My First Love
Pranoy Thipaiah
There was a bit of break at my school parent-teacher meeting as all the teachers seemed to be busy with other students, so I decided to just walk over to the balcony and take a look at the game. “Hey, Pranoy. Come here! What’s going on there on the football field?” asked one of my English teachers sarcastically. “Ah, football! His first love,” said the other, who had taught me for three years and was more than aware about the love I have for the game.
Her words got me thinking. On my way home, I started to reflect on the reasons why I began to adore ‘the beautiful game’ at such a young age.
It all started at the age of eight. In my school, the only two sports played were football, which most of us played, and basketball (which, call me judgemental, I consider a girl’s sport.) Everyday, during break, we would watch our then 12th graders play- they’re probably the best batch of footballers our school has ever produced. There was this one fellow, named Hriday, who could do wonders with ball. It was pure joy watching him dip the ball over the best ‘keepers from 30+ yards. Any attempt to stop his thunderous shots was futile. We observed their every move closely and tried to reproduce them whenever and wherever we could.
Over the weekends, my brother and I used to watch the likes of Manchester United, Arsenal and Chelsea play on television. My fondest memory was probably my brother yelling “Beckham corner!” or “Beckham free-kick!” during United games: I remember running over to the TV and expecting a goal every single time. The former
David Beckham. He became every kid’s hero. Just watching him run around with his famous number 7 on the back of his shirt could make my day. The thing I loved about the man was that he never showed any emotion (unless he was being marked by Martin Keown, of course.) He had one face for everything- a goal, being on the wrong end of a bad tackle or even getting carded. I had seen him get flustered only on a handful of occasions.
And, as all siblings do, my brother and I began to fight amongst ourselves very often. I just had to do everything he hated and so, much to his anger, I decided that Arsenal would be my new club.
“There goes Beckham,” I thought to myself, who soon made way for Thierry Henry. I secretly still did admire Beckham; but I would never admit it.
Coming to international football- my father, who both played and watched more cricket and less football, used to record great football matches from the late 80’s to the 2002 World Cup on tape. His favourite side was the Forza Azzuri, Italy, and he told me about Roberto Baggio’s penalty miss in USA ’94 and about Batistuta in his prime.
I can still recall seeing Ronaldo showing off his hairstyle (or what he liked to think was one) to his beloved fans every time he hit the back of the net, two World Cups ago. The supporters were having a ball with their drums, girls and beer. It wasn’t Brazil’s football that attracted me into backing them, but it was their fan base. A win or a loss seemed to be the same to them. They cheered whenever Ronaldinho did a fancy flick or Marcos punched the ball away, like they had won the cup. In my opinion, what made Brazil champions are their fans.
From then on, this weekend hobby evolved into an obsession. ESPN replaced Cartoon Network and my favourite t-shirt soon became a red and white Arsenal jersey. Waking up on Wednesday and Thursday mornings ten minutes earlier than usual to check the Champions League games’ scores on the Internet became a tradition, as I wasn’t allowed to watch games past midnight.
My first true Gunner’s season was 2004- 2005, the season we beat United in the FA Cup finals on penalties. Patrick Vieira’s winning penalty is still saved as a favourite video on my computer, but it has embossed itself into my memory so clearly that I don’t need the video.
I had then started to play the game with more gravity and more meaning. Football being the only sport in school has nothing to do with the reason that I play it. I’m crazy and zealous; I want to be a good footballer, and more importantly, a great fan. I’m thrilled to be the person who people call for when they just can’t remember the name of Blackburn’s stadium or if they’re wondering whether Arshavin is fit for Russia’s upcoming friendly game. It’s my devotion for this game that’s made it my first love. Sorry, Helene!








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