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Fans, fists & football in North Jakarta

Queensbury rules: Tempers flare on the pitch as the players of Persitara and PSBL Langsa attempt to settle some scores at a recent soccer match in North Jakarta

Mark Wilson (The Jakarta Post)
Jakarta
Mon, September 30, 2013

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Fans, fists & football in North Jakarta

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span class="inline inline-center">Queensbury rules: Tempers flare on the pitch as the players of Persitara and PSBL Langsa attempt to settle some scores at a recent soccer match in North Jakarta.

'€œThrow him into the sea!'€ chant the fans of Persitara Jakarta Utara FC during their team'€™s recent soccer match against PSBL Langsa FC from Aceh.

The target of the fans is a Langsa player who has just suffered a no-nonsense tackle dished out by his Persitara opponent. Thankfully, the player in question is not thrown into the sea and is instead stretchered off the pitch to receive medical attention.

Welcome to the unforgiving world of Indonesian soccer.

Persitara plays in the Indonesian First Division, the league below the Indonesian Premier League (LPI), which forms one half of the rival domestic leagues that have plagued Indonesian soccer for so long '€“ the other being the Indonesian Super League (ISL).

Tugu Stadium in Koja, North Jakarta, holds 5,000 spectators but on match day it is far from full, with only one of its two stands open. Nevertheless, the 300 or so fans in attendance '€” many of them teenagers clad in the blue of Persitara '€” seem undeterred and do their best to cheer their team on.

The constant drone of vuvuzelas often heard several miles to the south in the cauldron of Bung Karno Stadium is non-existent here, but that'€™s not to say there'€™s no atmosphere. There is '€” and it'€™s being whipped up by events on the pitch.

On the pitch: Tugu Stadium in Koja, North Jakarta, holds 5,000 spectators but on the day it is far from full, with only one of its two stands open.
On the pitch: Tugu Stadium in Koja, North Jakarta, holds 5,000 spectators but on the day it is far from full, with only one of its two stands open.

Thirty minutes into the match, two opposing players tussle for possession near the Persitara corner flag. They get carried away with themselves and before we know it, Player A slaps Player B, Player B retaliates with a head butt, Player A then swings at Player B. And we'€™re off!

A melee ensues, with players from both teams running over to protect their respective men, while on the sidelines '€” camera phones in tow '€” fans have run the entire length of the stand to get a close up of the fistfight.

Two red cards and a few choice words later, proceedings get back underway.

It'€™s a strange match '€” Persitara with the lion'€™s share of possession, Langsa happy to sit back and wait for the right moment to strike '€” but nobody can put the ball in the net.

Halftime brings an end to the stalemate and Pak Yayan, a 41-year-old Persitara fan who'€™s been supporting the team for five years, isn'€™t happy with the way the match is going.

'€œWe'€™re too defensive, too cautious and we'€™re not fit enough to run for the whole game,'€ he laments.

Even though his team is currently second in the Indonesian First Division with three games left and will be entering the promotion playoffs, Yayan is pessimistic.

'€œWe'€™re not solid and our attitude isn'€™t strong enough!'€ he says.

Why then, does he opt to support Persitara and not the more well-known Persija Jakarta in a higher quality league?

'€œIt'€™s obvious,'€ he replies. '€œI'€™m from North Jakarta!'€

The main stand proves an uncomfortable experience as fans wait for the second half to begin. Spectators can either sit on the concrete seats for 90 minutes or, if they are feeling energetic, scale the metal fencing that separates the stand from the turf and perch themselves on top of it.

The second half gets underway and it'€™s more of the same - Persitara attacks, Langsa defends, and still no goals.

Then, in the 75th minute, the match reaches its climax. Persitara hits the bar, but the home fans gasp as elation quickly gives way to fear. Langsa has the ball, and a red shirt is running at full tilt toward the Persitara goal. The Persitara goalkeeper makes a last ditch sprint to intercept the Langsa attacker, but he fails, and from out of nowhere Langsa takes the lead.

Pak Yayan, however, has seen it all before. He has his head in hands while the home crowd screams in indignation at this ugly twist in the script.

Meanwhile, in a somewhat leftfield goal celebration, the Langsa players form a line in front of the goal scorer and then throw themselves to the ground as their man of the moment draws an imaginary machine gun and mows down his teammates.

The match enters the final ten minutes and Persitara tries to get one back, but all efforts come to naught and Langsa complete their smash and grab, winning 1-0.

Cigarette in hand, the Persitara manager looks on from the touchline, stony faced.

Afterward I talk to Persitara striker Brima Pepito Sanusie who is philosophic about the loss.

 '€œWe weren'€™t at full strength out there, '€œ Pepito says. '€œA lot of younger players had to play because seven first-team players didn'€™t turn up today.'€

Pepito tells me the reason why half his team has gone missing is because the whole squad hasn'€™t been paid for four months due to cash flow problems. He'€™s confident the club will pay up because the last time this happened, the club eventually made good on its promise to pay.

I wonder where the club will get its money from, especially given that there was no entrance fee paid at the gate (there was no actual gate either).

For Pepito, these problems are just symptoms of the wider malaise in the Indonesian game.

 '€œThe soccer here is OK, but the people who run the game and manage the clubs are the problem '€” and that'€™s stopping the development of the game in this country.'€

By now the majority of the crowd has left and the sun has set, but soccer still prevails.

A group of barefoot boys have got through the metal fence and are now playing their own match on the pitch, which minutes earlier was graced by professional soccer players.

Two buses suddenly appear and drive around the running track of the stadium, right up to the bench where the Langsa squad is waiting. The players are then bused straight out of the stadium to start their journey back to Aceh.

The whole thing looks a little too dramatic, but as a Persitara fan explains to me, given the fisticuffs on the pitch, perhaps the Langsa squad doesn'€™t want to hang around too long for scores to be settled off it.

 '€œMaybe they'€™re worried,'€ says the fan. '€œNorth Jakartans have a reputation, you know!'€

'€” Photos by Mark Wilson

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