Rollercoaster

"We're the best team in London,
No - We're the best team of all.
Everybody knows us,
We're called Millwall...."

Millwall Football Club - club song lyrics.





Ask any sports fan anywhere in the world and they'll agree- sport and culture cannot be separated, since they are one and the same. In Australia it is AFL and in New Zealand there's rugby. The US has baseball, basketball, hockey and the NFL. In India it's definitely cricket. And in England, there's no escaping the sport that both divides and unites people more than any other aspect of English culture - football.

Between August and May, come 3pm on any given Saturday, the country forgets most other things for the next 2 hours. All other concerns ranging from the weather, the economy and world affairs, to the broken toilet seat become distant issues. The only thing that matters is whether or not your team can gain another vital win - to advance towards the top of the table, or to escape the vile clutches of the bottom. It becomes the focus of conversation - who played well and who deserves to be dropped. How poor the referee was and which decision the manager got wrong. Everyone becomes an expert, reflecting on their team's performance and results during the working week; the time that can be described as the pointless void between one Saturday's football match and the next. In essence it becomes your life.

And so it was that I became engulfed in this inescapable football culture, as I joined my mates on our endless crusade in following our team from one end of the country to the next. One such journey was a 3 hour Friday night post-work drive to Bristol that, through heavy traffic and unexpected road works, took me 5 hours to complete. I arrived late, at half time, and in order to avoid the dreaded 'lock in' (visiting supporters are often not allowed to leave the stadium until well after the home fans, to avoid confrontations and violence. This occurred on a regular basis), I also left the game 5 minutes or so early. Adding on driving time back home to London, this equated to 8 hours of driving to watch 40 minutes of football. My friends are all life-long supporters and in the beginning, I was just happy to go along for the ride and enjoy the experience. It wasn't long, however, until the experience became an addiction, and as the Bristol game shows, I joined in as whole-heartedly as any local supporter ever has. The English culture and tradition that is football had taken over, and I loved every minute of it.



Our beloved team is the Millwall Football Club. 'The Lions', from Bermondsey, South london, have somewhat of a poor reputation. Or rather, elements of its supporters do. The club has long been associated with hooliganism, rioting and violence. From organised fighting (targeting rival supporters, both inside and outside of the stadium with planning down to the second for maximum carnage), to unprovoked and devastating destruction, (such as the Luton Town riots, where whole sections of the Luton Town FC grandstands were destroyed as seats were thrown onto the pitch, forcing the match to be abandoned), Millwall fans have often been labelled, perhaps justifiably, as thugs. That's not to say that the vast majority of us aren't 'normal', law abiding citizens. We are. Really.

Along with a good reputation, success on the pitch has also been elusive. An FA Cup final appearance in 2004 has been a recent highlight, with defeat inevitably coming at the hands of none other than Manchester United. To be better than 126 other clubs in reaching the final of the oldest knock out competition of its kind in the world was the great hope for us long suffering supporters that better times were ahead. Reaching such a high profile game seemed to be to the long term detriment of the club, however, as the age old struggle to keep quality players saw the likes of Tim Cahil and Lucas Neil leave for big-money Premier League clubs, who then sat up and took notice. Success had also been a struggle historically. Since the club was founded in 1888 it has played most if its matches in lower leagues. To their credit, this has never deterred the suporters, who have always been described as among the most loyal in all of English football.

I watched my team religiously during my years living in London and it had been nearly 3 years since I last saw them play live. That all changed this past Saturday when my friends got me a ticket to go to cross-town rivals Charlton Athletic. The proximity in terms of distance doesn't hide the differences in the culture of the respective teams. Millwall are the working-class 'people's team', from the docks of Central London, and like the people they reflect, they are battlers with a gritty never-say-die attitude. The team motto 'We Fear No Foe, Wherever We Go' captures the spirit of the club and it's supporters. The Lions are always involved in a struggle, whether it be the opposing team, the referee, the police or the newspapers. It's a constant fight for survival. Charlton on the other hand, are a middle class team but have fallen from grace. As recently as 2 seasons ago, they were mixing it on a weekly basis with the likes of Chelsea, Arsenal and Manchester United. A refurbished stadium and the financial rewards of the Premier League couldn't sustain them and after a decade in the top division, they stumbled and were relegated twice in succession. Things have changed however, and they are on the way up again. Indeed, they sit in second place, have only lost twice in 21 games this season and are unbeaten at home. This is compared to Millwall who sit in 8th and have only won once away. It doesn't take a football genius to see that, on paper, the odds are with Charlton. But games of football aren't played on paper, and Millwall never take notice of odds....

