Enuf is enuf

How many times have you heard from a Malaysian Sports head that we need to bury the past and look to the future?

How many times have we failed at the last hurdle, e.g. semifinal, final, etc; when we were touted as champions beforehand?

How many times have we heard that we spent too much on a sport and not achieving the wanting success?

How many times have we heard of mismanaged sports organization only to realize that the matter has yet to be resolved for the umpteenth time?

How many reports have we read about would be resignations, only to find that the successor is worse off?

If sports is to catalyze and showcase the Malaysian spirit, and shape the Malaysian competitiveness, than why do we succumb so poorly on the world stage?

Do we want people to know us as mere gentlemen (graceful in defeat), and not winners?

Why do we spend so much for so little, don’t we need to focus on those sports that ensure success?

Should we still dream of the past and base our plans on nostalgia, whence we last dominated the world scene, whence our champions are head over heels better than our competitors, when in the present, we can’t even get off the first round in those competitions we once dominated?

Don’t we realize that,

The world has changed?

Our beating boys are now beating us?

Anyone can become a champion, even the Jamaicans can bobsleigh in the winter Olympics.

Sports is about putting in monies (wisely), not just making monies?

Should it not be that,

We put more monies (and effort, and time, and organization) on snooker and billiards?

We get school kids to take up archery?

We promote lawn bowling to the masses?

We ensure squash is taught at high schools?

We champion futsal instead of football?

We aggregate table-tennis and not tennis as the preferred sports?

We prefer brain (techniques) to brawn (strength)?

And last but not least, arrange a proper golf programme so that golf is the number one sport in Malaysia.

FORE!

Abah

On that cool October afternoon

Grey clouds blanket the blue sky

In that sterile somber room we croon

Teary eyed lullaby

Another Ramadhan comes to an end

Is this your last goodbye?

100 years more, if I can recommend

Even though time I cannot buy

Sad doesn’t begin to describe your passing

A man so full of life

When tomorrow we should rejoice in His blessing

Only if today you can survive

That which has robbed you from us

Tissues that are cancerous

Though it seems ridicules

That this could happen to us

When you prescribe those that are medical

To every man woman and local

In those well equipped hospitals

Yet those silent killers are lethal

To you everyone else

Is first, and you last

And you cannot care less

If your time has past

You were a good son to your mother

A splendid husband and a great father

And what we most remember

You are a true leader

As you ebb away in passing

The sky cried tears of rain

May Allah gives His blessing

For those deeds during your reign

As your only son can only pray

That you wait for him in heaven

and before that you would stay

slumbered serenely until awaken

Mr Mom

Can a man manage the household and let the fairer gender become breadwinner?

Would it lessen his manliness?

Would it lessen his authority in the household?

Could the father figure be the mother?

Can you confuse your child further?

I saw a depiction of this on TV once, oh so many moons ago, starring Michael Keaton, titled Mr. Mom (if I’m not mistaken). It started when he got sacked for becoming obsolete. So specialized was he, that he couldn’t land other jobs; over qualified, over aged, over the hill. His wife on the other hand ended up with a credible job, very promising and substantially paid, in a corporate giant. So sets the stage, where Mr. Mom endured the taunting, the stigma, and the confusion from his children, and their friends, and the local community, where house wives sit and chat. Attending PTA and sorts. The ending, to my surprise is though his company called him back for work, he refused citing, he already got a full time job of his dreams; being Mr. Mom.

Sweet you say … actually it is, well to me that is. To be fair, after 16 years on the payroll, I’ve started thinking. Is this all there is to it? I mean is this all one can do? Supposed climb the corporate ladder, jostling for that sacred position, and not forgetting the pay-packet. Is this all? What about taking better care of your Gods gift to you, your children? We accept albeit sometimes ridicule the fact that our children take after our maids. I still remember a friend relating that his son speaks fluent Javanese to his utter amazement and confusion! If language is the only thing kids pick up from maids, I am all for that, but is that so? What about mental perceptions of the world, of the society, of one’s religion? The bottomline, are maids our best bet to bring up our kids? Please note they are maids because they are unfortunate, not because they, like Mother Teresa, is committed to seeing a better world at the expense of one’s life.

Back to the matter at hand, can a man manage the household and let his wife become breadwinner? Personally I say it can be done. In fact I think I can become a good house husband. Note that my house hold is still served by the maid, and those routine chores are relegated to the maid. Leaving kids management to be openly contested by my wife and I. Guess who always wins? Well dear, not for long, because Mr. Mom is here, and kicking.

