This appears in the Monday February 21, 2011 edition of the Business Mirror.
Special K
by rick olivares
When Special K scored over 80 points in a basketball game, the local hoops world and media went ballistic over the feat. They trotted out a man called Triggerman who once scored seventysomething in a game. Special K was even compared to another man who goes by the name of Black Mamba.
It’s a feat, right? Never mind if it was done against a team of patsies who were probably pulled out from a physical education class. Even an Admiral who once went for the NBA record dumped an awful load of points on a team where defense was an anathema.
I once read an article in Sports Illustrated where a writer described every single of Air Jordan’s 55 points against the New York Knicks in his fifth game back after his first sabbatical. I was impressed and wanted to do my version of the “Double Nickel” piece for Special K. Only I was busy and by the time I looked up from my desk, the season had passed me by. The story would have still been great except a couple of other dudes through the years would break his scoring mark. He never got to truly savor owning a record for years and years like the Triggerman, Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, or the Chicago Bulls did when they accomplished their feats in terms of points scored, home runs hit, or total wins in a season.
He did play briefly for the national team and was the subject of an intense recruiting war. He was transferred to another school to finish his secondary education. But there was a problem. He never went to class. Like that team of patsies who thought that the word “block” was reserved for a city street or “guard” meant that security guy who inspected their bags, “school”, Special K thought, was taking on some slow-footed stiff to the rack for a Samboy Lim finger roll and an and-one.
Of course, I didn’t know that. Until recently.
Special K got in touch with me. I didn’t know him at all. Never previously engaged him in conversation, chat, or text. I was elated. This was my chance to do that Sports Illustrated Double Nickel story.
We had lunch at Taco Bell and we chatted. Only it turned out to be a shocker. He recounted how his life had changed since eightysomething. It wasn’t for the better for worse. He said that the school that recruited and transferred him had stopped their “funding of him”. He doesn’t come from a well-off family. Far from it. They have trouble making ends meet and that is an understatement. He is the eldest of seven siblings and all (including his parents) look up to him to earn a living by putting that ball through a hoop. It was a Kleenex moment.
He was recruited to play for another team in another league. But there, former friends and now foes (who were on other squads) informed league officials that he was not yet done with his secondary education. So Special K never got to play and he was once more adrift.
Now he asked for my help. I am not the manager sort. I have been asked a long time ago by one of the most popular bands in the country back in their nascent days. I knew they’d hit it big but I declined. Truthfully? I wasn’t the managerial sort. I knew what I could do and playing Bob Arum wasn’t it.
I told Special K that his first goal was to finish his high school education because that would help him get to college where he could continue his basketball career. That was the process of going to play in the PBA. I don’t know of any local hardship cases where one skipped high school to go straight to the pros. This wasn’t the NBA or the Euroleagues. I asked if he was going to be single-minded in his goal of finishing school and going through a good college program where a good coach can provide guidance for him. Special K affirmed his interest. Not once but a dozen times a dozen times.
I told him that I was on great terms with a bunch of coaches who could get him into their programs and I asked him to choose what he thought would be the best situation for him. Special K chose Adamson first and the University of the Philippines second. I called Adamson only I got no replies. State U on the other hand, was excited. The team managers were a little wary because when they tried to recruit him years ago, he went to the meeting with an agent and a lawyer.
What is it with high school kids today who think that having an agent is their ticket to fame? I’m sorry but these guys look at them as meal tickets. The pros might be different but high school kids? There ought to be a law.
I met up with Special K several times. We had lunch and snacks. I helped him out with a little of his day-to-day finances and he asked if I could help manage him. I said no. That wasn’t my core competence. I do mentor quite a few athletes but that’s more out of friendship than anything else. The only thing I asked was should he make the college team and the pros, I had first dibs on his jersey. He laughed. The first real and easy one he’s had in a while. There was hope on the horizon.
I facilitated a meet between Special K and State U and he practiced with them twice so that they could get a close up look at his hoops and hops. It was clear that he was not in game shape but the potential was there. He wouldn’t be available to them for a while but he would still have a couple of years to show what he can do on the canvass that is the college hardcourt. They asked him to procure his papers so they could help him earn his high school diploma. Special K promised to work on his papers while we promised to help pay for whatever expenses (transcript, gasoline money, and meals). We were excited. We were hopeful. Boy, were we wrong.
Special K disappeared.
Around the same time, I got in touch with the school that first tried to recruit him out of his high school team. They liked his game and they were prepared to take care of the kid. Except that his papers were not in order and he played hooky quite a lot in class. Even after he dropped out, the team manager tried to reach out and help. “It was such an unfortunate situation,” said the team manager. Eventually, exasperated and disappointed, that school eventually gave up.
I eventually got hold of him and his nonchalant answers only indicated that he wasn’t interested in going to school except for playing ball. He said his mother was sick and while it was true, his lack of urgency or even having no initiative to get in touch with any of us showed an alarming lack of interest.
I felt bad. I set out to do a story and a story of redemption cannot be told in the span of month but in years. That was fine as it was all about helping someone get back on his feet. Ultimately, it is his decision. We could never force someone anyway.
I don’t know where he is now. I heard that another person who picked up the slack to help is now exasperated as well. But he’d give Special K one more chance.
Maybe there’s still a silver lining to this.
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