Patriotism - The drug that cost me 30 bucks

“India versus U.A.E? Oh yeah, we just got thrashed 3-0 a week ago right? Something about 2 red cards... umm wait, I’ll just google that...”
(5 mins later)
“Ouch! Sounds like a lost cause to me. Sigh* Ok, I’ll let you know if I’m free on Thursday.”
(Next day)
“Alright, I’m done with college and have the whole day ahead of me. Let’s do this! I’ll meet you at the stadium.”

Not very patriotic is it? Well what did you expect? I’ve never seen this team play. I never followed Indian football let alone the Asia qualifiers. I barely even know any of the players’ names. Why on earth would I be so eager to attend the 2nd leg with a 0-3 handicap? Besides, India is a cricket loving nation. How could they possibly expect to fill a complete stadium with hooliganistic football fans? Bah, impossible. I’m just gonna hope I come on T.V!

So there I was at 3 p.m. Ambedkar Stadium, New Delhi. The match was scheduled to kickoff at 7.00 p.m. I was bored, so I decided to buy the tickets early and probably grab a coffee at the nearest Barista while my friends arrived. I was one of the first ones there. Looking at the huge bundle of tickets with the guy behind the dingy booth, I wondered how many he would actually sell. There was no queue. Just a few locals holding their tickets in their hands and discussing some India vs. England cricket match. There’s a hint of irony in that sentence somewhere.

30 bucks a ticket was a measly amount. I guessed that the only way to attract a big crowd was to sell them dead cheap. After handing over the tickets, the guy behind the booth told me the gates open at 4.30 p.m and that I should get in as soon as I could in order to get front row seats. I chuckled to myself. He’s kidding right? Does he really expect that many people to show up?

I was set. I had the tickets in my hand and 2 hours to kill. Ho hum. What could possibly go wrong? Sigh. It was almost spontaneous. I put the tickets in my pocket, turned around and within seconds, Mother Nature unleashed a rage of fury. It was raining cats, dogs, iguanas, mancs, spuds, you name it! I swore at the heavens. My almost brand new Arsenal jersey was now soaking wet. To make matters worse I had nowhere to go. My friends weren’t planning on showing up for the next one hour or so. All I could do was stick my butt against the wall and pray that the Gods had mercy on Indian Football. As I waited for the rain to subside, atleast 20-30 tickets were sold. Hmm. I began to wonder if I was wrong about Indian football fans. Naah, couldn’t be. These guys must be as bored as I was.

In about 45 mins, the rain had stopped and I was free to move my butt again. While I waited for my friends, I decided to walk around the perimeter of the stadium. By now, hundreds of people had started flooding the queues. The colourful array of foreign club jerseys (most fake) was pretty amusing. There was no shortage of hot women either. Who said Indian women don’t like football. I was even fortunate (if I may call it so) enough to be smiled at by a gorgeous gal wearing an Arsenal jersey! There would be no shortage of cheerleaders tonight.

At around 4.30, my friends had arrived. By now, hundreds had turned to thousands. Some even carried with them the infamous Vuvuzelas that we all loved to hate during the 2010 World Cup. About half an hour later, the Indian Team bus arrived. As expected a horde of people surrounded the bus like a bunch of bandits ready to launch an ambush. The crowd burst into a synchronised roar as soon as the players stepped down. Sunil Chettri being the only familiar face to most of us received an even louder cheer. For the first time that day, I felt my heartbeat rise with excitement. I felt a pang of patriotism that I had never felt before! Lets get this show on the road! We had another 2 hours or so before the match kicked off. I had the tickets in my pocket. What could possibly go wrong? Sigh...

One of my friends had come with a camera - Not those tiny pocket sized ones but ones of those huge mutated things with a lens the size of an elephant’s trunk. What’s the problem? Well cameras were banned. So there we were in the middle of the city with no place to go. There was no time for him to scurry back home and leave the camera. We had to figure out some other way. It was nearly 6.30 by the time we decided to give up and just try and sneak it in. Things couldn’t possibly get worse, right? Wrong! Murphy’s Law hit us like a bullet in the head. The clouds gave in and it was more thunder and lightning. The rain stung like bees. My legs began to itch with the bits of mud that splashed about. The security personnel had lifted the gates and the crowd started pouring into the stadium. We were still outside when he heard the stadium erupted with applause. We assumed that the players must have entered the pitch to do their warm ups. I had this bitter taste at the back of my mouth. Something told me we weren’t even going to make it inside. By the time we reached the security check ups our bodies were shivering with a funny concoction of cold, excitement and fear. My god-believing friends prayed to the heavens. I prayed to Arsenal. We had come so far!
Alas, we were denied entry. Crestfallen we simply walked out. The skin biting rain didn’t bother us anymore. Clinging on to every bit of hope we had (2 of us were Arsenal fans so it wasn’t difficult) we again circled the perimeter of the stadium hoping to stumble across a familiar face who might offer to keep the car in his/her car or something.

The match had already kicked off when we arrived at a petrol bunk. At first I assumed it was my dashing good looks but found out later that it was the Arsenal Jersey that I had on that made Anirruddh approach me - A complete stranger.
“Dude, do you guys know of a place I can keep my camera”, he asked us.
“No we have the same problem!!” I replied. “Do you have a car?”
“Yup!! But we’re gonna have to run!”