It was great to be back and felt just like it used to- the buzz of the crowd, the singing, the shouting and the abuse. Being 'up against it' as the underdog is where we found ourselves, where we always relish the challenge.



Kick-off, and it's a bright start. In fact, Millwall are on top and have most of the play in their attacking half, the end closest to us. Suddenly, the ball gets through the Chatlton defence and there's a shot on goal.....it's in!!! The crowd go ape droppings and the singing and bragging begins. It's an amazing start to have a goal so early in the game, but we all knew Charlton will come back hard.

So it was with more than a little surprise then, that we scored again a short while later- 2-0!!!! This was unbelievable. Millwall were playing so well and deserved to be in front.

The chanting on this occasion was short lived, for when the ball went down Charlton's end, one of their players were fouled and the referee gave them a penalty. They scored, but we still had a 2-1 lead. Now the chanting moved from cheering to jeering, the subject moved from the team to the referee. We called out a number of crass names ("The referee's a ******.....") reverberated around our grandstand, but things were about to get even uglier.
No sooner had the match restarted than the ball was back down Charlton's end again and, as if watching 'Groundhog Day', the referee called for another penalty! The Millwall fans were now calling for blood. To rub salt in, the infringing player was also shown a red card and was sent off. The Lions were now disadvantaged, having to play the second half of the match with a player less.

Some regrouping was required. Millwall needed to consolidate. They needed to protect the status quo of the match. The first minutes of the second half would be critical, to stop the Charlton momentum that threatened to turn an amazing start into an absolute nightmare.

The unthinkable happened less than 2 minutes into the second half, with another goal to Charlton. No arguments from our end this time, just a deathly silence as the 16000 Charlton supporters cheered at their team's third goal in succession. The wonderful, positive start barely an hour ago was a distant memory. It seemed we were watching a completely different team, almost as if the players had swapped uniforms, such was the turn around.

So where was this never say die Millwall attitude? Was it a thing of the past? Had it all changed over the past 3 years? The old Millwall I used to watch play would never capitulate. They wouldn't win every game, but they would go down fighting. Where was the team I used to support? Where were The Lions that I stood in the cold and the rain for, and the sleet and the ice? Even when I shivered and shook in the icy English wind, when my feet were frozen and I could no longer feel my toes, I always knew the discomfort I felt was worth it because of the performance my team displayed on that pitch in front of me. I would go away cold and wet, whether it be a win, loss or draw, and I would know the oposition team knew they had been in a match with Millwall, and that any points they left with they had bloody well earned. I began to think that maybe the Millwall of 2009 were a very different team.

The next quarter of an hour was an arm wrestle, with neither team allowing the other any clear chances. It seemed we were being worn down, with only 10 players on the pitch and a referee seemingly hell-bent on keeping us behind, there was no way back.

Enter the 'attitude'.

From nowhere, the Charlton defence was split open and the shot fired went into the back of the net. 3-3!!! We were back, baby! We were level and maybe, just maybe, we could even snatch another goal. With less than 10 minutes to play any further score would surely win it. It was with frustrating agony then, that we watched, seemingly in slow motion, the ball ricochet off our own Millwall player and into the Charlton goal! Charlton in front 4-3!

How could this happen? How could we lose like this? 2 penalties and an own goal. The biggest screw job I've ever seen. We were into added time now- no way back. Yet not one Millwall supporter left. We stay until the end. We stay together.




With the referee about to blow the whistle to signal the end of the game, there is one final flicker of life in the Millwall spirit, but we dare not get our hopes up. Somehow, down the far end, the Charlton defence is torn apart again, but the ball is kicked in from an impossible angle......Goal!!! 4-4!!! What an amazing goal to level the game. The Millwall spirit is proven to be alive and well and against all the odds, The Lions end the game level with Charlton, and us supporters leave singing and abusing the referee and opposition supporters with smiles on our faces.

I left the game tired and cold. I couldn't feel my toes and my throat was hoarse and dry. I had an awesome time on the Millwall rollercoaster- I just hope next time it's not so long between rides.

