When Football Came Home

 

1996 was a special year for Singapore football. Two years after we left the Malaysia Cup, the S.League was born - our own professional football competition. 

Eight sides took part in the first S.League campaign; Balestier Central, Geylang United, Police, Singapore Armed Forces, Tampines Rovers, Tiong Bahru United, Woodlands Wellington and Sembawang Rangers. 

I still remember the excitement of its launch at the old National Stadium. The lights, the crowd, the roar that rolled across Kallang - it felt like the whole country was stepping into a new era of the sport we loved. 

From the very start, my heart belonged to Sembawang Rangers. The club was also referred to among supporters as the “Stallions”. Between 1996 and 1999, they were my team. Maybe they didn’t always top the league, but they had a spirit and grit that made me proud to stand behind them. 

Thanks to my father’s job with the Singapore Sports Council (SSC), I was lucky. He often brought home free tickets to matches, which meant my weekends were spent under the stadium lights. I became a familiar face at Yishun Stadium, the Stallions’ home ground, and occasionally made the trip to Woodlands Stadium. 

Woodlands Wellington, I have to admit, had a special magic. In my eyes, their supporters were among the most passionate fans in the league - drums beating, flags waving, chants echoing through the night. You could feel the energy long before you reached the gates. 

Looking back now, the S.League of the late 90s wasn’t just about football scores or league tables. It was about the thrill of live matches, the smell of the grass, the echo of the referee’s whistle, and the way an entire stadium could rise in one voice. It was a time when Singapore football felt alive in every neighbourhood, and for a young fan like me, it was nothing short of magic. 

Mee Kuah, Green Bin And A Mother’s Love

 

Image: National Archives Of Singapore

In 1993, I was just a small boy starting life’s first chapter at PAP Community Foundation (Nee Soon East Branch; Blk 227 Yishun Street 21). It was here that I learned my ABCs and 123s, made my first friends, and began to see the world beyond the walls of home. 

Some memories have faded, like the names of my classmates, but others remain crystal clear. I can still picture my mother walking me to school every morning, her gentle hand in mine. And when the day was over, she would be there at the void deck, waiting patiently, as though no other place in the world mattered more than being there for me. 

Not every memory is warm and fuzzy. I remember the sting of childhood discipline - the time I was caught talking too much while the teacher was teaching. My punishment? My mouth taped shut and my small body made to stand in the big green rubbish bin outside the school. I also got into trouble once for wearing my treasured Captain Planet toy ring. Back then, even a plastic ring could be seen as a classroom offence. 

But between those moments of mischief and learning, there was something sweeter - literally. Some afternoons, after school, my mother would take me to the coffee shop at Blk 291 Yishun Street 21 (just opposite Blk 227) for Mee Kuah. I can still smell the rich, spicy broth and see the noodles wrapped in Daun Upeh (areca palm leaf). That Mee Kuah was unlike anything I’ve tasted since. These days, I sometimes buy Mee Kuah at the Golden Mile Food Centre, but without the Daun Upeh, the flavour feels like only half a memory. 

Looking back, those two years weren’t just about schoolwork. They were about the love of a mother who was always there, the flavours of a food long gone, and the lessons - both kind and strict - that shaped me. Childhood has a way of leaving its fingerprints on your soul, and for me, they smell faintly of Mee Kuah and the green paint of a rubbish bin in Yishun.