First and foremost, I must say that VY and I had a pretty bromantic evening watching Man Utd beat Spurs and return to the top of the summit where they rightfully belong. I’ve always enjoyed his fellowship, not just because he’s frank and spontaneous, but also because I enjoy pondering over his radical perspectives on certain issues. We are both dreamers and visionaries – I think that’s where we click. Above and beyond the VictorY we enjoyed (pun unintended), it was the brotherhood and conversation that I will remember more.
We shouted many times during this match and we screamed three times over two converted penalties and a delightful little lob – it was a natural expression of a dichotomy of emotions experienced throughout the course of a 90-minute match. This got me thinking about how football is synonymous with yelling – it has to come together. Perhaps that’s why the mid-week middle-of-the-night matches are a little more excruciating to watch because we don’t want to wake the other people who are already sleeping soundly in the house; the best we could do is to shout into a cushion, muffle our voices or simply shout without opening our mouths. If I had to watch a game of football in absolute silence, I’d rather not watch it.
Men turn into part-time football talk show hosts at every live soccer game. We discuss tactics and question managers’ intelligence, reminisce history (and when and how we started supporting our teams), speculate the final score and scorers, laugh at players, joke about Liverpool (sorry, couldn’t resist), applaud great moves, raise our hands and shout “Mine!” at every throw-in or bury our faces in our hands and let out a string of substitute expletives at the miss of an open goal. We do all that because it enhances the experience of watching football with someone; and yes, it’s always better to watch a live game with a buddy.
Aren’t these the reasons why we even watch football? Why do we sit behind a TV screen cheering for teams and players that have absolutely no effect on our quality of life? Why we would spend prime time on a weekend evening just to watch the Premier League or risk coming to work groggy and being screamed at by intolerant bosses on a Wednesday or Thursday morning just to watch the Champions League? For crying out loud, most of us aren’t even able to execute 10 percent of the moves that we see on the screen yet we criticise the players as if we were the ones who trained them. I think it’s because we love the game – the game is lovely; we need to express ourselves and we do it best when we shout. For men, it’s almost primal and barbaric, but hugely gratifying.
That’s precisely why I’ve decided to install MioTV in my room, instead of in the living room. Next season, I want my buddies and I to scream without reservations or fear of disturbing my family members. I want to shout with freedom and I want to express myself; I want to be therapeutised. There you go, I’ve justified the transfer.
So gentlemen, go ahead – scream at the top of your lungs, give (manly) high-fives, exchange (manly) hugs and get decked in your favourite colours. Do whatever it takes to bring yourself a little nearer to the football in England, even though you have absolutely no bearing on the eventual result. Do it – you’ve had a hard week and you owe it to yourself. Keep watching, keep shouting. For one day they may just be able to hear you. Really.
How many of your primary school friends do you still keep in touch with? And how about those from your secondary school, polytechnic, junior colleague, university, army or from your previous work place? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a single digit number. And like it or not, that number will slowly but very surely decrease as you age. As I turn 21 for the seventh time this year, I think I’ve learnt a fair bit about friendships – and how most of it takes places in phases.
All right, let’s get technical; when I talk about keeping in touch, I define it simply by the frequency of meeting up. Let’s just put a yardstick of at least once per quarter – that’s four times annually. (I actually believe that if friends can do it twice a year, it’s already an accomplishment. The younger readers of this blog may struggle to understand this, but mark my words on this. When you get to my age, remember you first heard it from me.)
By that definition, with the exception of those who are attending the same church as I am, I keep in touch with a grand total of zero from primary school, one from secondary school (who happens to be my best friend), none from polytechnic, army or from my Shanghai stint. Be it DL from ACJS, CC from ACS(B), JC from NP, ML from BMT, JG from SOA, JH and JQ from 40SAR, LT from OCS, or KS and TS from Shanghai; mind you, when I was in whichever phase, these buddies and I went through some significant moments of life together. We were convinced that we’d be more than just good friends for that period of time.
So I’ve learnt this – enjoy the friendships forged wherever you are at. Milk and remember it for all it’s worth. And know that these friendships are strong and that these friends are important, but at the end of that phase, remember that they are all but permanent friendships, albeit at that point closer than your closest church friends. This is a cynical and very un-sanguine, un-Joey, pessimistic way of looking at things, and I know may protest against this statement, but you heard it from me first – these friendships will not last.
The ones that will last, whether you like it or not, whether you stick around long enough or not, are the ones whom you see in church every weekend. At least that applies to me. These aren’t your seasonal friends – these are your friends for a lifetime. I remember mentioning this at the R-AGE DNA sermon I preached at the beginning of this year – that church friends, fortunately or unfortunately, unlike your friends from outside, are here to stay. You can always change a clique and hang out with a different bunch of school or work friends when you get sick of the current ones. But face it – you can’t get rid of your church friends and they’ve got to face it too – they can’t get rid of you. It’s just like how we cannot change our family members; we’ve simply got to stick to them and find a way to make it work.
And when I look back at the brothers and sisters that God has put in my life in this church, I’m filled with a deep sense of gratitude, because I know that I’m going to be growing old with them and my kids are going to marry their kids (whether they like it or not). The question that I leave with you is – look around you, look at your friends and look deep into their eyes, and look into your heart… How many true friends do you have? How many friends are you true to? After all, true friends attract true friends.