Cambodia Diaries - 27 November 2008

Up to my ears in it!

Rugby came to PP recently in the form on an international 10’s tournament which in the ordinary course of events, I probably would not have been too bothered about.  However, a few weeks earlier I had received an email from the force in Asian rugby that is Justin Sampson a.k.a. ‘Sambo’ telling me in no uncertain terms: that I should make myself available as he was bringing up from Singapore the reigning champions of the PP 10’s and unquestionably the best team on the island state, the Bedok Kings.

When we were Kings

I first met him through a completely different force in the form of Vib Sharma many years back and numerous times since.  He has played rugby to a very high standard back in his native Australia and professionally in Japan, before taking up a trophy laden period as Bedok’s coach.  For many years he has been a familiar face for the rugby watching people of Asia as ESPN’s expert summarizer and as the match program for the event said: “He has been a tireless advocate of rugby development in Asia and has offered support to many fledgling unions within the region”.  The latter commentary was part of a testimonial due to the significant fact that this was not only too be his last tour with the Bedoks, but as he and the family are returning to Oz soon, he will also hang up his boots up for good as well.  So, armed with this knowledge, when the big Aussie says ‘be available’ it would be unwise to do anything to the contrary.

Now like a lot of chaps these days who considered football their thing, I can not say that I feel the same attachment to the beautiful game that I once did and I have joined the ranks of many who have become disenfranchised by the clubs we have supported through thick and thin; incensed by prima donnas falling around the place as if shot by a sniper and as if too make matters worse, picking up a basic £100,000 per week for their troubles.  Not that I know the ins and outs of the game of rugby, but there does seem to be a lot more integrity in the way the game is played as there is honesty in the way grown men gouge each others eyes out and then pat each other on the back before sharing a glass of each others urine in the bar after the game.

However, there were two aspects to the weekend’s proceedings that I was able to partake in despite the brutish nature of egg chasing.

The first was the requirement that I present myself the night before the tournament at 7.30pm in a local bar for a gathering of the clans.  I arrived with the chaps already getting up a good head of steam and with two of their number involved in some friendly banter that as far as I could make out, involved putting on bike helmets and banging each others heads together.  I understand this to be some sort of tour bonding thing.

Despite the introductory violence, they really were a great bunch of lads and very welcoming irrespective of the fact that my ears are not cauliflowered and I don’t look like I could take out a small dump truck side on.  Clearly I was going to have to step up to the plate as it was obvious to see that the journey north from Singapore had made the boys thirsty and when the second drink of your evening is a tequila and it is only 7.45pm, then you best dig in.  Luckily for me, they had some rugby to play the next day and so an early lights out would be on the cards.  Or so I thought.

Sampson, ordered the tourists to decamp to another bar and when 13 big and thirsty chaps and me, the new water boy barged in, it had the effect of clearing the place.  At 4am in the morning my last job of the night having been one of the impromptu DJ’s, was to ensure that the last straggler was safely deposited back at the team’s hotel – a mere 5 hours before Bedok had their first game of the day!!

I got to the stadium in time for their second game and if getting up, having some breakfast and getting to the north of PP was taxing enough, I could not have imagined what it must have taken to go out and play rugby in this heat and I was not overly surprised to see some very rough, bordering ill looking men, who had somehow managed to win their first game.  My duties were extended from water boy to cheer leader on the day, but I got off to a poor start in the motivational stakes when they lost their second game and with it, the chance to defend their title.  ‘We’ then had a few hours off and the team collapsed in sleep.  This paid some sort of dividends as they won their final group game and went into the third place play off.

Sleeping on the job

Myres not responding to an offer of an isotonic larger

One of the lads, Myres, was in a dreadful state and luckily for him, his rugby boots split so he could not play after the second game and he returned to the land of nod.  The team by late afternoon was in a bedraggled state, having picked up all sorts of nasty injuries, knocks, the odd damaged vertebrae here and a bloodied nose there during the campaign. By the time the final game came round, two of the lads could not play, three ought not to have played and the rest looked knackered. So when I was tasked with the duty of finding Myres a pair of size 12 boots, which in Cambodia is a tough ask, he carried on sleeping confident in the belief that his ‘plates of meat’ would not be treading turf again.  To his absolute disgust and everyone else’s enjoyment, up stepped a Yank with a snug fitting pair of boots for Myers’ usage.  Low on numbers, I was then dispatched to rustle up some ringers in the form of a couple of Cambodian lads who not surprisingly, stood out somewhat from the rest of the boys.

