A lengthy prologue:
The league cup final is usually the
second most fought for trophy in association football, the domestic
division title being the first, but fans are justly right to eagerly
anticipate both all the same. The proverbial “magic of the cup”
has worked its way before, pitting minnows against giants, becoming
the stage for the most memorable matches and underdog stories ever.
The knockout format of a cup from its earliest stages doesn't reward
a team's long-run performance but foots itself on match results
played one at a time. It's not uncommon for bigger teams to find
themselves out of it after a few lapses against supposedly inferior
competition, or for unfavoured teams to go on incredible cup runs to
the final stages. The “magic of the cup” is fundamentally based
on this insane sudden death system which makes it a more entertaining
competition for the neutral as compared to the lengthy and
oft-predictable division title.
In an ideal situation of course.
Pardon my purist sentiments but the
local United Football League Cup only ensures the continued
development of its top teams with a wicked 2-stage cup system where
Division 2 teams play each other out in the first stage, only to meet
first division teams in the next. Okay, that may still be excusable
to a degree but instead of playing in knockout rounds at this stage,
teams are seperated into groups, effectively playing a mini-league,
securing the passage of first division teams into the quarter-final
stages. For a domestic cup competition, that's absolutely criminal.
This article however, wouldn't go into detail about these compromises
and insistence made by the governing body to hawk local football's
big names, but would rather see the game from a common, relatable
perspective: the view from the stands.
Kickoff
was supposed to be at 7:15. It was 7:24 and the teams haven't walked
onto the pitch yet. It seemed the organizers wanted to rid themselves
of their sponsors' giveaways of shirts, footballs, and shoes first. I
had to remind myself that this was Philippine football and perhaps
the attitude towards sacrosanct fixture times was congruent to that
of urban religiosity in general: at one's convenience.
I found myself
sitting beside a rather large man, who by his loud, crisp, and
repetitive screams of “Oooo(eh)!” whenever a red shirt got into
half-decent positions, led me to conclude he was a Stallion fan. My
lenswoman and I were slightly amused by his schoolboy enthusiasm for
the game. The deafening volume of his grunts and shouting (and the
grimace-inducing moisture of his forearm), however, left much to be
desired. The match, itself, was nothing short of spectacular, a
football feast for the neutral, with its fair share of brilliance,
controversy, and comic incompetence. The three-fourths empty stadium,
however, was testament to the failings of a Metro Manila based league
system featuring clubs with hardly any distinguishable geographic or
cultural locality; Read: no fans. The atmosphere was dead. Good thing
the game was a more than adequate consolation.
In the 24th
minute, Doctora finished off a fine passing move with a clinical
finish to put Stallion ahead. To everyone's surprise, fireworks burst
upwards from the center bleacher's on the empty side. Fantastic. As
some of the Stallion players were still congratulating
themselves/taking an ill-advised water break, the referee restarted
play while their formation was in disarray. An unmarked El Habbib
struck to make it 1-1. More fireworks. Incredible stuff.
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| The referee restarts play while Stallion FC goes out for walk |
My friend and
photographer, Pamela, at this time, was critically irked because
other people just wouldn't stay in their seats, ruining her shots by
walking non-chalantly in front of her. But hey, that's the beauty of
watching from the stands. The game goes on. Sure. But it's not the
only thing in sight- and it never should be.
Patrick Reichelt
was making quick work of the Stallions left side in the first half
with some incisive passing and timely runs. If it's any consolation
to Global, he all but proved his ability is a cut above the rest. His
relative disappearance in the second half, however, placed him under
more interrogative terms, at least from a pessimist's perspective. It
seemed the Global game plan was to attack from the wings and take
advantage of El Habbib's size in the box. Stallion's best moments
came when Rufo Sanchez played his traditional center forward game,
winning balls launched from deep and laying it off for the Stallion
midfield to find the spaces between a stretched Global defense. It
was a game where both teams attacking strengths were on show, as were
their defensive frailties.
Also, the aural battle between the fan groups of both teams was
impossible to ignore. Don't be fooled though. It hardly possessed the
quality of the match played on grass. To be quite honest, it was
absolutely dismal, so awful it provided a novel distraction to the
game. Again, devoid of any true local chant or song, it was really a
showdown of the worse version of the overused football song, “Olé”,
substituting 'offside', 'outside' (my personal favorite), 'diver',
'Stallion', etc. for its monotonous lyrics. Due credit to them, they
did try their best to get everyone singing but everyone else couldn't
give half a mind to participate in the drone-like activity, including
my incredibly loud seatmate. And that's saying something.
In
the 60th
minute Rufo Sanchez made no mistake with a stooping header after a
(nother) brilliant midfield masterclass from Stallion. Cue:
fireworks. Doctora may have put in an invaluable contribution by
scoring the first goal but Stallion looked more dangerous with
Sanchez alone up top. Global FC, on the other hand, wasted a host of
chances, unable to capitalize on their dynamic play down the flanks.
It was a frantic game, ultimately decided by Stallion's unbreakable
midfield calmness* and precision, and a peach of header.
Chances came in
spades for both teams to put the game away but neither seemingly had
the desire nor the composure to do so. Wilson Munoz, the Stallion
keeper, almost committed a howler miscontrolling a casual ball that
rolled up and over his foot. Fortunately for him, the error was
off-target. A heart-stopping mistake. Though he did make amends
towards the death with a quick save to his low-right after an El
Habbib header.
It was end-to-end
at this point. Global were pressing for the elusive equalizer and
Stallion were getting fantastic counterattacking opportunities to
seal the game. Both teams failed when it counted most but it did
provide a great show. The large man beside sounded exasperated from
cursing and shouting, beads of sweat forming on his head as his warm
aura grew more humid. Exciting stuff, indeed.
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| A more than half-empty stadium |
After an Alex
Ferguson-esque amount of extra time**, the referee blew the final
whistle to Stallion's (and mine own) relief. The match was wonderful
– no question – but the massive number of empty seats posed a
monumental challenge to the UFL that is already showing the symptoms
of an imbalanced league system despite having a low number of fans.
Abroad, the consequences of unregulated recruitment policies and
shady ownership issues is already being felt. I fear for the UFL
because it seems to be rapidly developing without football's most
valuable financial and social asset: the fans. The fans, despite the ignorance of many, keep the clubs and administration in check. Without them, the league and executives have no one to answer to.
And what monster
of a sustainable model would this produce?
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| Commodities (?) after all. |
by Wacky Torres, photos by Pamela Carbonell
*[One should note
that they seeemed too calm and, at times, leisurely, attempting to
nutmeg or lift the ball over challenges and losing possession
unnecessarily.]
**[Too much]
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