Fortune

"Upon a rock on the seashore he standeth firm, and the dashing of the waves disturbeth him not. He raised his head like a tower on a hill, and the arrows of fortune dropped at his feet. In the instant of danger, the courage of his heart sustained him; and the steadiness of his mind beared him out"

Akhenaton (King of Egypt, 14th Century).

I was approached during last week by a colleague in request of a favour. The deed had nothing to do with our everyday lives here at work; yet it had everything to do with it. Upon reading the email that had been sent to me, I paused for only a short moment, before closing the document and continued with whatever it was I was doing. It wasn't until some hours later, when I realised I was still thinking about this email I had received earlier in the day, that I restarted my computer and once again read through the request.

My students have just completed a long and arduous unit of work about conflict resolution, during which we discussed the various wars and conflicts throughout history, as well as some other types of conflict, like environmental, personal and social issues. At times the content was tricky, such as talking about the atrocities of war and the impact on children and the lasting effects it can have well after the event (see radiation and poisoning in post 1945 Japan, for instance). Some of the information was quite confronting so for me as an educator, there was a need to be in a position to guide and support my students through the variety of learning processes in a way that was gentle and supportive, but so that it still gave them a truthful and honest understanding. There were additional sensitivities to be concerned with in this topic, given the delicate part of the world we are in over here, especially when the students began discussing the ongoing Israeli conflict. Overall the learning that took place and the understanding and empathy the students gained from this unit of study was amazing, and I took a great deal of pride in both the work and effort they put in, as well as (just quietly) my own.

As successful as it was, the level of understanding and empathy my students gained was incomparable to what they could take away from the contents of my received email.....

I became aware that our school works with an organised charity, who in turn take care of and support children from various parts of the Middle East. These children from underpriviledged backgrounds are financially assisted by these organisations. They come to Dubai for a variety of reasons, such as to receive medical treatment. The email I had received was asking for volunteers to have these children hosted in our classrooms on an ongoing basis. Upon reading the email for the umpteenth time, I decided it would be a good idea for my students to learn about just how underpriviledged these children really were.

In replying to my request in the affirmative some hours later, I got to thinking about how I should approach explaining this decision to my students. I was at first concerned about how mature and responsible the young people in my care would be. Could they handle a visitor? Would I get any work done? Would the students themselves get any work done? Was it all too hard? In the end I gave the class the 'benefit of the doubt', and, through rose coloured glasses perhaps, imagined a perfect world where each student took on the extra responsibility of having a visitor come in. This was regardless of whether or not our young visitor could speak a word of English. This was regardless of whether or not he was from Gaza, one of the most volatile and violent parts of the world. This was regardless of whether or not he had lost parts of his body through the bloody atrocities of war. Indeed, our visitor had only one arm - yet another victim of a hostile conflict that continue to consume us.

So it was then that my students stepped up to the plate. They showed a level of maturity beyond their years. They were responsible and looked out for the welfare of a young boy from so near to us geographically, yet so far away from us in just about every other way. It was conflict resolution being lived out in real life. It was the coming together of cultures, backgrounds, religions and points of view. It was everybody in the classroom from so many different parts of the planet helping out and looking after this new kid, not for reward or praise, but just because it was the right thing to do. An instant celebrity, he was subjected to all sorts of star-studded treatment, being asked to play along in every game, to be a part of every group.

Our visitor was here in Dubai visiting hospitals mostly, but on this day he was visiting our school. visiting our classroom. Visiting our students. Perhaps feeling 'happy'. Hopefully feeling 'normal'. As he worked and participated side by side with my students, I couldn't help but think of the old saying that 'fortune favours the brave'.

I'm not so sure anymore.

Familiarity

"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power."

Alen Cohen


In travelling and exploring and learning about the world, there is comfort in returning to familiarity. Oh sure, "been there, done that, bought that t-shirt". So why revisit it all over again?


Christmas, 2002 (London Eye)

I'm eluding to London and the UK, the place I called home for 6 wonderful years and the destination for this Christmas and New Year. And, like 6 previous Christmases and New Years, I'm am overjoyed and filled with child-like excitement at the very thought of it.

So why continue to return there if it's all been done before? What is it that maintains it's meaningfulness, when there is so much more to explore, see and do? The buildings don't change, nor do the exuberant prices or the dreary weather. The trains still run late and the traffic remains a nightmare. All reasons why just about every Londoner wants rid of the place and would give their all to swap for an Aussie summer next to the barbecue. But, it's precisely because of these reasons that I love being there, especially at Christmas.


