The Hard Lesson

If there's a particular day of the year I do not joke with, it is the day the UEFA Champions League final is played. Since the competition is a yearly duel involving the best football clubs in Europe, the day I mentioned above occurs once in a year.

On such days, I'd wake up with a bright smile on my face. The thing is, high stake football matches make me happy. And if it happens to involve my beloved football club, I'd wake up with anxiety, fear and joy rolled into one. On such days, the oncoming football match dominates my thinking, it crosses my mind every hour. I'd check my time nostalgically, wishing it would just flip to 7:45pm in an instant - that's when the match usually starts.

One of such days when I experienced strong and mixed emotions because of a football match was on the 27th of May, 2009 when Barcelona was to play Manchester United at 7:45pm. I woke up with similar feelings to the past years - anxiety, happiness and tension. "We are playing a Barcelona side full of younglings. Getting past them shouldn't be an issue," I thought. The fact that we beat them on the way to the trophy the previous year made it look all straightforward.

When the clubs released their team sheet at 6:45pm, I couldn't help but let out a wry smile. Barcelona were going to play Gerard Pique - a player we sold to them the previous summer because he wasn't good enough for us - and Yaya Toure as the central defence pairing. I thought to myself, "this weak central defence pairing will not be able to repel Rooney and Ronaldo." I was very bullish of our chance of victory; we are about to become the first team to successfully defend the Champions League title in the modern era. I became very excited.

I left for the viewing centre as early as 7:15pm so as to catch a glimpse of the pre-match presentations and choreography. On my way, I came across my cousin heading the same direction. He is a Chelsea FC supporter with deep hatred for Man United. The obvious reason he wanted to watch the match was to make banters and not to enjoy a high quality football match. Man United beat Chelsea to the title in the previous year; all he wanted was to see Man United suffer. I knew I was in trouble if the match didn't go to plan - he would taunt me to no end.

At exactly 7:45pm, the highly anticipated football match started. In an instant we were all over Barcelona like rash. As they tried to play out from the backJi-Sung Park and Anderson pressed them to submission. We were creating chances and getting shots away. It looked like getting a goal was only a matter of when, not if. Suddenly, from the attacking bombardments Barcelona were enduring, they countered us from a corner kick and Eto'o prod the ball past a stunned Van der Sar. In an instant, Barcelona led 1-0. But I wasn't worried, I only got more excited.

Immediately after the goal, Barcelona took over. They started passing the ball so well that we were basically chasing our tails. We couldn't lay a glove on them. And when Messi added the second goal after the 70th minute mark, I knew all was lost. I was staring at the TV but couldn't see anything. As the rival fans started mocking us, my cousin included, I became numb and blanked out. I was neither listening nor seeing; the pain was indescribable.

In all sincerity, I can't even remember how I made my way home that day. Maybe I had dinner or not, I can't explain. I've never been so humbled before then. I learnt a valuable lesson never to underrate anyone or overestimate my strength. I learnt that lesson in the hardest of ways.

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