. Sorry for my bad jokes all year long. More to come in 2012. :-) |
 Photography by Azalia Suhaimi
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