Christmas, 2004 (Post-Christmas Europe holiday)

London has a 'feel'. It has a different feel depending on the season. It has a spring feel when the days get longer, the colours return and the ice melts away. It has a summer feel, on warm and humid evenings when it's still light at 10pm, the cool breeze drifts in through the open windows. It has an autumn feel, as the days become cooler and a red/orange tinge envelopes the trees- the leaves fall making a mess. And then there's the winter. The dread of all the locals as the sun goes AWOL almost permanently for 3 or 4 months. The nights are bitter and the days are grey and gloomy. Nothing ever dries and puddles on the ground alternate between ice and sludge. My school is greeted by headlights as the staff arrive for the day. It is farewelled by tail lights in the afternoon, such are the limits of the afternoon sunlight. The icy arctic wind blows straight through your bones. The eyes fill with tears as they struggle to cope with the cold air. It's a living hell for many people fed up with their lot in an English winter. As they long for the sun and sand of a Mediterranean beach, I wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

But maybe I should be "embracing the new". And since I'm not, what exactly is making yet another English Christmas "meaningful"?


Christmas, 2006 (London, with the Hughes Family)

All of the above, for a start. It has so much meaning. It has been such a huge part of my life and will always be my 'second home'. It is this familiarity that gives it it's meaning, but it's more than the physical structures of the city. It's where experiences were lived, lives changed and memories forged.

At the heart of Christmas is, of course, the people that make it so special. Being on the other side of the planet at a time where families are supposed to be together, is difficult to cope with to say the least. As I embark on my seventh Christmas away from my family, it doesn't get any easier. There is a false belief held by many that one gets used to it; detached. That somehow you become immune to the feelings of isolation and distance. Not so. If anything, it becomes harder as your awareness becomes heightened that, as another year draws to a close, life is indeed finite. Each special moment missed is one such experience never to be had again.

For me, the meaningfulness of being in such a familiar place as London at any time, let alone Christmas, is drawn from the experiences and the comfort of being with friends and extended families, who so warmly welcome us as their own. The opportunities for work and travel that life has made available doesn't come without it's drawbacks. Distance and time are immovable barriers standing in the way of being at home with family at special times of year.

I can't have my home and family at Christmas, but I'm blessed to have some much appreciated familiarity!

Merry Christmas.

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Relax

"It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, breathless with adoration; the broad sun is sinking down in its tranquility..." William Wordsworth.

The day consists of the following- waking up at precisely whatever o'clock, wandering past the largest swimming pool in India to breakfast, where more staff stand around with nothing to do than there are hotel guests. This is followed by 5 hours of poolside lazing, lunch at the seafood restaurant on the Goan beach front, a few quiet drinks in front of the tv with Jack Daniels, then an exquisite, authentic curry at one of the dozen resort restaurants. Relaxed? Perhaps surprisingly, no.

I find it challenging, to say the least, to find that point where I'm able to let the grind of the day-to-day be left in the past. It's not through a lack of trying. It's almost as if all the things I don't have time to be concerned with back in my 'normal life' come to the fore when I'm not at work. What exactly is the basis of this concern? Everything. And nothing. There's no single worry, as such, but rather a lot of small things that add up. "Did I lock the door as I left?", "Did I leave contact details?", "Have I enough underwear to last the holiday, or will I need to do laundry?", and of course "Did I remember to pack any underwear in the first place?".
I begin to wonder "Am I normal?Why can't I just enjoy the holiday- which in essence is the act of living in absence of such worries. In that case, I believe, a holiday could be a day on the couch at home- if you can relax and leave your concerns some place else, then that's as good as a holiday. The fact that, at the moment, I am fortunate enough to be in a wonderful part of the world without a care, leaves me with absolutely no excuse to be concerned about anything.

I'll try to relax now, and I'll worry about it tomorrow.

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Extremes

"Would you like a drink, Mr Webster?" the waiter politely asked me, spoken in an English most of us Aussies couldn't hope to match in terms if precision. How he could remember my name still eludes me, but then this is the Grand Hyatt after all- maybe it's in his job description.