PS. BTW this is not an invitation to those successful single women, looking for and excuse in a husband. As the addage goes ... Saya tak mampu. Tsk tsk tsk.

A 40 year old internet buff?

At a recent TT session a friend was seeking opinions on internet based business. To the uninitiated, this is loosely translated as, using the internet to run/make/base a business. Many books, articles and lectures have been written on the subject, but to this friend, his approach is, for a lack of better word, outdated. Subsequently after 3 Nescafe tarik, both concluded that his enthusiasm is best not quashed by the realities of the internet.

The internet is to me the last unadulterated frontier where

one can be honest yet anonymous,

truthful yet lying,

pure yet biased.

One can become oneself, yet unknown to one’s dearest.

It is an open environment yet so closed that only those in the know, knows.

It bridges the furthest distance, and yet it distances those closest.

It caters for open trade, with security envious of Fort Knox.

It is easily accepted by a child, yet it is still misunderstood by those accomplished statesmen.

It is part of everyday life, yet only a handful makes full use of its potential.

It is paradoxical, and it is beautiful.

Embrace it, despise it, or even ignore it; the internet has affected everyone so profoundly that it has uprooted cultures, uncovered truths, influenced billions; almost overnight.

So to my dear friend, it’s ok to still stick to your niblick, as long as you play the game with the present rules.

Live in the present, think in the future, and always reference the past.

Garfield

Nickname, was introduced to me, albeit a little brusquely, when I entered the hallowed halls of Prep School. Though we were still getting acquainted with so many new experiences, practices, rules and especially sharing those big dormitories with one another; it seemed inevitable that we will be calling one another by names concocted by our juvenile minds. Maybe its innocence, definitely naivety, especially honest, these names represents our perceptions of one another then. You could say that they are unadulterated, and for a good couple of weeks some of us have a problem answering to them. Can you blame us, when for the first twelve years of life one answers to Along, Boy, Abang; and suddenly out of the blue you are called BADAK.

Dad mentioned an incident when an elderly statesman browsing the aisles of a wet market, with his better half of course; was rudely awaken by the shout of SAKAI. Upon lifting his gaze from the lobsters on display, he met a fellow schoolmate, long lost as it appears, smiling ear to ear, walking briskly to him. Of course the two gentlemen shaked hands, exchanged greetings and immediately stories of yesteryears cordially, to the amazement of their better halves. One was shocked that she married a SAKAI, the other utterly embarrassed that her better half has manners of a mule.

To be frank I’ve grown comfortable being called by my name, surprisingly, as it is not a common name. Even my better half made no attempt to call me the proverbial Darling, Sayang, Abang; but resort to my name. And so it stayed for a good number of years, until one day I was referred to as the famous orange cat that started life on the pages of the daily and subsequently made his way to the silver screens.

In this ripe old age and one still manages a nickname. It’s funny how life unfolds, a bit of déjà vu perhaps. A tinge of nostalgia escaped to warm the heart and bring back memories. Perhaps this is why they say that as you age, your youth returns and visits you.

The Real Racers

This may invite the fireworks, especially in this era whence that so called driver from Germany is touted as the best, mentioned in the same breath as (Juan Manuel) Fangio; but I reckon that the REAL racers were, Senna, Piquet, Mansell & Prost. There you go.

Why you ask? Well to me, the era when these gentlemen ply their trade on those tracks, epitomize what F1 racing is all about. Seldom do you hear the antics of the famous German, during those eras. What with the archaic technology then, these gentlemen still produces exhilaratingly fair races. There was no question that their rivalry span a time when technology began to influence the destiny of F1 racing, more than anytime in the past. But those influences pale in comparison to these gentlemen’s finesse and gamesmanships on the tracks. At the end of their races, commentators and fans alike, only mention their skills, their tactics, their strategies and none of those unsightly, ungentlemanly and, dare I say, unfair antics paraded over these recent races.

I shy away from the widescreen now, whenever F1 is on air, and prefer the sedateness of the links instead; partly due to these unsightly antics, and partly because I still miss those panache and confidence of a certain Brazilian in his McLaren Honda. May he rest in peace.

