AFEW years ago, I was with my husband in a crowded souk in Istanbul, Turkey, when it suddenly became frenzied, with people running after a certain figure, trying to take photographs with him. Curiosity got the better of me. I was told that the scruffy guy in tattered jeans, the object of desire of the pursuing crowd, was a football legend, purportedly a Liverpool player.
Against my better judgment and my husband's advice, I joined the mob, camera in hand, with one main mission, to impress my children back home with a picture of me with the football sensation, an import from Brazil, I was told. He was with bodyguards, but I managed to catch his attention, and with a click of the button on the phone, the picture landed in the family WhatsApp group in London.
"Ma, that's a fake!" came the replies almost unanimously from my football-crazy sons.
"(Philippe) Coutinho has no reason to be in Istanbul, especially after just playing in the Premier League. He doesn't even look like Coutinho!"
Needless to say, this was followed by the emoticon of a person clutching his belly, rolling on the floor laughing. Lots of them.
"There are many fakes, Ma. There's even an Iranian parading as Messi," he continued, adding insult to injury.
Back in the souk, the storekeepers around me were having their fun. They were laughing as my husband gave me the "I told you so" look. As the fake celeb and his entourage left, one Turkish vendor selling ceramics bowls and souvenirs said to me, "I am Beckham!" So, they have all seen this before, a kind of comic relief during their afternoon siesta.
So maybe I am not so football savvy after all and not the cool mum who could enjoy watching Arsenal games with my sons. Maybe I don't even know what a corner kick is, but I have been to games at Old Trafford (many times), Emirates Stadium, QPR stadium (Loftus Road) and Cardiff City Stadium.
Although I watch, that doesn't mean I understand the game, almost always annoying the one beside me by asking, "Which side are we supporting?"
And maybe too, I might not have recognised Chelsea football sensation N'golo Kanté when he went to Tuk Din Flavours of Malaysia restaurant in London for his nasi lemak kosong recently. But hey, this mama has had her picture taken with Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson right in the middle of Old Trafford! I have even kicked a ball into the Old Trafford goal that many legends had scored before, during one of the open days they did for Malaysia.
This mama has also chatted with another Manchester United legend, Bobby Charlton, interrupting his conversation with my youngest son, after watching the under 15s play at their training ground in Carrington.
My son, then a Barcelona supporter, had reluctantly agreed to take photographs with Charlton. I had watched Beckham warming up not 50 yards away from me before his first return to Old Trafford, playing for AC Milan. And up close with Wayne Rooney, too, when he attended an event to launch the partnership of Manchester United with Malaysia's Aladdin Group.
And while I am in the mood for a football rant, I might as well tell you, readers, about the time I met and got photographed with Liverpool legends Robbie Fowler and Ian Rush (after being told who they were, of course).
This time, there were nods of approval from the Arsenal fans back home. I had cosied up to the football legends during a reception after the arrival of the inaugural flight of A350 from KLIA at Heathrow.
With Cardiff City being a Malaysian club, I used to get invites to cover games, as well as visits. One such visit was in 2011 by our Yang di-Pertuan Agong Al-Sultan Abdullah Ri'ayatuddin Al-Mustafa Billah Shah, who was then the Pahang crown prince. I not only got to be photographed with His Majesty, but also with Craig Bellamy, after, um, straying into the footballers' changing room.
This column would not be complete if I do not mention the crazy frenzied, almost foolhardy rush, down to the football pitch of Cardiff City Stadium when the club got into the Premier League after a 51-year wait in 2013.
Fellow journalist Haliza Hashim of TV3 and I were already warned that should the club win that game, we must not go down to the pitch as there would be pandemonium. Imagine a crowd of over 33,000, most of them Cardiff City supporters, thronging the pitch in euphoria.
However, Tan Sri Vincent Tan, owner of the club, in his excitement, beckoned us over and said, "Follow me," and that we did.
Football fan or not, the excitement got to me as I ran after Tan Sri, with camera in hand, watching the crowd trying to hug him and shaking his hands, temporarily forgetting their anger over the switch of the colour of their jersey from blue to red.
The club officials, tasked to look after us, were quite worried about our safety as the crowd on the pitch was getting rowdy. But, needless to say, I got swept away by the celebratory mood on the field, with the Jalur Gemilang flying proudly everywhere.
Well, that was quite a moment to cherish. Cardiff City might not have stayed in the EPL for long, but at least it gave me something to tell my grandchildren. Perhaps it is something to talk about with Kanté, over nasi lemak kosong, when he visits Tuk Din again.