(This appears in my column in the Monday, August 18, 2008 edition of the Business Mirror.)
Hoop Dreams
by rick olivares
The father was joyous because his first born was a boy. He had an heir; someone to carry on his name. Maybe even do the old man one better, he smiled.
Basketball was a passion for the father. In fact it still is. He played it at St. Anthony’s school in Malate, on the side streets, during the summer leagues, and as an adult, in inter-company games. While the son enjoyed video games like every other kid his age, going to watch his father play was like bringing a child to the toy store.
The kid grew into the game; loved it as only a child can. Father and son would sit side-by-side watching Ginebra San Miguel play whether on television or at the Araneta Coliseum. Wouldn’t it be a hoot, if the son had a chance to play there one day, the father wondered. They exulted with their favorite team’s highs and sulked with the lows. The game was a communion for both. When school was out, he’d play it all day long under the baking hot sun that he didn’t need to go to the beach to get a tan. His mother even had to fetch him for supper just to get him home. He’d eat, bathe, and slip out for one last pick up game even in the fading light or lamppost light that further infuriated his mother. But the father understood the hold the game has over the young especially when it becomes more than a pursuit but an opportunity to rise above one’s present standing. Maybe even do the old man one better, he smiled.
The son never truly understood the game’s fundamentals or the roles of the five players on the court as a youngster. All he knew was he loved bringing up the ball juking and zig-zagging as he set up his teammates. He emulated Bal David and Damon Stoudemire; jitterbugs and firebrands both.
He then tore through the asphalt and dirt courts and wore out his sneakers. He did get the best kicks from an aunt living in the United States who heard about his prodigious talents so she sent him his favorite Nikes.
His father saw potential so the son was enrolled in one of those summer basketball clinic to hone his skills. And as he got better the accolades grew as he copped various most valuable player or mythical selection trophies. But on the playground, the ultimate sign of respect is when they ask for your jersey after a game. I have none left he says of those simpler days.
After awhile, he was no longer a passionate observer of his father’s games, he would suit up and play against bigger and older men. Napasubo sa matinding labanan, is the way the son described the experience. So naturally, he picked up some tricks of the trade.
He was recruited out of his Paco Catholic School to matriculate at a bigger school. It was a new experience for him. His world was the neighborhood and the summer leagues and the game, no doubt was taking him places.
The son never admits to being bright or even a genius. Maybe on the court he was but not in the classroom. But he did like to attend kahit wala akong alam, he says. Gusto ko lang matuto. He planned to go back to his old elementary school to be a PE teacher and help young kids get into the game.
After a red shirt year, he got to finally play for his high school JV team. Notwithstanding the revolving door of coaches for his team, he played his heart out. One time, na-tsibug ako sa laro, is the way he recounts an encounter with San Beda’s LA Tenorio. He’s been on the losing end of match-ups or competition before but nothing like getting his ass handed back royally to him. The father who eked out a living as a driver and who always made it a point to watch his son’s games, straightened him out. Not a lecture but a word for the wise. Come back the following game and make a statement. So in his next match versus Letran, he took it out on the team’s star point guard who is now plying his trade in the pro leagues.
The son enjoyed the game all the more because he was playing with equally talented teammates who made the game easier and more fun to play. Even as teens, they would sky for death-defying slams. They were like an NBA team running and gunning. Like Portland, said the son who noted that Stoudemire, the one-time NBA Rook of the Year was the man who then ran the show for the Trailblazers.
The situation in his high school’s athletics program was somewhat chaotic that its players weren’t initially even considered worthy to move up to the senior ranks. So he then began trying out for other collegiate teams and that was a eye-opening experience.
Whenever a fresh face appears for a team tryout, there is a fear by the veteran players of losing a roster slot. And while trying out for the University of Santo Tomas, its veterans did more than bump and grind him, they physically punished him. “Gusto mo maglaro ng point guard,” trash talked the team’s starting PG who was incidentally the coach’s son. It was a rude welcome to the world of even bigger time hoops. Ganito pala sa college, the son thought to himself as he went home with welts and bruises after a difficult tryout. He understood why and consoled himself that there was still so much to learn.
He then tried out for Boysie Zamar’s University of the East Red Warriors and actually cracked the line-up. Meron na nga siyang uniform, beamed the father who was excited for the opportunity. He admitted that he hoped his son would have a chance to play in the pros and maybe even their beloved Ginebra San Miguel. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true? With dreams flashing in front of him, the father excitedly scoured around for what a pro contract looked like. Hindi naman masama mangarap di ba, asked the father as he recalled those days.
Only it didn’t work out as easy as a three-on-one fastbreak. The son left behind one back subject – English. It was at that point when he began to attract more attention by cracking the RP Youth line-up. Even from his own school that previously ignored him. They even used it as a means to prevent him from moving to another school.
So father and son made known to his new school about his problem. But before they could work out his academic deficiency, the son was approached by another coach from another school, one with a significant and profound difference in terms of pedigree and accomplishments. How can you say no, agreed the father and son. We’re after his educational advancement, promised the coach who said they’ll help him with his academic backlog.
They met a couple of times to sort out matters before shaking hands on the transfer. So the son’s family celebrated with a dinner at a Chinese restaurant along Shaw Boulevard not far from his high school. It was about opportunities and hoop dreams. Manna from Heaven.
And so Tim Gatchalian was going to college.
Post Script:
Tim Gatchalian's wife, Allen most recently gave birth to their first child, a son, named Sean Enzo. The father hopes to guide his son to get a very good education and maybe do his old man one better in the game of basketball.
Post Script:
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