Playing for love, not money

Being a relative novice to India's professional footballing scene, my pre-conceptions of the impending match were those you would expect from a coach who has a unfortunate tendency to compare professional football in India to the hyper-commercialised product on offer back in his English homeland. I expected the teams to lack tactical organisation, the crowd to be sparse and passionless and the players to lack skill and passion. Most of these preconceptions, however, were about to be proved very wrong!

As I walked up to the sharply angular, white, structure that is the Ashok Nagar Stadium in Bangalore, a real sense of excitement washed over me to watch the Hindustan Aeronautics Limited SC vs. Karnataka State Police on a February afternoon. Whether it be the marvellous scene of a packed house at Old Trafford, for Manchester United home games, or the comparatively modest surroundings of a half empty stadium in Bangalore, the feeling of excitement I get before a football match never falters.

I was accompanied by two colleagues, Jasper and Ravi, from SPT Sports Academy, where I am on a six month coaching assignment. The latter, an ex-national league player who, in his six years as a professional, represented Vasco Sports Club, ITI SC, HAL SC and Indian Bank. As the three of us strode expectantly into the stadium, redolent of roasted peanuts and stale urine which hung in the thick mid-day air, we immediately noticed the relatively small size of the crowd. And with so few spectators it was, not surprisingly, eerily quiet.

The game itself was well under way and the first thing that struck me was the pace of the game. Although it in no way compares to the 'rip roaring' pace of the English Premiership, there was a consistent tempo to the game that made it intriguing. Apart from the obvious stoppages in play, the game was played at a relatively unfluctuating tempo. This was largely contributed by the fact that each played didn't seem at all comfortable in possession and tended to offload the ball to any available team mate as fast as they had received it. It was not long after we had found a space to sit in the line of supporters that we were treated to the first goal of the game, And what a goal it was! As an overhit corner from HAL bobbled harmlessly towards the opposite by-line Raghuveer Singh, HAL's speedy right winger, raced to retrieve the ball. With a sudden change of pace and drop of the shoulder he managed to beat the approaching defender with relative ease. The small knot of fans rose to there feet in expectation and silence prevailed. Raghuveer then cut inside to the edge of the area, and with the white's of the post in his view curling a fabulous left footed shot into the far corner of the goal that left the Karnataka State Police goalkeeper rooted to the spot in awe. He wheeled away; arms raised in celebration and was joined by his fellow team mates as overjoyed celebrations took place in front of the only section of fans who were concentrated in the lower left hand side of the main stand.

After the restart, the game settled back into its usual frenetic and unpredictable tempo which continued, without any goalmouth action, until the first half proceedings were brought to an end by the referee. The interval, it seems, was not only a signal for the first half to be drawn to an end, but a much anticipated sign to seventy percent of the fans in the stands to saunter out of the stadium, en-masse! Once outside they patiently line up in front of street sellers, talking about the first half proceedings and past footballing experiences before purchasing there half time refreshments. It is this part of the footballing experience that I find mildly interesting to compare at times. From the half time soggy burgers or steak and kidney pies washed down with the obligatory cup of weak, milky, oversweet tea, served in Styrofoam plastic cups, on a cold, dark, damp, evening in England; to the consumption of an oversized sandwiches and pizzas gulped down with a swig of soda from a advertised clad, jumbo-sized cup on a freezing night watching a MLS game in North America; to an ample sized Bratwurst sausage served with fresh bread roll and light German larger on a toasty afternoon in Germany watching the Bundesliga. And finally, back to India, where fans satisfy themselves on a much healthier halftime mini-feast of vegetable samousas and watermelon, accompanied by small cups of strong Indian tea.

Although the types of food on offer at football stadiums around the world differ immensely, it's another part of the half-time ritual that never changes - the fervent discussions regarding the tactics and events of the match that go on between the fans. Having purchased their snacks from outside of the stadium and made their way back to their seats they sit, munching and slurping away and discussing all things football. This is a wonderful sight for me, a card carry disciple of the game; to see so many people discussing football with such passion in a country where the sport gets so little support from the government.

The second half proceeded, with little change to the pace or 'shape', of either team. Karnataka State Police showed the most impetus and creativity during the opening exchanges, coming close to scoring from corners on two occasions. The team itself began to settle into a 4-4-2 formation that benefited them greatly due to the HAL players inability to hold there positions. Half way through the second half there persistent pressure paid off when a floated cross from the right forced a mix up between HAL's goalkeeper Gumpe Rime and Pavan Kumar, their captain, the latter heading, agonisingly, into his own net. It was unfortunate for Pavan who had been a commanding presence in defence for HAL until then, but it was the least Karnataka State Police deserved after there improved performance in the early stages of the second half. That goal, though, brought an end to the game as a spectacle with both teams becoming locked in a midfield battle for the remaining twenty minutes. And although both teams showed decent build up play, they lacked the ability to play the 'killer ball' into the forwards who were left frustrated spectators on numerous occasions.

Most of the action after the goal took place in the stands, where an argument of some sorts broke out between two rival fans and, after continued 'egging-on' from both sides, a small fight broke out between the two. This went on for a good five minutes before piece was restored by solitary policeman, looking rather nervous, waving a rifle in the general direction of the melee and barking incoherent commands to them both. For many people this may have been the scene that overshadowed the game, but for me, it brought a raised smile to my face. I do not condone fighting between fans and 'tut-tut' disapprovingly whenever I see violence between two sets of fans take place. But this for me was something different, it was a purer example of how much this game means to sections of people in India. Ask yourself why Italian, Brazilian, French and English fans fight before, during and after the domestic games and you should come up with the obvious answer, its because football means so much to them.

As the final whistle brought the drawn match to a close, I was able to reflect on the experience. Although I felt the game was hampered by players lacking positional awareness, individual skill and, more importantly from a visual point of view, the ability to make and time appropriate runs off the ball, there was one broad shining light... Their love for the game. For the full ninety minutes every one of the twenty two players on the field ran his socks off and covered every blade of grass. I could use countless popular footballing phrases to try and sum up how impressed I was by their attitude to the game. 'They played their hearts out', probably sums it up best.

Could this be said of European based professional footballers, earning massive salaries, yet often appearing to have lost sight of why they started to play the game in the first place? For professional footballers in India these 'Xanadu' distractions don't apply. Their salaries are poor; job security is minimal, with the majority of players on one year contracts, forcing them to uproot their families year after year, as they move from club to club. Yet despite these disadvantages they still they turn out, week after week, enduring the stresses, strains and injuries which are routine to professional sportsmen everywhere. Why do you ask? Its simple really, they play for love, not money.