Tazkirah bernama Manchester United

Remember the goals. Remember the names. Valiant were the warriors of Malaysia....

Much shall be written about the match tonight. I too shall hop on the same wagon.

“Weyh, dah pergi Old Trafford tengok match takkan nak tengok kat Bukit Jalil pulak, kemonla...”

True. The tickets were a gift. Accepted with open arms. The Red Devils were my childhood heroes. I was brought up watching videos of Cantona, Beckham, Giggs, Scholes and Butt. Yes, Nicky Butt; the unsung hero. But who would remember...

I was a Malaysian supporter that night, albeit wearing an Irish rugby jersey. Screw the fact that I only knew a handful of them. Two. Three at most. I don’t even know the names of those who scored. But my cheers were reserved for them. I later found out that the same guy scored twice. Such was my ignorance towards Malaysian football. I was still a fan.

We arrived early. Relatively. Which meant that there was plenty of time to go for Asr prayer. The prayer room was small, stuffy and full of smells. But it allowed me time to think. To observe...

Sitting at the corner was a young man, probably my age, or a little younger. Clad in a long-sleeve Malaysian jersey. Keeping to himself, clearly seeking refuge from it all.

A small family of three was also present. Two boys, and their father. His long and neat beard was enough to signify his pride of the prophet’s Sunnah. They were indeed a calming sight.

The rest of the Musolla was filled with people from all walks of life. The middle aged man sitting behind me announced that it was time to pray. Up stepped our young man to lead us in Asr.

Amidst the din, a small group of people stood and prostrated to their Lord. Hopefully, oblivious to the cheering crowd.

“Allah, jangan Kau turunkan bala ke atas kami, sesungguhnya masih terdapat mereka yang beriman dengan ayatMu, Ya rabbi.”

.......

I sat behind a group of smokers. I might as well have lit one up myself considering the amount of smoke I inhaled throughout the match. There, there....

Having been through it all in Old Trafford last winter, the crowd instead became the subject of my interest. Their excitement became mine. I could tell many of them were 1^st timers. Living the dream of watching their heroes play in front of their eyes.

Instead, new heroes were born. And they came from the team in blue.