Franco D’Cruz sent the push. Captain N Sri Shanmuganathan stepped in for the strike.

But in that tiny choreography — push, stop, hit — each movement had to be perfect. And it was the stop that perhaps made history possible.

And that hand-stop belonged to Wong Choon Hin.

Sri Shanmuganathan’s thunderous effort exploded low into the net. No chance for the Dutch goalkeeper.

Malaysia had beaten the world champions. A semi-final against India awaited.

It was one of Malaysian hockey’s loudest roars, and in the middle of it all was a man remembered more for his composure than his volume.

Choon Hin’s death on Wednesday at 75 does more than end a life well-lived.

It closes a chapter of Malaysian hockey shaped by quiet excellence — by men whose discipline, loyalty and nerve once lifted an entire nation on grass fields, with wooden sticks and fearless hearts.

A two-time Olympian and two-time World Cupper, the Melaka-born centre-half was a first-choice international for seven years, earning about 80 caps. He captained the national team from 1976–77.

Long after the cheers faded, he remained close to the game, the gentle elder statesman at reunions, the warm presence at anniversaries, the living thread that tied the golden past to the uncertain present.

“Choon Hin was the kind of player every captain loved to have,” said Sri Shanmuganathan.

“He marshalled the midfield with a calm you could rely on. In that corner against Holland, he didn’t panic — he made the stop perfect and put himself in the exact place I needed.

“He was quiet off the pitch, fierce for the team on it. We owe him a lot.”

From school track to world stage

The description fits the boy from St Francis Institution, Melaka, who first found his stride on the track.

As a schoolboy he won titles in the 100m, 200m, 400m and 800m. His speed caught eyes. His discipline stayed with him.

He tried everything; cricket, table tennis, badminton, football. It was his sports teacher, K Macap, and then the great Choo Seng Quee who saw the deeper potential.

Football tempted him. But an ankle injury, and a vision of wider horizons, changed his path.

Hockey, he decided, could lead to the Olympics and the World Cup.

He was right. That choice carried him to Munich in 1972 and Montreal in 1976.

It took him to the 1973 World Cup in Amstelveen and, most memorably in Kuala Lumpur in 1975, a tournament that made household names of a band of 16 men who played as one.

Assistant coach R Yogeswaran remembers him as the engine that never stalled.

“He built plays the way he later built projects in his construction career — patiently, methodically, with an eye for structure,” he said.

“On the grass, when every pass mattered, Choon Hin’s reads were perfect. He didn’t chase headlines. He created them for others.”

And yet, the story of Wong Choon Hin does not live only in goals prevented or moves begun.

It lives in friendship.

K Balasingam, his teammate at the 1975 World Cup, speaks not of tactics, but of time.

“Our friendship began in the national squad, but it became a lifetime bond. Choon Hin was the kind of friend who didn’t need many words. You just knew he was there.

“For decades, we checked on each other, met at functions, shared memories. He never changed, always humble, always sincere.

“In hockey, in life, in friendship, he was solid. Dependable. Gentle. The team has lost a player, but I have lost a brother.”

Glory and a love story

The 1975 team played on grass, a year before elite hockey moved to artificial turf at the Montreal Olympics.

The game was slower, tougher, more raw. Every tackle hurt more. Every run asked more. But the crowd was closer. The emotion was purer.

When Malaysia finished fourth at that World Cup, it became a benchmark no other national team has surpassed since.

A place etched into the country’s sporting fabric, carried through generations like folklore.

Choon Hin’s story was also a love story. At the 1975 World Cup, he met Sia Eng, a flag bearer for the Indian team at the opening ceremony.

Teased by his teammates, he gathered his courage. Three years later, they were married. They have two daughters.

He went on to be named Selangor sportsman of the year in 1976, edging out the legendary Mokhtar Dahari.

In 2004, he was inducted into the Olympic Council of Malaysia Hall of Fame as a member of the iconic 1975 team, a nod to a golden era that shaped Malaysia’s sporting identity.

Away from the pitch, Choon Hin became an architect of another kind.

He worked in the construction industry as a supervisor, project manager and construction manager, contributing to developments such as Mid Valley, Bukit Tinggi’s Colmar Village, power stations, housing projects and commercial complexes.

Once again, the pattern was the same: build quietly, build well, walk proud.

In recent years, despite failing health, he remained connected to hockey, attending matches and gatherings when he could, listening more than speaking, offering presence rather than opinion.

He battled prostate cancer with the same determination he once used to calm a midfield under siege.

Now family, friends, teammates and a grateful nation mourn not only a sporting icon, but a good, decent man who never asked for applause.

The lessons of Choon Hin’s life

In an age of highlight reels and self-promotion, he reminds us that some of the most important roles carry no glamour.

The stopper in a penalty corner does not take the headlines, but he makes the headline happen.

The centre-half rarely courts fanfare, but he holds the spine.

Discipline. Timing. Calm. Selflessness. That is his legacy.

As the country says goodbye, the lasting image is not a trophy or a track record. It is that small, perfect moment in 1975: the push, the stop, the hit.

A heartbeat. A nation holding its breath.

That quiet man steadied his hand. And Malaysia found its loudest voice.

In the years to come, when young players ask what it takes to be part of something bigger than themselves, they could do worse than remember Choon Hin.

He stopped and created so others could score. He built so others could rise.

And he proved that sometimes, the strongest presence on the field is the one that speaks the least, but means the most.

The funeral service will be from 10am tomorrow at Nirvana Centre, Level M2 Diamond Suite, Jalan Dewan Bahasa, Bukit Seputeh in Kuala Lumpur.