Kelong Kings: Confessions of the world's most prolific match-fixer Read online

  I played football and I gambled on football and, as my national serviceman days came to an end, a truly different life was about to begin for me. Due to my supposed medical condition, I was given a permanent discharge from any military training in the future, something that all servicemen were supposed to undergo once a year after completing their national service. At first, I tried to find a regular job. I was hired by a ship-building company called Far East Livingston that built ships and oil rigs in the Singapore shipyards. I worked for some time as an understudy for their piping department, trying to juggle the job with my gambling habit. I would give a portion of my salary to my mother and gamble the rest away. Then I lost interest in working for somebody eight-to-five, so I became a full-time punter. Spending the evenings at the stadium became a way of life for me. I was living day by day and did not have the mindset to plan ten years ahead or think about what I wanted to do in the future. And before I knew it, gambling had become more than just a way of life, it had become my line of business. Every evening we would go to the stadium and win or lose money. The matches kicked off at five thirty in the afternoon so, about an hour earlier, we would call HQ, take a taxi to the designated stadium, sit down, have a cup of coffee and start wagering. The second match of the day usually got underway at about seven thirty in the evening and, if it was played in a different venue from the first, we would bum a ride from someone, have a quick dinner and be busy gambling until ten or ten thirty at night. After that, a quick coffee, some food and we'd go play pool, billiards, at our regular meeting spot until about three o'clock in the morning. Then those of us who had jobs in the morning would head home, while the rest would have yet more coffee in Geylang, Singapore's red light district, in the popular night spots where foreigners came to pick up local women for company. Prostitution is legal in Singapore but, even though prostitutes walk the streets freely, soliciting is an offense. Watching these men pick up scantily dressed hookers and transvestites was a fun and popular pass-time for us, as were the occasional police raids that caused havoc and sent people running and screaming in every direction. The unlucky ones who were caught were usually jailed before being deported back to their countries of origin. At times we would play cards with a lady friend and her escorts in her office and, by the time we got home, it would be six o'clock in the morning. We would sleep until three in the afternoon and then we'd get up and start all over again. This was our life; this was the routine in the late 80's and early 90's.

  When we got to the stadium, we either started some meaningless conversation or came up with something to gamble on. Any gambling would do: who can kick the ball the furthest, score from midfield in an unguarded goal or any other stupid football-related bets among ourselves; anything that served to kill time. We would place the ball in the center of the field.

  "OK, it's a bet".

  "It goes in", one guy would say.

  "No, it's not going in", another guy would counter.

  There were also other bets, like running the 400 meters against one-another. The older of the two competitors would usually get a 100-meter head-start. The bet would start between the two runners and would then spread to the rest of us. One day, the bookies at Jalan Besar were daring any of us to run ten laps of the athletics track surrounding the green in under 20 minutes. They didn't know that I was a runner so I immediately grabbed the gamble. I knew that I could easily make it in 15 minutes but pretended that I was not that confident. Confidence would have killed my chances of making money and my body language was such that I induced several punters to bet against me. The whistle blew, I ran my fastest and went home with five thousand Singapore dollars in my pocket: the easiest money that I have ever won without having to fix a match.

  In those days I was fixing the Business Houses Football league and some other simple, small amateur leagues. I also arranged my own fake matches every time that I was broke; I must have done it a good 10-15 times. Winning money was always a thrill because success was not guaranteed: I didn't always have both teams on my payroll. The final score depended on the level of commitment of my players and on the strength of the team that was not part of the fix. As usual, I booked the stadium and would bring my friends to play the game. I would normally plan everything three or four hours before the match.

  "OK, this is what's going to happen", I'd tell the players, informing them about the score that I needed and about their share of the cash.

  There could be changes in my plans during the match. In amateur games there was no security in the stadiums so I could easily pass messages on to the players who were on the pitch or during half-time in the changing rooms. Friendly matches were a different story altogether because I would be watching the game from the bookies corner so, when there were changes in my plans, I would page my players at half-time from a payphone in a nearby cafeteria and they would call me back. Then I would instruct them on the number of goals that I needed. Done. The money was usually handed out after the match at the same cafeteria.

  While I was fixing local amateur matches, I was betting on professional games: the English Premier League, the UEFA Champions League and so forth. Gambling is: you win, you lose, you win, you lose. The money I made from the fixes, I usually lost on Premier League matches.

  Gamblers don't have the mindset to save, we just gamble everything away. It's like an addiction and, when you run out of money, you come up with all sorts of bullshit stories on potential business deals with friends or loan sharks just to borrow enough cash for your next bet; nobody will lend you money if they know that you're a punter. I fixed so many matches in those years that if I were not a gambler, I would be a multimillionaire today. But I'm not; I'm broke. I've never had a family of my own so it was just like: gamble right hand, you win, then the money moves on to your left hand. And then it just moves on.

  CHAPTER II

  A guppy in the sea

  Gambling on football was illegal in Singapore during the 80's and the 90's; only the Toto and another lottery known as the 4D were allowed. Singapore Pools, the country's sole legal lottery operator run by the State, began offering odds on football only in 1999 to focus interest on the local football league. There were no casinos; we had to travel to the Genting Highlands Casino in Malaysia, 400 km away from Singapore, in order to sit at a blackjack table. For those of us who gambled on football in those days, it was all about the Malaysia Cup: a tournament between 14 Malaysian states and two guest nations; and it was all illegal gambling, of course.

