Is there a game on? — Hidden Football

With a desire to see my first live game of Indian football, but with both the I League and ISL out of season, I recalled a friend had mentioned a prominent local Mumbai league. A bit of morning research led me to the Mumbai District Football Association, and with glee I saw an afternoon of fixtures available.

I Google mapped the game and even hopefully emailed the Mumbai Strikers ‘contact us’ page, explaining my afternoon pilgrimage for Indian football and wondering if anyone would be available to speak with me.

Central Bank of India were facing Mumbai Strikers at the old Cooperage Stadium in Colaba, a prominent business and historical district at the southern tip of the city.

‘That place is supposedly our best football stadium but it’s been the same for years’, my friend declared after hearing of my plans.

‘You see the cricket stadiums are huge and modernised, but the same never seems to happen in football’.

Hot and dusty seating

First signs of a warm up

After a quick Vada Pav burger (traditional Mumbai veggie street food) and a glass of sugar cane juice, I jumped into a taxi to the game. The driver took pleasure in informing me it was 41 degrees outside, and all of a sudden this pilgrimage to a 3.30pm kick off seemed a ticket to sunburn for sure.

Upon arrival, I first wondered how much a ticket might cost, but was pleasantly surprised to wander in totally for free. The 4 security guards lounging at the entrance seemed more interested in their phone screens than any madding crowd, and as I strolled into the ground I could see why. 25 minutes before kick off I was one of six present, with no sign of any teams, players, or indeed any evidence there was a game going on at all.

The Cooperage Ground is nestled in amongst parks and expensive property in the heart of ‘town’, and the view from its sizeable (but empty) bleachers was a fascinating one. Architecturally, Colaba itself was heavily influenced by the British, with a walk around the local ‘Oval Park’ reminding me more of Oxford or Cambridge than India. Games of schoolboy cricket were taking place as Victorian clock towers and school buildings lined the park’s perimeter. Games of schoolboy cricket, I might add, with far more spectators than joined me in the stands for the MDFA fixture.

For a minute I wondered whether the excessive heat might have led the referees to postpone the fixture, but within minutes the players strode onto the field to warm up (as if 40+ degrees wasn’t hot enough already). As I stared through the caged fencing onto the pitch taking photographs, I was surprised to hear my name called by an approaching player.

It seemed my early morning email had been picked up, and Rohit, the founder of Mumbai Strikers, introduced himself. He suggested we find time to chat after the game, and recommended I join the other fans (all four of them), at the top row of the middle terrace (the only spot offering even an inch of shade in the afternoon heat).

I duly obliged, and the game began. As the whistle blew, it made me consider whether I’d ever been to a live game with so little context or prior knowledge. Not only was I blissfully unaware of the league structure, team standings and comparative abilities of the players, I realised 5 minutes in I didn’t really know which team was which, or who I should support. Compare this to the intensive nature of fan culture in England, with battle lines drawn and the increasingly high stakes surrounding every match, it was a refreshing change of perspective.

The standard of football was sharp from the outset, the players exhibiting surprisingly high levels of stamina despite the 40 degree heat. The 3G surface allowed for a slick passing game, with plenty of flair on show across the pitch. Despite enjoying the flow of the game (which was already exceeding expectation), I couldn’t help but wonder how different this game might be on a mid-November British bog of a pitch. Years ago, whilst praising Lionel Messi, Andy Gray famously pondered; ‘but can he do it on a cold rainy night in Stoke?’, and this same question lingered on my mind as the first half ensued.

Mumbai Strikers (in blue) attack Central Bank’s goal.

On the pitch, one of the first things I noted was the language. Clearly most players were communicating in Hindi (or any one of the numerous provincial languages), but a fair few familiar English phrases crept in (‘man on’ it seems, needs no translation). The stark comparison between the languages made me consider the ‘dictionary’ of cliches and jargon that help to define and frame the game in England, and the importance of this when it comes to building a common understanding and appreciation for the game.

At half time I spotted two boys (one in a Rooney Manchester United shirt, and one in a Chelsea blue bearing Oscar’s name), showing off their tricks beneath the bleachers. Even at the lower league MDFA, the presence and weight of mainstream European football was unavoidable. Seeing me (clad in my white and blue Tranmere Rovers strip) caused them a degree of confusion, but they still let me join in for a few minutes. With just enough time to nip to the street food stand outside (and exchange glances with Central Bank’s keeper as he devoured a packet of half time peanuts), I returned to my seat as the second half began.

The match was free flowing and full of chances for both sides, crisp passing and play continuing despite the rising temperatures. Although Central Bank dominated the game for large periods, it was the Mumbai Strikers who went home victorious. Two breakaway goals, one in each half, sufficiently put the game to bed, the Strikers showing a clinical edge to take home the points. It was a wholly positive first experience of the lower tiers of the Indian game – full of passion and flair, and with its own set of eccentricities and quirks both on and off the field.

It’s worth noting that despite the sparse (or non existent) crowd pre-kick off, by full time there was 100+ people in attendance. It then became apparent to me (on holiday and blissfully inconsiderate of a working schedule), that a game kicking off at 3pm on a Monday afternoon was never likely to attract thousands, in a city so preoccupied with long hours and hard work. British fans moaning about their beloved Saturday at 3pm slots being moved for Sky TV take note – it could be worse, and not every football fan has the privilege of such a nostalgic and longstanding rite of passage.