Long after the final whistle, the heartbeat of GB13 still echoes — in old videos, faded chants, and the fierce belief of two small boys who never knew its glory days, but carry the dream forward.
The legacy lives on
On World Football Day, the world doesn’t just honour the beautiful game — it pays tribute to those who make it unforgettable.
Not the stars on the pitch — but the heartbeat in the stands. The ultras. The believers.
In Sarawak, that heartbeat was called GB13 — born in 2011.
They weren’t just fans. They were a movement. A force that turned Stadium Negeri into a fortress of colour, sound, and shared defiance.
With every thunderous chant and the flurry of Sarawak flags and GB13’s iconic red-and-black scarves and banners, they reminded Sarawakians of who they were — and what they could become: united, proud, and unstoppable.
And though the stadium has fallen quiet and Sarawak FA is no more, the story of GB13 isn’t over. Because sometimes, the loudest echoes come from the most unexpected places.
Ultras in the making
The house comes alive as the flat screen flickers to life, with one son beating the drum and the other singing chants — echoes of a time they never knew, when thousands stood shoulder-to-shoulder in Stadium Negeri, voices rising until they cracked, spirits soaring with every goal.
They’re too young to know what GB13 truly was. Too young to remember the days when drums beat like war cries, when strangers became brothers, when belief held an entire state together.
And yet, they understand.
As they watch those old GB13 clips on YouTube — the pounding rhythms, the sea of red and black, the roar of united voices — something speaks directly to their small, hungry souls.
“The atmosphere was like a magnet. It drew people in. They wanted to experience it for themselves — at least once in their lives,” recalled Awang Khairul Adzhar, GB13’s charismatic capo.
Every chant had purpose. The melodies were simple. The lyrics easy to follow. But when the crowd rose together, voices soaring beneath the floodlights, it became something greater — a living, breathing force. A moment that made Sarawak feel invincible.
“GB13 existed because of the desire to forge ties among people. It was about coming together to support Sarawak — a state we should all be proud of.
“In simple terms, GB13 stood on its own principles: Demi Sarawak Ibu Pertiwiku,” Awang Khairul explained to Sarawak Tribune.
But those days are over. Sarawak FA, and subsequently Sarawak United FC, have been dissolved. The flags have been folded. The drums silenced. The caravans of supporters no longer cross mountains and rivers. The once-mighty GB13 terrace has become a memory.
And yet — they are not truly gone.
Because here, in the quiet of our living room, two small boys rebuild what was lost. With towels for flags and sofa cushions for stadiums, they become the lone ultras of a forgotten era.
They chant along to words they barely know, eyes blazing with belief in something they’ve never seen — but somehow carry within them.
I don’t even remember when my six-year-old son found those GB13 videos on YouTube — but once he did, it was like something clicked. He’s watched them over and over for months now, eyes wide, heart full.
He begged us for a drum. Not a toy, a real one.
“I want to be like GB13,” he said. He still says it. Every week. Every time the screen lights up with red and black.
And sometimes he looks at me, serious as anything, and asks, “When will we be GB13?”
He doesn’t know the history. But he feels it. And somehow, he’s already claimed it as his own.
Not the end, just halftime
Awang Khairul never saw GB13 as a cultural movement. But he sensed that people missed the atmosphere — the feeling of unity and adrenaline that once pulsed through Stadium Negeri.
Even after the dissolution of the team, GB13 didn’t disappear. They adapted. In a changing football landscape dominated by clubs over state teams, they chose to remain neutral — a quiet act of resistance, a refusal to dilute what GB13 once stood for.
“We didn’t want to be seen as taking sides. Especially since there are now multiple clubs in Sarawak using the ‘Sarawak’ identity based on location or association,” he said.
Still, many believe GB13 was — and remains — the soul of Sarawakian football. And Awang Khairul agrees.
“Only Sarawak football can bring GB13 back. The sports authorities must play their part in rebuilding a team that represents Sarawak. One that can shape quality players and bring pride back to the state,” the capo pointed out.
In truth, the movement never really ended. The drums are quieter now, but the rhythm lingers — in WhatsApp groups, casual gatherings, and humble appearances at the 2024 Malaysia Games (SUKMA) and Para SUKMA, local football leagues, e-sports, and rugby tournaments.
“I believe that our movement inspired many. GB13’s elements were used to build hype for events, especially in sports — drawing people in, making them feel part of something,” he said.
Social media like Facebook and YouTube, he added, became their archive — the digital shrine to everything GB13 stood for.
He was grateful that social media existed during their time; it helped document the movement’s journey, even if not in any official way.
“If another generation chooses to rise and revive GB13 in their own way, they should start the way we did.
“The foundation may remain the same, but I think their methods will be different,” he said.
Because GB13 was never just about football. It was about belonging. About defiance. About love for a home that doesn’t always get the spotlight but always deserves it.
And maybe that’s why I let my boys keep watching. Why I don’t stop them from chanting, from waving homemade flags, from dreaming out loud.
Sometimes, when they think I’m not listening, they rehearse those chants with a reverence that makes my heart ache. Not because they miss something — but because they’ve inherited something. A spirit.
And maybe — just maybe — this is how it begins again.
The spirit that never fades
On this World Football Day, we’re reminded that the legacy of football lives not only in trophies but in the people who carry its fire long after the final whistle.
GB13 may have lost its stage, but it hasn’t lost its soul. From the curved terraces of Distrixtigabelas to the living rooms of families who still believe, the spirit endures — fierce, unyielding, unforgettable.
Because ultras don’t just support teams. They carry identity. They defend history. They pass on belonging — not as spectators, but as believers.
And one day, when the drums beat again — and they will — it won’t just be a return.
It will be a resurrection — and my boys will be ready.