Nose to the grindstone

The third place play-off as it transpired was to be Sampson’s last game.  Like a true rugger bugger and after much of the afternoon spent on the physio’s bench having several vertebrae put back into place, for one last time he hauled his huge frame up for one last push over the trenches.  About two minutes in and clearly struggling with pain that would have felled an elephant, the big man signaled that it was time to exit the field and with it, call time on his playing career. Paul Stephens, one of the other guys who also suffered a neck injury said that maybe it was time to start listening to his body and give in to the inevitable as well.  Whether when they started out playing as little boys they had any idea where it would all end I do not know, but the Old Stadium, Phnom Penh as unlikely as it was, was where they made their last stand before the final bugle call signaled the end.

The warrior exists the field of play for the last time

The third place off was against a French team and could best be described as a fractious affair, with Les Blues trying to take some liberties as a result of the depletion in the Bedok ranks, only to find that a few Singaporean haymakers redressed the imbalance for a short while before the Frogs finally secured the win. 

However, the two pleasing aspects of the day, was that despite the fact that they were at least two sizes smaller then most of the opposition, a Cambodian team won the tournament with a tenacity that was in many ways, very un-Cambodian.

Of course they clearly cheated by not going out the night before and swilling cold ones until a few hours before the tournament started and they also played a brand of rugby that was borderline illegal to some of the heftier lumps watching on from the stands; relying upon the natural speed of youth, superior fitness and a willingness to tackle men twice their size without blinking.  In essence, as far as I could work it all out, when they had the ball no one could get near them and when they did not have the ball, they were like bees round a honey pot until they got the bloody thing back.  The other pleasing sight was that the crowd and other teams all stayed and cheered on the Cambodians to victory and when the final whistle went, the Cambodian boys could not have been happier then if they had won the World Cup.

The other aspect of the event manifested itself a few days later and whether it was linked to nights out with rugger buggers or purely coincidental is a moot point.  A local hospital who provided their services for the tournament and to whom a few of the Bedok lads were entrusted too, saw Honney crawl in a few days later with an extremely painful and what was eventually diagnosed as a severe ear infection.  Within an hour of my arrival, the doctor had me strapped in for a CT scan.  The conditions out here can make infections and diseases spread very quickly and so the need to act quickly is equally important as is the fact that thankfully, Cambodia is now acquiring a medical service that does not necessitate emergency trips to Bangkok or Singapore as much as before.

Mary, my boss, had to come to the hospital later in the day because although the doctor’s English was far better then my non-existent Khmer, between not being able to hear or understand him, I was clueless as to what was going on.  I will confess that as we waited for the results to come back from Bangkok, I was a little on edge, especially as before the doctor emailed them off, he said to me that he had seen something but when invited to enlighten me, he said he would wait!

In his consultation room I sat the wrong side of Mary and the doctor and could hear nothing as they debated what looked suspiciously like my brain scan up on the computer.  For the next couple of minutes all I heard were three words: water, brain and operation!  However, much to my surprise, Mary seemed quite relaxed about it and was even smiling at what I thought was the need for a brain operation.  When I caught the doctor saying: “We can start now” I was numb until they filled in the missing gaps in my hearing.  Namely, that it was a bad infection and that at least it was not water on the brain and whereas it might need an operation if it got worse in the future that was a simple procedure which would only be required if the twice daily antibiotics feed to me intravenously did not work!  To say my relief was palpable would be an understatement and thankfully, a week on; all seems to have returned to normal.  Oh and a lovely line from the CT Scan: “Rest of brain would appear normal”…so there is one, apparently.

My final bit of medical attention will come on the weekend as the physio at the rugby tournament has recently finished a stint with the London Wasps rugby team.  And whilst she may have much experience of putting prime English roast beef in the form of Messrs Dallaglio, Lewsey, Worsely and Vickerey into shape, then I am sure the challenge this particular piece of English gristle and more particularly, my hamstrings will present, will be something to test her abilities as the hammies remain in a twangy state post-Berlin.

But this time next year, hopefully I will have concluded the last of the five major world marathons remaining to me in New York and with it; I face the prospect of hanging up my running leg for good and bowing to the inevitable which even at this stage, not only seems sensible, but actually for the first time in a few years, an enjoyable prospect.  And just like Paul and Justin, we shall retire content in the knowledge that despite the bruises, we have had a lot of fun along the way.

Cheers

JH