Where do you find revelation?
Amongst rusty railings, stained rafters, stands sparsely populated by absent-minded fans cheering on the sloppy play of teams at the bottom of the standings? That’s where I found it.
To borrow a particularly evocative passage of Pessoa, last week I was feeling down: “I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me. A nearby field, a ray of sunlight, a little bit of calm along with a bit of bread, not to feel oppressed by the knowledge that I exist, not to demand anything from others, and not to have others demand anything from me — this was denied me, like the spare change we might deny a beggar not because we're mean-hearted but because we don't feel like unbuttoning our coat.”
Photos of the stadium taken earlier this year and published by Lao Động.
Not to cure my state of despair, but simply because the hours must be filled some way, I ventured to Thống Nhất Stadium to take in CLB TP.HCM’s last V-League match of the year against Quy Nhơn Bình Định FC. The two teams were occupying the bottom quarter of the rankings and while I appreciate football, I don’t prioritize my fandom enough to watch much, let alone stay current with the local teams. I went out of curiosity and shame that in the past nine years, not once have I been inside. Professional sporting events in other countries cost hundreds of dollars, and I could go for free if I just picked up the complimentary tickets at a District 1 office. So, simply, why not?
Originally built in 1929 and inaugurated in 1931, Thống Nhất is the oldest stadium in the nation, even older than Hanoi’s historic Hàng Đẫy Stadium. The years are certainly showing with the recently announced planned renovation badly needed. While being surrounded by delapitation wasn’t what sparked inspiration, it didn’t displease me either. Rather, the state of disrepair was akin to the threadbare blanket one observes at a friend’s grandparents. While not specifically familiar, the condition of endured experience offers comfort. Similarly, the game itself was of little significance. While the team from Bình Định, a province I once resided in, had relegation on the line, the play was relatively lackluster. Both squads had small clusters of rowdy fans, but otherwise, the seats were mostly empty.
The phenomenon that elevated the evening to profundity began as dusk started to seep through the dipterocarp trees behind the empty stands. The large stadium bulbs burst on, and beams of white light seeped across the gathering dark. The first was a smudge of brown across my line of sight, a dirty dishrag flung from a fourth-floor balcony. Then two, three, four, five, countless fluttering plummets. The bats, likely one of three common varieties, were gobbling up the insects drawn to the lights. Hundreds of them. I suspect the players running through the lush stretch of grass were kicking up even more sumptuous bugs.
Pipistrellus bat in flight. Photo via iNaturalist.
The bats’ fluttering dives for sustenance and the unseen invertebrates’ frantic sprints to remain alive were more consequential than the drama on the pitch. That was a game; this was a life and death struggle. In a city obsessed with humanity, the scene offered an important reminder that people are only a fraction of the equation. How easily we get lost in our small preoccupations, remaining ignorant of the animals that occupy the city. Recognizing the short, cruel plights of rats, roaches, stray cats, geckos, pigeons, egrets, butterflies, and bats that populate the metropolis should cast a calm over one’s feckless anxieties. The scenes are everywhere if you care to look.
[Top image via Diễn đàn Đô thị]
