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Wickedly Wacky


By
James Ritchie: The Combined Old Boys Rugby Association, better known by its acronym Cobra, don’t just play hard. They know how to let their hair down. Of course, if you are a rookie and not familiar with the club’s traditions, you will have to undergo an initiation period to enable you to become a man, under the venerable tutelage of Cobra founder, the late Dr Chan Onn Leng. I was lucky to have been one of the victims of the wacky Dr Chan who died in a road accident in 1981, having left an indelible mark in the annals of the club.

Having frequented Dr Chan’s clinic in Bangsar, not far from where I used to work at the New Straits Times Press, I was soon coerced into becoming one of the first 50 life members of Cobra.

 

As an attraction, the kind doctor would provide me with an exclusive rugby story after which we would go to the pub for a few beers where  Chan, a 1954 Asian Games 400m hurdles silver medallist, would use his ‘denture in the beer glass’ trick on an unsuspecting victim.

His strategy was simple. Invite a Cobra newcomer for a few beers and try the experiment on the fall guy. After a few mugs the new man would be ready to use the toilet to which he would obtain directions from the wickedly smiling doctor.

Chan would insist his quarry finishes his drink before going for a pee. While you are easing yourself, the doctor orders a new glass of beer for you and quietly drops his dentures which sink to the bottom of the glass, brimming with the amber liquid that Australian tennis great John Newcombe once memorably described as “that tasty brown stuff.”

On his target’s return Chan would shout “Bottoms up!”

His head beginning to swim from the amount already ingested, the innocent victim then guzzles his beer, not wanting to disappoint the doctor, a Cobra grandee as well as a Malaysian Rugby Union notable in the days when comrade-in-arms Tun Dr Ling Liong Sik was president of MRU, in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

As he finishes the beer in quick time, lo and behold, the victim finds himself staring at a set of dazzling white dentures!

After years of practice, the affable doctor fine-tuned his trick and would try some new method of catching his quarry offguard.

When it’s quite dark in the pub he would declaim to an  “You recognise that man?” You turn your head and before you know it, his gleaming teeth with some food particles stuck in the interstices, is at the bottom of your glass! Again it’s bottoms up!

For those familiar with the trick and happen to be in the presence of the session, woe betide you if you tell on the doctor. After a bruising rugby match Cobra patron Kim Tai organised a striptease show at the Bistro pub in Petaling Jaya. Our performer was            Annie Chan, daughter of the famous Rose Chan. As the lights dimmed she sashayed alluringly in a dance. An inebriated crowd cheered her on. Then in a flash, she was stark naked! Her final act was to strip off her knickers, and with a twirl threw it in my direction.  Like a forward at a lineout I jumped high, grabbed it and in a split second wrapped it around the head of my younger brother who was standing closest to me. The crowd roared but for the next few days my brother  refused to speak to me.

 

Our Last Meeting

By
George Das: He looked so pathetic.  Frail and small.  No more the stocky, muscular footballer I first interviewed way back in 1972.

It was Saturday 13th May 1989.  Fauzi Omar and I had lost our direction before arriving at Mokhtar Dahari’s home in Taman Keramat, Kuala Lumpur around 4pm. We were greeted by his wife Tengku Zarina Ibrahim at the door of his modest house.  She said: “Thank you for coming.  We’ve been getting non-stop phone calls and visitors due to your story today Fauzi.” We mumbled our apologies and as we entered the doorway we saw Mokhtar slouched on a lounge chair, unable to get up. So we went over and shook his hand and exchanged greetings. I held on to his right hand for a while longer.  He did not squeeze in his usual fashion, but he left it limp in both my hands.

Both of us looked at Mokhtar with disbelief. He didn’t look at all like the menacing striker we once knew.  A threatening force in attack for Malaysia and Selangor, he used to tear the opposing defences apart with his accelerating burst of speed and powerful, stunning shots at goal.

There was that goal that earned Malaysia a draw (1-1) against England B at Merdeka Stadium in 1987.  After manoeuvring past several players from midfield into the England half, Mokhtar’s powerful blast had keeper Joe Corrigan  completely beaten and the 45,000 fans screaming in ecstasy.

As these visions of Mokhtar’s prowess played on my mind, we were suddenly jolted by a voice struggling to speak.  I felt sadness creep inside me. His vocal chords were straining and the words came out in a sluggish manner.  In fact he was near intelligible.

This was so unlike Mokhtar of before. He used to have a very strong gruff voice.  All that had disappeared due to his suffering from motor neurone disease (MND).

We did not discuss or talk about his ailment as there were other guests around.  We were all fighting with our own thoughts on why this had to befall him!

Trying to reason why this was happening to one of Malaysia’s, no Asia’s, most decorated striker of the 70s was beyond us.

Tengku Zarina kept telling us that he had seen a number of specialists but each one of them had his own opinion and none had a cure or a solution.

Every now and then, the telephone kept ringing.  The callers were friends wanting to either come over or wishing Mokhtar a speedy recovery.

As we departed an hour later we did not know that this would be the last time that we would be speaking to Mokhtar. We were enveloped with a great sense of sadness.  For a long while, we were both very quiet as our troubled thoughts kept drifting into the past. I remember he once said: “I allowed myself to believe that I was indeed Supermokh, the goal-getter supreme.  Give me half a chance and I would crack in a goal,” he said this when he quit the game after the 1978 Asian Games due to physical and emotional exhaustion.  He returned to the game when he featured in the 1980 Merdeka Tournament.

After what looked like a long silence, we were jolted back to reality. We both agreed he was very frank with his opinions, before or after a match.  He was very approachable and never shied away from being interviewed.

As we drove by the Merdeka Stadium, we could still vividly picture him as a one-man goal-scoring machine for Selangor and a  pivot to the national team’s quest for goals.  He was a scoring machine with speed and power.

By
George Das

Oh, What A Life!


By
George Das: I’m sitting alone in the Merdeka Stadium Press box.  A lonely figure left to my jangled thoughts.    Trying hard to put together Selangor’s victory in the 1974 Malaysia Cup competition. That deafening roar from the Selangor fans has ceased.  The spectators have long gone and the arena is all quiet.

Even before I can complete my match report, the stadium lights are turned off.  One tower after another shuts down.

I’m left in total darkness as an eerie silence creeps in.  There’s still a few more paragraphs to the story but I decide to leave.

I hurry to find a telephone booth to call the Star sports desk in Penang. Forget the public phones in the stadium; they never work.

So I rush to Sultan Street, only to find to my dismay the telephone hanging limp and out of order.

I make a quick dash to the Klang bus stand where there are a few phone booths.

Two are out and the only other telephone is being used.  It seems mighty long before the chap hangs up.

I heave a sigh of relief as I’m connected to the sports desk.  R.D. Selva, the sports editor, comes on the line and as I relate my ‘masterpiece’, he bangs it out on his typewriter in record time.

That’s another day’s work done and I can feel the mental and em- otional strain ebb. Suddenly I realise I’ve got to make it real quick to catch the last bus home to Peel Road or it’s going to be a long walk back.

What a life! But I loved every moment of it.

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