Like most Filipinos, I too, once upon a time, had a hoops dream.
No, I was not a highly recruited cager ala-Ray Parks or Kiefer Ravena or Ogie Menor. No. I was just some white kid with a passion for hoops. Basketball to me has always been the girl in your blocked freshman class whom you couldn't wait to see every day. Her smile, her charm, her wit, her depth of character, would totally enthral you, and encourage you to open your eyes and face life with a smile- and a slight hint of a natural blush. Basketball to me was, and has always been, the epitome of what it might mean to feel absolute glory, and to learn life's most precious lessons about losing gracefully. Basketball, to me, was something which I wanted to do alongside being a good son, a standout student academically, and someone who might be able to inspire others to reach for the heavens.
Fast forward to today. I am not thirty years old, working for a multinational company, and still with a strong love for the game. This post won't necessarily be about stats, strategy, or how which team, or which school, thwarted its foes on the hardwood. This is set to be an ode, to that girl that just warmed my heart all throughout 4 years of college, that girl that made me feel glad to be alive, that muse that I have and always will love- basketball.
From my early days as a student, until a portion of my foray into postgraduate studies, I have known only one school- Ateneo De Manila University. I liken Ateneo to a pantheon for excellence- whether it be in the field of academics, socio-civic involvement, and yes, sports. I was part of a crop of students that featured many achievers. Some were standout stage performers. Others, media personalities. Others still, great athletes. I wasn't particularly excellent at one thing. I was the proverbial handyman. Good at lots, master of none in knots.
I was overweight during my high school days, and lacking in confidence. The allure of sports, and the support of those close to me, urged me, in August of 2000, to work to change my life. Over the next year, I would lose nearly 60 pounds of bad weight, and work my way into athletic shape. By the time I was in college, I tried to dabble in leagues and balance my studies. I sought to at least join one tryout, just one, before I was done. I managed to do just that in my Junior year. I didn't mind at all that the tryout was for my University's main B-team. All I knew was that, all my workouts, my hours spent after class, before class, during the summer, during the rainy season, and every time in between, had led up to this moment in the sun.
Tryouts were held in the mecca of my University's sporting history- a place called Blue Eagle Gym. In the audience during my tryout days were some folks who had told me years back that I couldn't play, that I was too slow, or too timid, or too unskilled, to even make a go at it.
For one to chastize you for missteps in skill post-refinement, are easy to swallow. We have a drug called resilience for that. For some to say that you shouldn't even try, well, is just a plain slap in the face.
I couldn't take that. Not after all I had been through.
One jumper. Two. Three. A few sprints in.
I was actually doing well.
Perhaps I would get to wear my father's name on a jersey after all- and proudly so.
But it was not to be.
Blame it on an injury. Blame it on dumb luck. Blame it on me, perhaps, just not trying hard enough. At least that's how I sort of feel about it, looking back. Maybe I could have extended my threshold by 10-20% more, and maybe, just maybe, I could have made it. Maybe, it all would have worked out, even if my thesis semester was forthcoming. Maybe I was afraid that I would not be able to balance everything out.
And so, I was crushed that I didn't make the cut. Despite the setback though, I have taken solace in the fact that I've still managed to garner success in my career as a professional. I am often swamped with work that comes at me in waves from being in the corporate world. I still work to keep abreast with my long lost love, however. I do not play ball as much now, but I still find myself watching the game, breaking it down, and every so often, remembering how it was to fly. No, you won't hear of how I and many others had failed to make certain cuts, or had felt crushed by being told that we "couldn't play", or how elated we'd feel at the mere prospect of getting playing time among the big boys. I guess you might be able to say that I was a fool for not having thrown myself onto the hardwood- injury be damned- in the name of my dream. Perhaps, though, destiny had other plans for me and countless others.
Today, I sit on the bleachers of this life's stage, proud, an adult having accomplished much already. I do still dream, though, yet I find myself as one who is no longer a dreamer. I only dream in my dreams, and in my dreams, I feel that same rush to play the game I love over and over- just like when I was a few pounds lighter and a few muscle cuts more attactive. I have probably lost a step- not that I was Derrick Rose to begin with anyway. I always did have a steady jumper. Maybe that won't fade away completely. Age doesn't kill that one quickly. Just ask Allan Caidic, a PBA Marksman who once scored 79- yes, 79- points in one game.
In my dreams, I am still the kid whom the bullies said "couldn't go". In my dreams, I am also the kid who- while I didn't turn pro, or didn't even make it to the Varsity A team- have exceeded many an expectation. Call me Matt Bonner, or heck, I would be really flattered if you called me Jeremy Lin- this generation's ultimate hoops underdog. I am me. I love the girl like I love the game and the game like I love the girl of my dreams.
It's all one long, grandiose, poem- one that ends with a good memories and knowing that I gave it a good fight.
To make a long story short, I find myself now sitting in an arena full of rabid fans, and players, all with a shared, burning, passion for a game we can't we'll support to the death whether we can play it or otherwise.
Somewhere out there, a kid is picking up a ball, taking passes from his dad, and beginning to take shape as the next MJ, Kobe, Lebron, Dirk, Kiefer, RR, Caidic, etc etc etc. Somewhere, I am that kid. Somewhere, somehow, that kid is me. Somewhere, somehow, my dream, our dreams, live on, and will never, ever, be extinguished.
MC
