Armando Siahaan

The fans hoped fervently for a win, but the result was a disappointing 1-1 draw. (JG Photo)

Agony and Ecstasy: A Football Fan’s Life in Indonesia

Dusk had passed and darkness had crept over Gelora Bung Karno in South Jakarta. A halo of light emanated from an elliptical edifice, the colossal Bung Karno Stadium, from which thunderous chants could be heard from afar.

As I entered the home of the national football team, I saw before me an ocean of animated fans dressed in red, screaming a word that united the crowd — Indonesia!

A football fan since I was a child, I had never before been to the national stadium or watched the national team play. A friend of mine had told me that when the two combine, the experience is indescribable, so when he asked me to attend Wednesday night’s game, I was quick to accept the invitation.

The match was of crucial importance. Indonesia was taking on Kuwait and desperately needed a win to stay alive for a spot at the 2011 Asian Cup finals. Indonesia had lost to the Kuwaitis a few days earlier in Kuwait City, and with just two points from two games, it was a must-win for the Garuda lads, promising an eventful 90 minutes.

The impassioned atmosphere was immediately apparent when the Indonesian players stepped onto the pitch. The crowd rose to its feet with a roar, waving red-and-white flags and issuing a clamor of shiver-inducing sound made up of shouts, clapping hands and drums.

Then came the national anthems, during which, disgracefully, a horde of our fans booed the Kuwaiti anthem.

Things turned 180 degrees when “Indonesia Raya” was played and everyone in the stadium — except for the Kuwaitis, of course — sang their hearts out. I can’t remember the last time I sang the anthem in a group, but doubtless it was never with such fervency.

Much to my dismay, the stadium was not at full capacity. With just 45,000 tickets sold for the stadium’s almost 90,000 seats, the upper tier was not even needed, and scores of the available seats were unused.

That didn’t stop the home fans from producing a fitting soundtrack to the game from the moment the referee blew the opening whistle. They chanted every time the Indonesian side went on the attack, applauded every good play and cheered whenever the boys in red got near the opponent’s penalty box.

But they also jeered every time the opponents were on the attack, jibed at the them for every bad play and booed them whenever they committed a foul.

Some of the more ferocious fans shouted such things as “sukurin!” (“eat that!”) or “mati aja lo!” (“just die!”) — a few of the more printable curses I heard — whenever one of our players committed a foul against the Kuwaitis.

Even the Japanese referee was subjected to taunts when he made what the Indonesian fans believed were wrong calls, with unhappy fans saying, “Hey, you colonizer!” referring to the Japanese occupation of Indonesia in the 1940s.

The game itself was lively for the first 20 minutes, with both teams creating chances, though failing to score a goal. But things turned hostile in the 26th minute, when Indonesia player Maman Abdurahman appeared to kick Kuwaiti Bader Al Motawaa in the face. As the Kuwaiti rolled on the ground in pain — real or feigned — his teammates went after Maman. A fracas flared.

The boiling emotions on the pitch somehow extended to the crowd. The Kuwaiti supporters, just one section from where I was sitting, got into an altercation with either game or stadium officials, and this angered the whole west wing crowd.

Trapped between Indonesian supporters on both sides of them, the visitors’ supporters found themselves coming under a barrage of plastic bottles and single-cup servings of water, some from the other side landing near me.

“Go home! Go home!” screamed some men sitting just rows in front of me. Then a throng of people stood, lifted both hands high, and flipped their middle fingers at the Kuwaitis.

For a while, the off-pitch melee was more heated than the game itself, and it only ended when Indonesia had a chance the score.

That much-awaited moment came in the dying seconds of the first half. Striker Bambang Pamungkas fed a beautiful through pass to Budi Sudarsono, who ripped it into Kuwait’s net with a scorching right-footed volley.

The crowd exploded into a tidal wave of noise, the stadium erupting in a cacophony of roars and the floor trembling as people jumped up and down in euphoria. It was a glorious feeling.

But the second-half was a different story. One minute in, Indonesian defender Ismed Sofyan was sent off after receiving his second yellow card, for what was probably an unnecessary challenge. Surprisingly, the crowd reacted coolly, maybe because they knew that Ismed deserved the booking.

Indonesia now had to defend its lead for the next 44 minutes with just 10 men. We all knew it was going to be a long night for the Indonesian troops. Kuwait was free to bombard the home side throughout the remainder of the game, with only an occasional counterattack by the Merah Putih.

The atmosphere changed drastically. Indonesian fans were no longer thunderous, the chants were no longer as frequent and anxiety was becoming apparent in some of the faces.

Budi Sudarsono almost provided a much-needed miracle with a near-goal, and that briefly revived spirits, but it didn’t last long.

In the 71st minute, Ahmad Ajab exploited Indonesia’s defensive lapses and equalized, silencing the stadium, as both the players and the fans knew that a draw would further cut Indonesia’s already slim chances of going through to the next round.

Now all that was left were the sour notes of unsportsmanlike conduct. Frustrated by the national team’s failure to grab three points at home, someone in the crowd threw a bottle of water at the Kuwait substitutes who were warming up on the side of the pitch. One of the reserves picked it up and threw it back, and all hell broke loose. The crowd hurled more missiles at the Kuwaitis, to the point where they had to retreat to the Kuwait bench, unprotected by any police officers.

To think that Indonesia has any hope of hosting the World Cup in 2022 with this kind of unsportsmanlike attitude is simply absurd.

As the referee blew the final whistle with the game tied at 1-1, Indonesia’s chance of playing in the upcoming Asian Cup became virtually nil. It now sits at the bottom of its group with three points with only two games left to play in the round.

But I didn’t go home empty-handed. Watching the national team play on its home turf for the first time gave me a night to remember, one that had a strong mix of animation and animosity.

Borrowing my friend’s term, it was indescribable.

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