Bola oh Bola

Dikala menjelang demam bola piala dunia, ramai la penghuni-penghuni KL yg tetiba laks jadi peminat bola. Betul ke minat? Minat bola ke minat ”acara” bola tu ... maksudnye ”menonton” aweks-aweks yg datang, suasana keriangan tatkala menonton, ataupun hanya satu alasan utk mengunjungi kedai-kedai mamak 24 jam ...

Nak di jadikan ceghite, teman baru habis keghoje tadik, adele kene tahan kejap, bos-bos saje seghonok interview bebudak bawahan ni ... mcm senior-senior dulu di kolej. Dah tak ada keghoje deme. Tapi dah bos ... apa dikenangkan. Atte lepaih aje dgn deme, teman pun belah, lalu depan kedey mamak yg besa tu. FUUUUH ... dah tak macam keday mamak .... ada belon, ada senoghop(khemah) CELCOM, awek ni tok sah ceghite le ... ghamey, kalau tak cun, seksi yg amat. Haaaa itu le bencana bola. Kedey mamak pun boleh betuko ghope jadi vogue gitu. Hai dunie ....

Apa yg ye-nye, kabanyakkan penduduk m’sia akan mengantok, keletihan, marah-marah, dan semacam tak senang duduk ... menanti dinihari pabila siaran langsung akan bermula. Padan muke deme. Sapa suruh layan ... 4 tahun sekali konon. Kena nasib tak baik ... tension punye tension, bengang punye bengang .... padam. Statistik dah ada ... ramai lelaki pertengahan umur sakit dan ada yg mati akibat piala dunia.Yg ini yg kita nanti-nantikan? Sekali pandang mcm org alim jeks, siap tunggu hari mati dengan penuh khusyuk dan tawadhuk. Sebenarnye tunggu piala dunia .... elok2 dapat pahala berkoyan-koyan ... terus masyuk nuraka .... itu lah dia manusia ...

Di gembar-gemborkan bahawa Osama Bin Laden juga antara peminat bola. Ni yg syok ni .... mana laks depa ni tau hal2 Osama nih. Cakap kata Osama ni nyorok dlm gua rahsia, sampai bom pun tak sampai .... abis .... camno laks depa ni tau yg org tua tuh (osama) minat bola? Ilham mengatakan bahwa Osama ni geng CIA.. Mustahil? Mungkin .... mungkin tidak. Apa-apa pun dah tak mustahil, kalau Dato Sri Anwar pun deme kata homo, ini kan menuduh Osama CIA. Kecik je tuh.

Pagi ni tadi, teman dengor Jarman balun Costa Rica 4 -2. Tapi teman tak le nengok ... sebok layan .... errrrr .... ”kawan”. Nak kata gelfren ... terasa tua la kite ni pulak. Atte udah le tuh ... kita nak besogheh bola .... apakebendenye kona pada ”kawan” pulak. Maka dengan keputusan 4 – 2 itu, bermulalah piala dunia 2006. Kepada seme peminat bola Malaysia, pande-pande mengator masa tuh ... bepada-pada le. Jangan le sampe dipangge bos pulak ... dek telampo khusyuk nengok bola pepagi tuh. Kalu yang Islam tu, Suboh jangan mike abaikan ... udah le idak bangkit solat tahajjud (seelok-eloknye buat le Qiamullail).

AMIR

Amir (my 5 year old son) was very quite when he was a baby. My parents were concerned, as usual, as their second grandson is so very quiet. Grandson … the defacto mischief, must be loud. Being the concerned grandparents they are, they plotted a solution. As usual during his cukur jambul, Dad “belah mulut” Amir. This is the practice of parting the baby’s lips with a ring (in this instance it was Dad’s jade ring) dipped in air zam-zam, symbolising the creation of the gap. No nothing happened shortly thereafter, no flash of the magic wand, no lightning and thunder entrée ala Frankenstein, nothing. And so the day ended. Five years onwards, Amir attended school (kindergarten), recently got his above average grades, overcomed his fear of school, begun to chat up girls (oh by the way he’s got 2 …. Yes 2 girlfirends all at once) and … yes … has not stopped talking. Does it work …. You tell me.

I'm not in the mood

Alas the proverbial mood.

One which dictates creativity.

That which fuels passion

Amongst man and his equal

“I’m not in the mood”, can spell disaster for a date. “Setting the mood” is quintessential for anyone in the interior design fraternity. So then why is something so powerful that which it has a stranglehold on the human capacity, be so elusive and practically unknown, save when it’s gone? Other than Austin Power’s MOJO, the mere mention of mood is always in the negative. Why?