  From 1921 to 1994, Singapore assembled a special national team called the Singapore Lions to participate in the Malaysia Cup as a guest. Singapore would field their best available lineup, including three foreign players - a leeway granted by the Football Association of Malaysia to its guests - but still struggled because the standard of the Malaysian teams was pretty high. Brunei was another guest of the Malaysia Cup and was also allowed to field three foreign players. This is history; we have a long history with Malaysia and the Malaysia Cup was a huge sporting event with an average crowd attendance of at least 55 thousand people per match.

  When I started watching the Malaysia Cup games, I became even more hooked on gambling and my bets became bigger and bigger. By then I was already deep in the betting circle and the Chinese bookies that I had met at the Jalan Besar stadium had introduced me to people with whom I could punt very heavy wagers. These were bookies that threw pro-bets and they were structured in a rigid hierarchy: I throw my bet to one agent, that agent throws to another and so forth. In those days I didn't know who was in the upper echelon; I just threw my bet. All I wanted was to collect my win. We didn't use computers back then; bets were usually placed over the telephone.

  "OK", you would say, "I want to place five thousand on this game".

  Then the bookie would inform you about the odds offered. If you wanted to take the favorite team, you would have to counter the bookie until you reached a satisfactory deal with him. You didn't need to show up with the money in hand; everything was
based on credit.

  "Five thousand is no problem", the bookie would say, "I can entertain you with that much money for your credibility".

  Credibility was the only currency; it's the way the Asian betting system works. Credibility has no value in Europe, where even the Pope would be asked to present himself with his money upfront, instead, Asian betting is based on trust. If I give you one thousand dollars worth of credit it means that I trust you for one thousand dollars. If your credibility is worth one thousand and you want to bet 50 thousand dollars, then you would have to show the agent the cash. The same is true of the payments: wins and losses have to be settled on the following day; any delay without a plausible explanation undermines your credibility and your credit.

  Match-fixing was rife in the Malaysia Cup ever since I was a young punter. I knew when a match was being fixed based on the hearsay, the market-talk, but if your name were Tom, Dick or Harry, sitting in your home watching the match on TV, then you wouldn't know. When you're into the betting circle, you can smell when there's something fishy going on and sometimes a good Samaritan will walk up to you and give you a tip. I remember the 1994 Asian Games final between China and Uzbekistan. On the eve of the match, when I called my bookmaker to place my bet, China was the favorite.

  "What are the odds for this game?" I inquired.

  "China, I give you half-ball", he replied.

  "I want to take China and counter".

  "Wilson", he said, "don't place your bet yet; wait for my instructions. If there is something good coming up, I will let you know. Just wait for my call, I'll get back to you in an hour or so".

  "OK, fine". I waited.

  The bookie called me back an hour later.

  "Don't take China", he whispered, "my advice is don't take China, but it's your money and you can go against me if you want".

  "All right", I said, "I'll do as you say. Give me Uzbekistan: 50 thousand dollars".

  On the next morning I called another bookie; I wanted to wager some more money before the match kicked off.

  "What are the odds?" I asked.

  "Uzbekistan, give you one-ball", he said.

  China had ceased to be the favorite overnight; the tables had been turned and it was a clear indication that the match was fixed.

  "I'll take Uzbekistan", I rubbed my hands, "30 thousand dollars".

  As expected, the Uzbeks went on to win the final 4-2.

  Back then I was a small, very tiny fish; like a guppy in the sea. And there were the big fish: Indonesian bosses, Chinese bookies, local Malaysian fixers, Singaporeans and so on. There was a Chinese-Indonesian boss called Uncle who controlled all the local boys in Singapore, including some of the players from the national team. Uncle was an old-school figure; I don't even know if he's still alive. He had really influential footballers on his payroll and was very powerful in the entire Asian region. In those days, fixers would often call themselves 'Uncle', but the Uncle I'm talking about would ring a bell in the memory of any corrupt player of the time. I never found out his real name, although I did hear someone call him Frankie on one occasion. Uncle never intimidated players to obtain the desired scoreline, instead, he took good care of them and won their loyalty and trust by being generous with money. He would personally wait for the players in their hotel lobby, take the lift together with them and stuff rolls of money in their pockets.

  "Just keep this for your coffee", he would say with a gentle smile.

  In those years, Singapore was horrible when it came to the welfare of sportsmen: the moment they were injured, they were given a golden handshake and a courteous goodbye. Uncle's methods were therefore very effective among local footballers. Other fixers brandished guns when things went wrong but Uncle never did; he never needed to.

  Women were another way to persuade players to throw a match. In 1995, Qatar held the FIFA World Youth Championship and an Asian syndicate slipped a group of Thai girls into the hotel's swimming pool to get close to the players. I recall that someone got arrested following a complaint but Qatar did not pursue the matter any further. Players, girls and match-fixers alike were just deported home because no one knew what charges to bring against them.

