This work is originally published by Cahya Mata Sarawak. DayakDaily has been given permission to share this story on our platforms.
By Martin Yee, Kenny Ee, and Marlynda Meraw
THE years 1988 – 1989 were tumultuous—two years where Sarawak was on its head as far as football and the people of Sarawak in general were concerned. Football became more than just a game; it became a battle cry, a symbol of pride, and the embodiment of people’s undying spirit.
At the centre of this whirlwind stood a man, virtually unknown to most, yet destined to leave a permanent mark on Sarawak’s footballing history. His name is Awang Mahyan Awang Mohamad, a maverick with a spark of defiance and a gift of rousing the hearts of thousands.
At the time, Sarawak’s football team was at its lowest point, labelled the ‘whipping boys of Malaysia’, a team that barely made a ripple in the national football scene. But when Awang Mahyan stepped in, armed only with a C Licence in football coaching, and an audacity that most wouldn’t dare to possess, things began to shift. Taking over the Sarawak football team in 1988 from the departing Kelantan coach Mohd Che Su, Awang Mahyan was a breath of fresh air—or perhaps a storm waiting to happen.
Sarawak fans didn’t know it yet, but something was brewing, something that would soon sweep Sarawak off its feet. He wasn’t just a coach; he was a firestarter, igniting a movement with a battle cry that would echo across the stadiums and into the hearts of Sarawakians: Ngap Sayot.
It wasn’t just a strategy. Ngap Sayot was a rallying cry, a symbol of resistance and pride that galvanised both the players and the crowds. Under Awang Mahyan’s leadership, this once-forgotten team, known for its lacklustre performances, transformed into an unstoppable force, rising from the bottom of the league to a stunning top-four finish, a feat previously unimaginable in the annals of Sarawak football.
But Awang Mahyan was more than just tactics. He was a showman, thumbing his nose at referees, inciting the crowd into frenzies, and stirring the passions of Sarawakian football fans like no one before him. He possessed charisma, the kind that could turn an ordinary match into a battlefield of sorts. The Sarawak Stadium in Kuching became a fortress, where visiting teams trembled, not just at the skill of the players, but at the force of the crowd—imbued with the untameable energy of Ngap Sayot.
As a former player himself, Awang Mahyan knew what it meant to fight on the field. He was a fast winger during the Borneo Cup days, and his brother, Subohidden Mohd had also donned Sarawak’s colours as a defender. Football ran in his blood, but it was his knack for inspiring others that truly set him apart.
Awang Mahyan knew how to motivate the players and stir the masses with the same fervour. His friend, Haji Khaider Zaidell, previously the secretary of the Sarawak Football Association (Sarawak FA), saw this quality in Awang Mahyan and appointed him coach. It was a quiet decision at the time, but soon it would become a defining moment for Sarawak football.
The 1988 Malaysia Cup semifinal against Kedah was the first true test of Ngap Sayot’s power. The stadium, built to hold 15,000 was bursting at the seams, with an overwhelming crowd of 40,000 spilling onto the track and into the pitch. The atmosphere was electric, the air thick with anticipation.
Chaos reigned as the referee struggled to control the match, with fans flooding the field in a display of uncontrollable passion. It was football at its most raw, and Ngap Sayot at its peak. Though Sarawak did not advance past Kedah in the replayed match at Singapore’s Kallang Stadium, the memory of that night still lingers in the hearts of those who witnessed it.
Ngap Sayot fever continued into the quarterfinals of the Malaysia Cup at Merdeka Stadium, with Sarawak pitted against Kuala Lumpur. The game was a volatile spectacle, with police intervention, a clash between players and referees, and a Sarawak FA so outraged that they briefly pulled out from the national football body, Football Association Malaysia (FAM) in protest. The drama on and off the pitch only fuelled the legend of Ngap Sayot and the man behind it.
But every storm will eventually subside, and so too did the era of Ngap Sayot. With mounting pressures and personal challenges weighing on him, Awang Mahyan stepped down, and Sarawak football struggled to regain its former glory.
The final bow in his tale came with a dramatic jump off the Satok suspension bridge with a group of over 100, a stunt that symbolised the peak of Ngap Sayot’s emotional hold on the people when Sarawak qualified for the Malaysia Cup semifinal after having defeated Johore. Televised and even attended by a local minister, this act cemented Awang Mahyan’s place in Sarawak’s folklore.
Decades later, people still remember. They recall the euphoric mayhem, the way football became an extension of Sarawak’s identity during those two wild years. Today’s football, with its emphasis on technique and player acquisitions, feels distant from the raw passion of Ngap Sayot. But there was magic in those moments, a kind of magic that only Awang Mahyan could create with his tongue-in-cheek charm and mind games.
Without him, there would be no Ngap Sayot. Without him, there would be no proud episode in the history of Sarawak football—a tale of mischief, passion, and the unforgettable spirit of Sarawakians. –DayakDaily