And this is the metropolis of Mumbai, India's most populated city of some 17 million people. The sea of humanity that was formerly known as 'Bombay' was experienced first hand on a city tour yesterday. Having tipped our guide for a job well done, I tipped the driver equally, as it was his intuitive and deft driving skill that got us back alive. Road rules don't exist here, or if they do they must be optional because, for example, lane lines were purely aesthetic. Seeing vehicles indicate to change lanes was as apparent as the clean drinking water from taps- neither actually exist here.
Careering through the traffic, I felt strangely relaxed as our guide talked about the history of the city and the importance of the local buildings, all of which seemed to have a healthy layer of grime covering any detail that might have been noteworthy. The tooting of car horns weren't simply added ambient noise for the sake of it. Rather they were a necessary warning that seemingly sounded each and every second in order to avoid a coming together of fenders. In that regard, any cars undamaged by such a coming together were certainly the exception, rather than the rule.

The first of many stops on the tour was atop a bridge over a train station, besides which a 'traditional' laundry was located. Hundreds of workers below busied themselves as they washed and slapped sheets, clothes and other materials. As it was done before washing machines, it is still being done today. The sheets that hang over makeshift clotheslines as far as the eye could see are all somehow impossibly clean and glisteningly white in the sun.
I made my way back to our car as I dodged the small boy carrying a baby, asking me for money. I was expecting it, but when it happened I felt strangely uneasy.
"Don't be alarmed", reassured our guide, "they're just trying to make a living". As were the numerous peacock feather-selling folk.
Onwards, to Ghandi's former residence, lunch and finally a Hindu temple. Having been approached at all of these places by people trying to sell things or simply asking for money, I became quickly immune to these approaches. Trying not to make eye contact is the key, lest you become somehow emotionally involved in their plight. It's easier to pretend these people don't exist than try to assist each one you meet. That's what I kept telling myself. And it seemed to work for the most part. But am I really that heartless? Does it make me a bad person? I should try to help surely?

It wasn't until we were almost back to the 'safety' of the hotel that I was most shocked. Aproaching a set of traffic lights I happened to make eye contact with some school aged children on the footpath, perhaps 30 metres away. I noticed in that instant one of those girls point at me as she gestured to her friend. I quickly looked away and for a moment, felt uneasy that I had gained their attention. As we drove past and towards the intersection, my mind moved along to something the driver said. We came to a stop and as we did, into my vision from the left came the two girls I had seen. From across four lanes of busy traffic, they had bravely ventured over to our car to knock on the window. They had noticed the glance was from my Western-face and had risked life and limb in weaving through the oncoming cars to beg at us. As the driver activated the car's central locking, I wanted to once again look at the girls. I wanted to open the window and give some kind of financial gift. But I didn't. I didn't look. I didn't flinch from my straight-ahead gaze into nothing. The lights changed green as they sang and knocked on the window. We drove off and left them behind in their plight to survive. I felt a lot of things right there. Uncomfortable, saddened, angry and helpless. For all I could have given, would it have made any difference anyway? I'll never know.

"I'll have a Jack's and Coke, please", I responded to the waiter.
"I'm sorry Sir, but we only have Black Label". I nodded. I didn't get what I asked for either, as I once again thought of those children. But then, such are the extremes.


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Volume 1

Grandad: Did you play cards again last night?
Del Boy: What? Yes! You know me Grandad! He who dares, wins.
Grandad: How'd you get on?
Del Boy: I lost.

(Only Fools And Horses, BBC TV, 1982)


With seemingly infinite and undying ambition, Del Boy presses on into life with unrelenting energy, enthusiasm and a passion for living. He did so with a great deal of naivety and, at times, disregard for the consequences. However, he did so in striving to live his life to the full no matter how adverse the situation may be.

In writing this blog, I wanted to create a space to share my own 'Del Boy' adventures. The phrase 'He Who Dares.... ' conjures a sense of adventure and a willingness to try new things. The 'testicular fortitude' to become immersed in surroundings unfamiliar in the name of exploring self and the wider world. To experience, learn, grow, travel and to hopefully become a little less ignorant along the way are among the reasons I'm living on the other side of the planet right now. In essence, to become a better person is what it's all about.

The world is an enormous place, making it impossible to be in more than one place at a time. Bummer that. In writing these words, I hope family and friends near and dear find a source of information, inspiration and a place where, even for just a moment, we can be a little closer together.

Enjoy.