Whispers of a golden return

Once you become a sports journalist, the chance to watch a match simply as a spectator becomes rare. But after a long time, I finally had that chance on Wednesday.

Taking the metro to catch the Bangladesh–Bhutan match, I headed to the venue with my football-mad son. Many fellow passengers were wearing the national team jersey. It wasn't hard to guess where they were heading.

The "Home of Football" had been shut for 55 months due to renovation. In that time, much has changed. The country has seen a shift in political power, and like many other institutions, the stadium's name has changed -- from Bangabandhu National Stadium to simply the National Stadium. Bangladesh's football team has seen its own reshuffling. Several players of the Bangladeshi disapora have joined the ranks. With cricket's recent struggles, some believe a new wave is rising in football.

For the first time in years, there was real excitement around the national football team. As we approached the stadium, it became clear we were late. Huge queues had formed at every gate. The Bangladesh Football Federation (BFF), clearly unprepared for such a crowd, struggled to manage. Their staff fumbled with scanning e-tickets, which only made things worse. With the match already underway, a surging crowd eventually broke through one of the gates in frustration.

Fearing a stampede, we waited anxiously before eventually entering without a scan. By then, the entire system had collapsed. Inside, fans were using their phone torches to navigate a pitch-black staircase. At an international match, how could there be no lighting at the entrance?

Inside the stands, however, there was brightness. As we took our seats, Hamza Choudhury scored, sending Bangladesh into the lead. The stadium erupted with chants of "Hamza! Hamza!" Right now, across all sports in Bangladesh, he may well be the most popular name. Against a weaker Bhutan side, fans expected a 3-4 goal win; especially with Hamza in the mix.

Each attack brought waves of excitement; each missed chance left groans of frustration. But the rhythm of the game felt alive. Though the goal tally didn't reflect the dominance, the crowd's mood was hopeful. There's a growing belief that maybe, just maybe, something new is beginning in Bangladeshi football.

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Some fans seemed genuinely optimistic. And that's something Bangladeshis do well: hope quickly, fall hard. For now, there is hope -- strong and sincere.

Since the 1990s, football and cricket have been locked in a quiet rivalry. Once, football reigned supreme, with cricket on the fringes. But as football lost its way, cricket surged to the top. Now, with cricket faltering, is the old love, football, returning to the hearts of Bangladeshis?

That's a question only time will answer. But there are other pressing questions we can't ignore.

For example, how long will this wave of excitement last? National team football isn't year-round. There are only four or five home matches a year. The real foundation of any footballing nation is its club scene. Once upon a time, Bangladeshi club football had a devoted following and strong structure. The stands were split between Abahani and Mohammedan fans. But can that era return?

Today, club football suffers from a lack of professionalism, regular scandals, and even allegations of match-fixing. Stadiums are often nearly empty. Just recently, the Federation Cup final in Mymensingh was marred by poor organisation and embarrassing scenes.

Anyone who has experienced an East Bengal–Mohun Bagan derby in Kolkata knows how strong and vibrant the domestic football culture still is in neighbouring India. Whether this sudden surge of national team support will last depends entirely on building a solid football culture here.

Bringing in a few talented expatriate footballers won't be enough to cover the rot in the system. A fleeting success may come, yes. But can we truly say the golden days are back? Just not yet.