Kazakhstan Unplugged

by Karen Yeoh

---

everyone who's asked me about Kazakhstan since my return has received out and out whinging about the conditions and the less than cheery temperament of the Kazakhs. but that's the stuff that's easy to talk about. the incessant Nyets (no, said is a most forceful fashion), the squalor of the roadside loos, the 30 hour journey from Singapore to Bangkok to Almaty to Taraz and having to re-live it in reverse after 3 exhausting games in "sizzling" heat.

but what each one of the 24 who stood on the field with Singapore etched across their hearts, the two who paced sidelines clipboard-in-hand trying to outwit and outplay, the two who sprinted to the side of each fallen warrior and the one who had the unenviable task of being go-between, logistics head and all round manager, find difficult to discuss is the games. in particular, The Game against Japan.

having grown up in Singapore, land of always colouring inside of the lines, of respecting authority and all others, friend and foe alike, the team approached the game against Kyrgyzstan with the necessary respect. we knew we were tactically sound, that we were fit and 30 hour roadtrip or not, we were ready. while everyone spoke of us being superior "on paper", we knew that on paper doesn't mean anything when you've laced up your boots. because rugby isn't about what's on paper, it's about what's inside your heart. so we kept our heads down and steered clear of mountaintops. just let our play speak - and speak it did. I am certain that the elation we felt when the tries were scored (I actually recall hugging derel after one of the tries and I don't do hugs) and when the final whistle blew was second to none. that win, that very resounding win, our first win as a national 15s side, was a long time coming and victory had never tasted sweeter.

when the next day dawned, the elation was still there, but shelved away because we had Japan on the horizon. Japan, who we'd met just six months ago in Kunming. who we lost 20-7 to. many of us remember the 2nd half of that game last year, the way we dug deep and held them and how we actually won that half. but a game is two halves and that's reality.

as we ran off our Kyrgyzstan-induced tightness at training, we all knew that the most important game of our lives was about to go down in less than 24 hours. and yes, it always feels that way, every game to come is the most important game ever, every kick, every pass, every tackle, every ruck, and every run is the most important ever. it's difficult to explain this passion to someone who doesn't play, but if you're reading this blog, I think it's safe to assume you identify with what I'm saying. when you're on the field, only that oval ball matters.

so here's the difficult part, this is the part that will plague us for years to come, the part that isn't easy to share. Japan. they scored, we scored, they scored, we scored, then they scored again. 17-10 just loomed in the sea of our sub-conscious. we knew this game of ping-pong was not over yet. I have never seen such hunger in the eyes of my teammates, I have never felt such courage that seemed to surge out of us in tidal wave proportions, I have never felt such faith and such solidarity in the team. in that last 15 minutes, we maintained possession, when we lost possession, we rucked them over and reclaimed it immediately. we never let them out of their 22, heck, we never let them out of their 10. we were literally on fire. this was it, the last 15 minutes of the rest of your life. and when those words were shouted, when that battle cry was made, it felt right. this was it, this was The Game. and we all believed it would happen. the try would be scored, we'd fight back. this was not to be our end. we picked and we went and crashed and repeat.

when the final whistle went, it felt like we'd played for all eternity and yet it also felt like we'd only played 5 minutes. this one game, this game which was to put our little red dot of a nation on the world map, was not to be. we lost. there were tears. not the kind that signal regret or shame. but tears because it felt like it was so so close (look down at the length of your pinky. yes, that close). like you could smell it and touch it. because inside our hearts we truly believed it could happen and we'd given everything we had. It felt like we'd played the best game we've ever played, dug the deepest we could dig and still it was a loss - and we'd just have to live with it. it was crushing - like being winded by a 200kg prop running full tilt and hitting you from behind.

I don't think we'll ever feel the same again. not because we're crushed. but because the result doesn't reflect what we all saw that day - we could have taken them. and we will take them. so it didn't happen that evening, when the sun was low on the horizon, when the air was dusty with the smell of burning leaves and the ground reverberated with the sound of our studs that seemed to say "no, we will not be reasonable. we will not roll over and let what it says on paper be right. our hunger will be our strength and our hunger alone will outweigh any experience or supremacy you may have over us." yes, we've seen it. and we believe it. and we will do whatever it takes, over the coming months, to get that ball that 1 more inch across the line. the message has been sent, it is clear as day, we are a team of fighters, and we're going to just keep on fighting.

maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was their superior size, maybe it was the weight of the Japanese loss we carried inside our hearts, when we played Uzbekistan, we just couldn't find our groove. from the moment they scored their early try, it felt like a game played on the back-foot. they capitalised on our handling errors and try as we might, we just couldn't run our usual lines of attack. we just couldn’t counter. I know we could have given them a fight, but we played terribly that day - it was like an off day of monumental proportions.

so here's the money shot, if you ask me what I brought home from Kazakhstan, I'd have to say I brought home faith.

I have faith that we have what it takes to traverse those levels and earn our rightful place. I have faith in the same fire that burns in all of our hearts, I have faith that if we really try, on that field, all differences can be cast aside and we can be one. And I have faith in the things you cannot see, like hunger and passion and the steely inner strength that has been forged inside all of us on this tour.