  Uncle and the other big fish had a firm grip on the Malaysia Cup. I remember a match between the Singapore Lions and Johor FC that Uncle fixed. The handicap was one goal for Johor, meaning that Singapore either had to draw or lose by one goal for Uncle to claim his win. In the second half, Singapore was awarded a penalty, but Uncle had bribed one of the players.

  "You guys cannot score", he had instructed. "The score has to remain 0-0 or else you're not going to get paid".

  Uncle's player snatched the ball from his teammate who was about to kick the penalty, blasted it into the stands, turned around and walked away like nobody's business with 60 thousand people looking on. The spectators must have thought that he genuinely missed but we had inside information, we knew that the player was corrupt. I was sitting in the stands watching the match and thought to myself: "This mother-fucker has balls made of steel".

  Guys like Uncle were the bigger crooks; what I do now, they were already doing back then. I grew up watching these big fish fix matches under everybody's noses. I learned from them; they were my masters. Even if I didn't know their real names, I thought that if they could do it, then so could I.

  One day a Chinese bookie at the stadium told me about another very powerful figure among match-fixers.

  "There is an Indian guy in Sembawang", he whispered. "If you get to know him, you are a rich man".

  The bookie was speaking of Pal.

  I first met Pal in 1993. He was living in Sembawang, Singapore, near Yishun Park and not far from Woodlands, where my family had moved after leaving Chua Chu Kang. Pal and I first met due to a gambling incident.

  A friend had taken me to an office that dealt in property investments to meet a man called Raja. Behind the financial facade, Raja was really a loan shark, someone who could provide immediate cash when you were in dire need. There were a lot of them in Singapore: with just your Singapore ID, a contact number and a guarantor, you could get one thousand dollars on the nail. You only collected eight hundred dollars though, because two hundred were deducted immediately for your first payment, leaving you with four more weekly installments to settle. Assuming you paid on the first week but failed to pay on the second, you would be back at square one. If you paid three installments and you defaulted on the fourth, then you'd be back to the third. If you didn't manage to repay your loan, your house would be splashed with black or red paint. Some loan sharks would even burn down your front-door or splash paint on your neighbor's house as well, hoping that they would help you pay. Raja told us that in order to borrow money from him we needed a guarantor. My friend and I guaranteed for one-another and asked Raja if we could borrow some money to gamble, so he offered his services again.

  "If you want to place bets on Malaysia Cup matches", he proposed, "you can place them with me".

  I didn't know that Raja was throwing his bets through Pal; if I had known, I wouldn't have placed my wager with him. My friend and I placed a 45 thousand dollar bet with Raja on a football match between the Malaysian Police team and the Singapore Lions. After their 1991-1992 relegation, the Lions were playing in the Malaysian division two. When you were in division two, you played against the Armed Forces of Malaysia, the Malaysian Police and some other stupid teams here and there; all of them being B-class sides. Unfortunately, the match did not go as expected and we lost our bet. We didn't have enough money to pay Raja back so, when Pal paid him a visit looking to cash in on his business, Raja informed him of our unresolved debt.

  "Look, this is not my bet", he told Pal. "It's Wilson Raj Perumal's bet".

  Pal sent his bouncers out looking for me. After less than a week, as I walked out of the local stadium after a match, I saw three men standing next to a car who were eyeing me.

  "Hey you", one of them pointed his finger in my direction, "we want to speak to you
".

  "What do you want to speak to me about?" I inquired.

  "You and your friend", the man said, "you have some outstanding debts".

  "I didn't bet with you", I argued. "I bet with somebody else".

  "Our boss wants to see you right now", they cut me short.

  I was not a gang member; I was a peace-loving guy: gamble on football, hang out with my friends then go back home, that's it.

  "All right", I said. "Let's go".

  I climbed in their car which headed out towards Yishun park, where their boss was waiting for me.

  The second Pal saw me, he landed a punch in my stomach.

  "Fuck", he hissed. "Why aren't you paying up your lost bet?"

  "I didn't know that I placed my bet with you", I moaned, "if I had known, I wouldn't have placed it".

  Pal was about six or seven years older than I was. He was small, wore a mustache and was quite aggressive. In other circumstances, if I had been given a one-on-one chance against Pal, I would have beat him so badly as to make him forget his own name, but he was a gangster and I a nobody; he had a lot of people around him and a lot of money in his pockets. He had loads of money and all the Chinese guys around him sucking his dick.

  "Boss, boss, boss".

  I didn't want to aggravate my situation; I had to use my words carefully.

  "How do we solve this issue?" growled Pal. "How are you going to settle your debt?"

  "Give me a month", I said, "I'll settle the debt".

  Pal agreed to give me a month's break and one of his bouncers escorted me to the door. As promised, I settled the debt with Pal's friend Raja within a month's time and the incident was considered closed. I didn't have a big ego and I was young; Pal was older than me and was a renowned match-fixer, he wasn't somebody with whom you would go on a head-on collision with. Pal had come out of prison, where he had spent three years for taking part in a clash between two gangs, sometime in late 1989. He belonged to the Ang Soon Tong gang, one of Singapore's trade groups, or triads.