(This appears in the March 3, 2008 edition of the Business Mirror.)
by rick olivares
When I was growing up, March used to be my most eagerly anticipated month outside of December. It meant an end to classes, a seemingly endless summer of cartoons, waking up late, sports, vacationing in my grandfolks’ home in Tarlac, and travel. As I got a little older, the month reminded me of one of the greatest songs ever written in Antonio Carlos Jobim’s “Waters of March” and later when I was living abroad, it signified that the long brutal east coast winters were about to give way to spring and its rites of renewal.
March also brought on the Madness of the US NCAA basketball tournament. And it meant that the new Major League Baseball season was a few weeks away from Opening Day.
But sometime last year, the loss of a friend added a somber note to my March calendar.
On the first day of March 1 in 2007, my boss at Solar Sports Jude Turcuato texted me and asked to find out if it was true that former Philippine Basketball Association Commissioner Jun Bernardino had passed away. Jude knew that I had become close to Bernardino in the last couple of years beginning with Solar Sports’ coverage of a Shakey’s V-League Invitational prior to the 2005 Manila Southeast Asian Games. I spent a lot of time listening to the Commissioner’s insider stories in the pro league including his days as the original man on the ball. Of course, I couldn’t ring up Kume so I texted Ricky Palou who was one of his closest friends and a part of Bernardino’s Sports Vision group. The two also previously worked together in the PBA.
Palou thought it was such a strange text that he immediately called me and informed that he was just with Kume and that it wasn’t true. I apologized and said it was indeed strange. That same evening, Commissioner Jun called me and seemed puzzled by the text. I remember very well that conversation.
Kume: Rick, what is this text all about that I had passed away? As you can hear for yourself, the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.
Rick: (sounding sheepish) Kume. Sorry po. Pero na-text lang sa akin yun. I’m sorry.
Kume: Well, that is strange and irresponsible.
Rick: I know. I know.
Kume: Doesn’t this remind you of Julius Caesar’s “the Ides of March?”
Rick: Ah, yes. But unlike Caesar who made a lot of political enemies, I don’t think anyone’s going to get back at you for banning (former Tanduay Rhummakers Fil-Sham) Sonny Alvarado.
Kume: (laughs) O, sige. But let me know where this crazy text started.
A few weeks later around 4:30 in the afternoon of March 23, Kume called me up in my mobile phone while at work at the Solar offices.
Kume: Padre, busy ka ba?
Rick: Ah, Commish. Okay lang. Same old. Same old.
Kume: Yung isang kaibigan natin si Tony Liao – you remember Tony, of course?
Rick: Yes, sir. We worked with him for the V-League Invitational.
Kume: That’s him. Tony would like to get copies of the FIVB games that you show on Solar. Is this possible?
Rick: No problemo. Pero I’m not sure how soon we can get this done. I’ll make the request asap, sir.
Kume: Salamat. O, let’s have lunch next week. Matagal na tayo hindi nagkwentuhan.
Rick: That would be great, sir. Maybe we can get a jump on your memoirs. Is Wednesday lunch good, sir? We could meet at National Sports Grill in Greenbelt. My treat.
Kume: That’s fine. O, pare. I have to go, but don’t forget yung request ni Mr. Liao.
Rick: I won’t po. See you next week.
Several hours later at 1:45 in the morning of the 24th of March, Ricky Palou texted me. “Pare, Jun Bernardino passed away because of cardiac arrest.” I was still up and working late and the text message left me momentarily paralyzed with disbelief. I immediately replied: “You’re shitting me. Sir, that’s a bad joke na.”
The Ateneo Athletics official sent a terse reply: “It’s true.”
I thought back to the “prank” of a few weeks ago and waited for Kume to call and tell me it was some sick joke. I rang his cell phone several times and I told myself that it’s late and he must have gone to bed. When I got up by mid-morning, there were a number of text messages in my phone that either inquired about Kume or confirmed his passing. And I sat in stony silence until my eyes drifted up to my bookshelf.
On one level are my prized coffee table books all wrapped in protective plastic. Among the books in the basketball section is the PBA 25th Anniversary book autographed by the Commissioner. We spent a lot of time discussing the stories within and planned on putting out his memoirs in the near future. And his insider stories were just as fascinating if not more than the matches that were played out on the court.
I still enjoy watching the PBA but in my opinion, it’s no longer what it once was. Gone are the larger than life characters that made the games arguably the greatest show in the country until the renaissance of college hoops in the new millennium. The book is one of my few links to that bygone era of Crispa versus Toyota, of imports whose hardcourt feats we will not see the likes of again, and of games and players who have become intrinsically woven into our lives and popular culture.
One time I went into a rant on why the pro game sucks, he listened patiently until I had run out of vitriol. He then said that it might be true. But at some point everything dips and that it was merely a rite of renewal until the cream rises once more to the top. Now ensuring that it goes back up is the duty of people in charge (as well as the players and coaches and to an extent the public and the media) to communally build it back up rather than knock it down as we’re wont to do. It’s cliché-ish and easy to say, he reminded, but it’s all about moving forward in the face of constant change.
I nodded in agreement and realization as he joked about “young grasshoppers still having much to learn.”
It’s almost a year ago to the day when I sat in stony silence at a loss greatly felt by a number of people. I considered it then as a blot on the one month outside December that I held dear for the experiences and good memories it brought.
Today I opened that PBA book for the first time in years since I consigned it away to plastic and my bookshelf. And it says, “To my dear new friend… Never lose that passion of yours as you move forward in life. You friend… Commissioner Jun Bernardino.”
It’s March, and I’ve just begun a new job, summer is around the corner, and it’s the end to the academic and school athletic year. And if you listen closely… there are winds of change blowing in our country today.
Thanks, Commissioner Jun! I never really got a chance to say goodbye last year and am saying it now. You got the best seat in the house to the games now.
The 1966 Ateneo Blue Eagles
First Row (L-R): Joaquin Centenera, Joel Bunag (Co-Capt.),
Emilio Bernardino, Arben Santos, Jimmy Alabanza (Captain), Federico Agcaoili, Lauro Francisco, Victor Sumulong, Jose Maria Silva.
Second Row (L-R): Honesto Mayoralgo (Coach), David Ong (Asst. Manager), Laurence Jalbuena (Manager), Celso Lobregat, Marvene Ozaeta, Jose Maria Montelibano, Apolinario Po, David Regullano, Renato Sales, Arturo Ozoa, Harry Alabanza, Manuel Tiangha (Asst. Manager), Florentino Santos (statistician), Father Edgar Martin, S.J. (Moderator)
Sorry. I'll try to get a picture of his UP team from his family.
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