I've been doing a lot of field visits this week to better understand project operations and get a different perspective on how the organisation is managed. It's been highly interesting, very revealing, though a tad tiring due to all the travelling by motorbike. On the way out on Wednesday morning I noticed some people were hacking into the turf of an other wise untouched grass field. Upon closer inspection I realised that they were in fact digging up the turf in specific straight lines to mark out a football pitch. No white lines for these boys, and of course the goal posts were made of bamboo though the nets looked traditional enough.

When we (Shahid and I) drove back towards the same village late afternoon, having finished our visits for the day, we saw a huge crowd 3-people deep all around the pitch. There was even a small multi-coloured tent housing a local version of Motty commentating live over a basic tanoid system. You have to take your entertainment where you can in rural Bangladesh so the crowd was really into it. It was also one of those rare occasions when I was in a crowd but not at the centre of its attention. Ah yes, the long forgotten anonymity of crowds!

Apparently, so I learned later on, we are now in height of Bangladesh's football season. I think I'd mentioned before that I sometimes have a kick-about with some lads in a nearby village, though I've not been in the last wek or 2 due to work (I know, what a change eh?). Anyway, the local lad who had arranged for me to meet this football team also warned me that they'd ask me to play with them in a serious game with a local rival team. His view was that this was to be avoided as games here tend to get quite violent. Obviously, having grown up playing football in England where the playing style is notoriously physical I took this comment with a pinch of salt. Having now seen a game between 2 rival clubs, granted in a tournament final, I now have distinctly less salt in between thumb and forefinger.

Despite one of the teams playing in Brazilian colours, any other resemblance to skillful football ended there. Having said that, what they lacked in technical ability was more than compensated for in sheer energy and commitment. Seriously, some of the tackles made me actually wince, especially the 2-footed from behind variety, and to this day I have no idea how no one got seriously injured. The mid-air challenges weren't for the faint of heart either, with the ball often being left to play a supporting role as players just jumped into one another all elbows and heads. All in all it made British Sunday league football look the Chelsea pensioner's annual Subuteo tournament.

Another thing that made the game slightly more challenging were the presence of certain obstacles around the pitch. Long balls and chips down one wing were all a bit hit and miss as you had to also take into account the low hanging telephone wires, not to mention the concrete pole supporting them that stood in one corner. Just in front of one of the goals you also had electricity wires which by and large ruled out chipping the keeper if ever he ventured off his line. The crowd were also so close to the pitch that you knew it was a throw-in if a player hit a spectator instead of the ball.

As luck would have it, and despite only seeing the 2nd half, we saw both goals scored in normal time. The 1st was a case of perserverance and ignorance triumphing as the forward line drove forward like stampeding buffalos and almost forced the ball in with sheer force. The equaliser, somewhat inevitably, came in a classic end-of-game goal mouth scramble as the team trailing threw everything they had to stay in the game. Just prior to that we had a true 1966 moment when a shoot came straight down off the cross bar onto the line and was then cleared by the defense. Predictably, the next time play stopped the attacking players encircled the referee to impress upon him the need to award the goal that had clearly just been scored. The opposition naturally came to the referee's aid and before you knew it it was handbags at 20 paces all round. It seems to me that "discussions" in Bangladesh often seem to end in a scuffle of some description. I even learnt a new expression this week that sort of explains this: 1 Bangladeshi = 1 party, 2 Bangladeshis = 2 parties, 3 Bangladeshis = 3 parties! There is also an equivalent for the British: 1 Brit = 1 person, 2 Brits = an army, 3 Brits = a conquest. Call it female intuition, call it what you will, but I can't help sensing a certain colonial influence behind this...

In the end we didn't stay for extra time as we were both pretty tired and it was starting to get dark. Before leaving though we were treated to a truly British sporting experience as a small child raced across the pitch mid-game like a trainee streaker. The crowd cheered him across and laughed about it all when he successfully reached the other side. He was of course fully clothed being a good Muslim boy.