Athletes who represent their country carry more than just a ball or a baton; they carry the spirit, pride, and hopes of an entire nation.
– Anon
There are days when writing a column is easy because anger supplies the words. Today is different. Today, the anger is there, but so is grief, because the man I am writing about was not merely a Malaysian hockey legend; Sarjit Singh was my friend, and his family have been dear friends of mine for almost 25 years.
Sarjit died on Aug 23 after battling leukaemia. He was only 63, and as I stood at his wake on Aug 24, surrounded by his grieving family, former teammates and hockey greats, one question kept returning to me: did Malaysia truly appreciate Sarjit Singh while we still had him?
Let us remember who we are talking about. Sarjit represented Malaysia at the 1984 Los Angeles and 1992 Barcelona Olympics, helped the country win Asian Games bronze medals in New Delhi in 1982 and Beijing in 1990, captained his country and, after his playing days, continued serving the game as a coach, including two spells in charge of the national team.
This was no ordinary hockey man. Former national captain and coach Datuk N. Sri Shanmuganathan described him as the most outstanding player of his era, a player blessed with extraordinary skill and vision, while former India captain Pargat Singh hailed Sarjit as one of the greatest players he had faced and played alongside during their heyday.
Even International Hockey Federation president Tayyab Ikram remembered Sarjit as a passionate player, dedicated coach and wonderful human being who gave so much to hockey. When men of that stature speak of a Malaysian, surely we Malaysians should understand the magnitude of the sporting figure we have lost.
Yet this is where my sadness turns into anger. Sarjit returned to coach the Speedy Tigers in March 2024 and, in March this year, guided Malaysia to a fourth-place finish at the World Cup Qualifier in Ismailia, Egypt, with Malaysia ultimately qualifying for the World Cup as the highest-ranked fourth-placed team across the qualifiers.
He had achieved the central objective placed before him: Malaysia qualified for the World Cup. Yet shortly afterwards, the Malaysian Hockey Confederation (MHC) decided not to renew his contract, a decision that shocked many because Sarjit had delivered the qualification, and he was denied the opportunity to lead the team onto the stage he had helped them reach.
Of course, officials are entitled to make coaching decisions, and nobody is suggesting that a national coach has a job for life simply because he was once a great player. Results matter, accountability matters and administrators must make difficult calls, but surely there is also such a thing as dignity, transparency and respect in the way we treat someone who has spent decades carrying the flag of his country.
That hurt was still palpable when I attended Sarjit’s wake. I met Shanmuganathan and several of Sarjit’s former national teammates, and their disappointment over the manner in which he had been dropped as national coach was impossible to miss; these were not outsiders looking for controversy, but hockey men who understood what Sarjit had given to the sport.
Then came something that disturbed me even more. I was told that the top leadership of MHC was absent from Sarjit’s final rites at the Jalan Loke Yew crematorium, and if that is indeed the case, I find it deeply disappointing because whatever disagreements existed should have ended before the final journey of a man who served Malaysian hockey for decades.
MHC did issue condolences and acknowledged that Sarjit’s dedication, service and contributions as a player and head coach would always be remembered, and that acknowledgement should be put on record. Deputy Youth and Sports Minister Mordi Bimol was present at the funeral, as were representatives of the sporting fraternity, but presence matters precisely because a funeral is not an administrative exercise conducted through statements, flowers or social media.
Former state player Nicholas Das put it powerfully: social media messages and flowers have their place, but respect is also demonstrated by physically being there when a member of the hockey family makes his final journey. I agree, because this was never about titles, office politics or who agreed with whom; it was about humanity, gratitude and the simple decency of saying goodbye.
For someone who had given so much to Malaysian hockey, Sarjit deserved more than ceremonial words after his death. A nation that knows how to celebrate champions when medals are won must also know how to honour those same men and women when the cheering stops, when their playing days are over, when they become coaches and mentors, and finally when they leave us.
This is why Sarjit’s passing should force us to confront a much wider problem in Malaysian sport. We are often very good at embracing athletes when they are useful to the national narrative, but recognition can become strangely selective afterwards, with some former sportsmen celebrated endlessly while others who sacrificed just as much are allowed to fade quietly into the background.
That must change. Our sportsmen give away years of their youth, endure injuries, sacrifice family time, train when the rest of us are asleep and carry Malaysia’s name into stadiums; the country owes them more than applause during their prime and a condolence message when they die.
Recognition should not depend on creed, colour, connections, popularity or whether someone remains in the good books of officials. If you wore the Malaysian colours with distinction, sacrificed for the nation and helped build the sporting tradition inherited by the next generation, the country should have a proper and consistent system for honouring that service.
Perhaps Budget 2027 is the right place. Beyond bigger allocations for elite programmes and facilities, I hope the government will strengthen welfare, medical support, pensions or assistance where appropriate, and create meaningful national recognition for former athletes and coaches whose sacrifices helped put Malaysia on the sporting map.
Do not wait until they are sick. Do not wait until their families are struggling, and please do not wait until a hearse is carrying them on their final journey before suddenly discovering beautiful words such as “legend”, “icon”, “patriot” and “national hero”.
Honour them while they can hear the applause. Bring them back to mentor young athletes, preserve their stories, use their expertise, recognise their achievements and ensure that sporting bodies understand that stewardship of a game includes stewardship of the people who built it.
Sarjit’s story makes this painfully urgent because he still had so much to offer. The cruellest irony is that Malaysia are at the World Cup because the team he coached secured qualification, yet the man who helped take them there is no longer with us; before Malaysia’s final match, the hockey world observed a minute’s silence for him, a poignant reminder of the place he occupied in the game.
And so I return to the question that has troubled me since his passing: is this how we treat a legend? We can debate coaching records and administrative decisions until the sapi or kerbau whatever, come home, but nobody can erase two Olympics, two Asian Games bronze medals, years of captaincy, decades of coaching and a lifetime devoted to Malaysian hockey.
Dear Sarjit, my friend, I know your family and friends will keep your name alive, and I know there are plans to continue your legacy through a project that helps develop Malaysian hockey where you left off. Rest assured that I will be there in whatever small way I can contribute, because friendship does not end at the crematorium and neither should gratitude.
Malaysia must learn from this loss. Remember the people who built our sporting foundations, honour them while they are alive, stand beside their families when they leave us and never allow bureaucracy, rivalry or selective recognition to diminish a lifetime of service, because a legend deserves nothing less than a legend’s farewell.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at rajlira@gmail.com
