This appears in my Monday June 21, 2010 column in Business Mirror's sports section.
Ruminations from Mudville
by rick olivares
I am from Mudville, which is nowhere, and everywhere at the same time. Confusing? Bear with me because losing does strange things to one’s mind.
My name isn’t mud but it could very well be at this point in time. Who says that Ernest Thayer’s city from “Casey at the Bat” doesn’t exist? It’s like Chinatown; every city has one.
Cleveland can make a le case for that (LeBron and the Cavaliers). The same for New Jersey. Ditto for Liverpool that has seen Manchester United overtake them as England’s premier football club in the last two decades.
I am sore. Not from back pains or aches that come with age. Thank God, I have none of that yet but I dread that day. But for now I feel sore sore sore.
I am sore because the Boston Celtics lost. Sore that Spain was upset by Switzerland. Sore that Germany conceded a goal to the Serbs not soon after the referee sent off striker Miroslav Klose. Am sore that Lukas Podolski, one of my favorite footballers, missed all seven of his shots on goal including a penalty that would have given Germany a draw and that valuable one point that comes as a consolation. I am sore that the New York Yankees lost three straight at home to the Philadelphia Phillies and the New York Mets and because the Boston Red Sox are gaining on them at the top of the American League East.
It is preposterous of course to think that one can win all the time. Everyone has their turn in the dumps. There are always lessons to take away or loses making one stronger and better character building. And yes, the tomorrow is another day. If my shrink looked anyone bit like Tony Soprano’s then I’d feel better.
I have to deal with kids who are growing up and officemates who aren’t team players but I pop antacids only for sports.
I thought that I took losing well then I spent a sleepless night where I tossed and turned in sweat-drenched sheets after La Furia Roja lost what was their game to win against the cowbell totting Swiss.
And the other night, I felt like I just had my laptop stolen after Koman Coubily robbed the USA of a third goal that would have given them victory against Slovenia that would certainly be one of the best comebacks ever (if not the best) in World Cup play. Because of the world-class heist, the Americans have to beat Algeria if they want to advance and that is no mean feat.
As a youngster, I remember coming out of a theater and hearing news that Toyota lost to U-Tex in the title game. My parents who were fans of Crispa rejoiced while I took a punch to the gut. I remember lying down in bed that night wide awake and contemplating the unpleasant feeling of a loss. Years later I would recall that night when I was wondering about that strange sensation I felt when I no longer categorized the opposite sex as an alien race bent on my destruction. Sure that’s a comparison between an apple and an orange but the feeling is close like Roger Clemens inside pitch brushing back a batter.
I wasn’t the type of student who could juggle academics and athletics at the same time so something had to give. My parents thought nothing good could come out of my playing football and washing my gear wasn’t important to them even if my team was competing for a championship. I didn’t suit up on game day and well, my team lost and I was blamed for all sorts of things – a lack of heart, being a prima donna, being someone you couldn’t count on. Heck, I probably shot JFK too. These are more things a young kid could ever hope to deal with. No one wanted to talk to me. Even my teacher was upset at me. But my reason was flimsy and though it was the truth, I couldn’t do anything about it. Save for a few classmates who had no care in the world for sports, I was ostracized. I wanted to disappear. That feeling stayed with me for a year until the following season when I could redeem myself.
I made a conscious decision to not tell my parents that I was playing. But again, it left me too tired to study at night and eventually I was found out and was petitioned to be taken off the team by not just my parents but by my math teacher.
Unable to play, I turned to just watching. Even as a spectator or as a fan, I couldn’t take the losing. To be a fan of Ginebra San Miguel during the late 1980’s to mid-1990’s is to attend a reunion of old friends named “Pain” and “Agony.” They were no longer my friends when Ginebra finally beat Alaska and I ran through the neighborhood streets hollering my head off.
A long time ago, after the Ateneo Blue Eagles were eliminated from contention in one season, some supporters of the winning team went a little overboard with their heckling. My best friend and I took matters into our own hands and today… I can’t say I am proud of what we did to those guys and I certainly regret it.
During another occasion, my team was losing and unmindful of even the children around me, I cussed an opposing player in some of the most colorful language. That same evening, the son of a friend used the very same words at the dinner table much to the shock of his parents. I was ashamed and vowed never to do such again.
Older and supposedly wiser, I take loses better. I just don’t sleep well and I make for better conversation the following day. At least I think so. Loses are like emotions – they rise and fall and can be fickle.
For once let me rationalize. Thank God for the Internet and more distractions. Who needs to flagellate themselves over loses?
I open Facebook and I see friends celebrating the Los Angeles Lakers’ victory and posting distraught pictures of the vanquished Celtics and their Big Four that could be scattered to the four winds in a few months’ time.
But today, the Yankees took a game from the Mets and remain tied for first in the AL East. Tiger Woods has shown signs of life at Pebble Beach. Coubily has been pilloried worldwide for his poor officiating (at least the world recognizes that Team USA was robbed of the win). And the Raymond Domenech era of French football is almost over.
There is at least some joy in Mudville.
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