This appears in the Monday, March 12, 2012 edition of the Business Mirror.
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| My Mosquito team that went to the Finals twice and came up short. Four of my players went to Ateneo with two playing in the PRADA/PAYA teams. |
The boys of summer
by rick olivares
It’s a rite of summer as well as a
rite of passage. With summer setting in and the school year done, young kids get
ready to play in the basketball leagues that will be played in subdivisions,
barangays, and cities across the country.
The local tailoring shops will make a
killing with all the uniforms to be made and the shoe stores will see a spike
in sales. These days are golden and they will forever be etched in the minds of
the young as they hit adolescence and learn many things that come with winning
and losing.
Years ago, I had a chance to coach the
neighborhood “midgets” and “mosquito” basketball teams. The boys in my neighborhood
visited me at home to ask me if I could coach them. I have to admit that it was
an interesting and complex proposition so I asked them to come back the
following day so I could mull it over.
I was both excited and nervous about
it after all, what did I know? I was a late bloomer to the game as I spent my
school years playing football and baseball. In between, I did watch a lot of
hoops though whether it was the UAAP, PBA or NBA. I wore out a lot of those
betamax tapes watching Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird and all those
superstars of that generation. And being a voracious reader, I thought that I
had just enough knowledge to pull it off. After all, it was just an
inter-subdivision league, right?
So I convinced myself that it was and I
decided to take the job and channel my inner Phil Jackson. But no sooner that I
said yes to the “midgets” team then the local “mosquito” team asked me to
handle them as well. Now I was in a quandary. How do I manage my time with my
work and coaching? I just had to. In the same manner that I used my vacation
leaves for watching Ateneo basketball during those lean 1990s, I used them for
days when we had afternoon games.
Being a stickler for organization and
discipline, I ran the teams in the only way I knew – in varsity fashion. We ran
three plays with multiple options, we practiced our defense and our ultimate
weapon – a full court press.
Play “One” was a variation of the most
basic of the plays of the triple-post offense. In our set, the ball went down
to the post where the center was. The first cut came from the right corner and
a split second after his flash towards the baseline, the small forward cut in
the middle of the lane. The center either went inside or he handed it off to
his two options. He could also kick it out where we had a shooter waiting.
Play “Two” called for a double baseline
screen to free up our shooters with the point guard atop the three-point arc
having the option where to pass the ball. The shooters, depending on what the
defense gave them had the option to drop the ball or run a pick and roll.
Play “Three” was a situational one
that we ran when we needed a three-point bucket.
I have to admit that it wasn’t easy
teaching a system. I had to be doubly patient. While I had a few players who
competed in the PRADA (Private Schools Athletic Development Association) and
Philippine Athletic Youth Association (PAYA) leagues most had only played in
these inter-subdivision tournaments. Being of diverse backgrounds made it only
more challenging. One of my kids, Carlo, was extremely sensitive and prone to
violent outbursts. He had learned that he was adopted and was in a most
rebellious phase. He clashed with everyone myself included. But I worked hard
at winning him over and he soon cooperated and found himself an integral part
of our offense with his booming triples.
Looking back on these days, this is
where I figured I had an aptitude for instructing the young; something that I
drew on these past two years while teaching in Ateneo. It was extremely
gratifying to know that the boys picked the system and we ran our sets with
clinical precision.
And we were a hit. My teams began to
demolish our opponents in frightening fashion. In the Industrial Valley
Subdivision basketball courts, we became the huge draw as we outworked our foes
and played an entertaining brand of basketball. Between my two teams, it was
the “mosquito” squad that was markedly better but both teams made the finals of
their respective decisions.
In the finals of the “mosquito team”,
we faced a team that was just as good as us only deeper. With my starters tired
from playing long minutes, we imploded in the game’s final minute as we botched
a final play. We had lost. I felt so drained and sat on the bench shocked more
than anything. My team disappeared and I remained on the bench unable to follow
them as my “midgets” team had their finals immediately after.
Because of my inexperience and the
disappointment of the earlier loss, our team started off rather badly. This
particular team had a tougher time running our sets because my two centers,
Christian and Anthony, would oft get lost with all the movement and passing.
With the game entering the final half
of play, we went to our full court press that we did not run all game long. In
a crucial timeout, I placed Alex, one of my tougher defenders on the opposing
point guard. And the strategy worked. They succumbed to a series of turnovers
that saw us chop down that lead in no time. They sued for time hoping to stall
our momentum but to no avail. We won this running away.
It was a sweet victory however it
wasn’t fully satisfying because of the other loss. All throughout the summer,
my teams’ former coaches would give me stick for the system I ran (the teams in
my neighborhood often won). I ignored their stinging criticism and stuck to my
guns. After the win, they went up to me and shook my hand. “Good job, coach,”
they said and that was a great moment.
I found my mosquito team waiting for
me outside my home. They were in tears and apologetic about the loss. I was
surprised. I thought that it was I who failed them. Maybe if I gave my bench
players a chance in the early fourth quarter, my starters would have been fresh
for the endgame. I told them that I was proud of them and that we had gone
farther than anyone would have expected.
The following summer, we won one tournament
where we played against older teams. My mosquito team had gone up to the
midgets division where we played great basketball only to lose once more in the
championship. In the final seconds of the game and to the same team that beat
us a year ago. It was devastating for all of us.
I went on to coach one more summer (we
missed the playoffs because of the quotient system – we only lost one game)
before I called it quits. I left for the United States then and didn’t think
I’d come back.
My players stayed at home right up to
the moment I left. They were in tears. Carlo sobbed uncontrollably. As if
leaving my children was already unbearable then my players my it even more
difficult. So I left with a heavy heart.
When I came home, much had changed. My
players were now older and done with school. Carlo was gone. He took his life
after a bout with depression. And just the other day, I buried my team captain,
Mark, who died a few days earlier following a motorcycle accident. Their loses
somewhat cast a pall of gloom in our neighborhood basketball teams.
These are the dog days of March and
already in the neighboring subdivisions of Industrial Valley in Marikina, kids
are excited about the summer leagues. The sound of basketballs dribbling on the
street by kids going to the court are almost non-stop on weekends. And I’m
thinking back to those years, three years that were some of the best of my
life. This time, I’ll be on the sidelines cheering the younger ones and my
former wards (now in the seniors division) on. And maybe there’ll be good
memories out of this.
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For Carlo Cainglet and Mark Galsim. My gunner and my captain. Rest in peace.
Winning the Best Coach Award. Haha. Got two of these trophies. The other one in the SMC-BIBATO League where my DZRH team won the Division II title. With my team that won a summer invitational tournament (where we were up against older teams). In the bottom picture, you'll see me guarding the guy taking the jumpshot (#7).
nice post kuya rick -melo
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