And we were off. Gathering every last drop of stamina that I had left from my footballing days I ran behind him, my friends following. Half a kilometre later we dumped the camera in his car and sprinted back to the gates. I pulled out whatever was left of those slips of paper that if dry would’ve resembled tickets and thrust them into the hands of the guard. We made it. We were inside at last!!

I felt adrenalin surge through my veins the second I entered. It was like nothing I had ever seen before! Lush green turf shining like diamonds from the rain. Thousands of people on their feet, jumping, shouting, screaming, stripping! The match had already begun. 20 minutes had been played with the scores still 0-0. Ofcourse U.A.E held a 3-0 advantage from the first leg. We picked our spots right behind the Indian keeper. We had front row seats and the night was still young. I couldn’t help myself. I jumped in the air and pumped my fist with fury. Time flew in slow motion for those 3 seconds as I screamed at the top of my voice, “C’MON INDIA!!!”

The ground was slippery as hell. It was impossible to judge the trajectory of the ball once it bounced off the grass thanks to all the water that had collected. For most of the first half, India held maximum possession and kept the ball in the opposition half. Playing long seemed impossible as players struggled to latch onto passes. Even counter attacks from both ends were quelled easily as the players often lost their footing. Despite dominating for most of the half, the U.A.E team managed to score a brilliant header off a left wing cross. It was 0-1. 0-4 on aggregate. Maybe it was the lack of knowledge amongst those who didn’t know about the concept of a first leg or maybe it was the sheer spirit of Indians but the cheering only grew louder. By now I had already lost my voice. I even managed to pull off several strands of hair from my already balding head. A few of the U.A.E substitutes decided to tease the fans at my side of the pitch with some cheeky touches and a lot of crowd teasing. We were way too fired up to take it lightly. Immediately the players were hurled with abuse ranging from 26 different languages. Generally I would’ve condemned such a disrespectful attitude. Is this the way to treat guests at our country? Ofcourse at that time, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about ethics and morality. “Get the f*ck out of here you bastards”. Yup that was me!

The second half kicked off after 20 agonisingly long minutes. The Arabs were all over the field. It felt like one of those tense Arsenal fan moments when you sense the opposition closing down on you. As expected, it didn’t take long for them to find the back of the net once again. The Indian defence was completely wrong footed leaving the keeper exposed to the wrath of Wehaibi’s lethal left foot. Ofcourse, that didn’t change anything. The stadium still sounded like the Colosseum.

Then... it happened. I don’t know if it was the Indian coach’s halftime talk or the crowd going ballistic but the Indian team suddenly seemed buzzing with life. Second half substitute, Lalrindika Ralte moved the ball swiftly down the right flank and sent in a teasing cross to find the head of Jeje who merely added the finishing touches. It was the goal we were all waiting for. And then there was chaos. The crowd went absolutely berserk. I hugged the guy next to me who in turn kissed the guy next to him and the chain went on. Who cares if we were still down 4-1 on aggregate? This is what we came for!

After that it was all India. The search for the equaliser went on as the Indians pushed every man up field. In the closing seconds of the game, the efforts of the Indian team paid off. A scramble in the box gave Gouramangi the opportunity to slam in goal from close range. It took me atleast a few minutes to understand who actually scored but hell, none of us cared. The crowd erupted as though we had just won the game. Nobody gave a rat’s ass about the huge glaring scoreboard behind us that boldly read 2-2. All we wanted to do was run into the pitch and pile on top of the men in blue. The final whistle came soon after. I was actually surprised that the players managed to hear it under that entire ruckus.

No one really noticed when and where the UAE players disappeared... and quite frankly, no one really cared. The Indian players went to all 4 corners of the stadium to thank the supporters who were still screaming their lungs out. A drunk guy a few heads away from me even started singing the national anthem. It was a moment to cherish.

We walked out of the stadium atleast 20 mins after the match had ended. I was still shivering and believe you me, the rain had nothing to do with it. Never in my 19 years of existence had I been enveloped in such an intoxicating aura of patriotism. I felt proud to be an Indian. If you asked me why, I would probably not have an answer. But then again, does patriotism always demand a reason?

I came out singing and dancing. An onlooker might have mistaken me for a run-away junior artist from the Mary Poppins set. I wanted to run and strip like Archimedes did after discovering buoyancy! I didn’t care. The feeling was euphoric. Is this what it’s like week in and week out for all my Arsenal supporting friends in England? Prior to this, I had never really understood the meaning of Patriotism. Today, nothing has changed. I still can’t define it. Ask any junkie what its like to get high on LSD and he’ll simply shake his head and say you won’t understand it until you’re completely in the zone. And you know what, that’s exactly what patriotism does to you. No one really knows where it comes from or why we experience it... we just do... when the time is right. One conclusion I can definitely come to is that... it’s a drug. Once you play around with it, you only want more.

I reached home late that night, still badly hungover from possibly the best 90 minutes of my life. I went to sleep a proud Indian... after having spent the best 30 bucks of my life.