Bleachers' Brew #187 Falling Stars

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Falling Stars

by rick olivares

For the umpteenth time, Charles Barkley’s words about athletes not being ideal role models have been repeatedly ringing inside my head.

Between the lurid stories of Tiger Woods’ infidelity that turned the sports world on its ear the past two weeks, I told two jokes about his troubles.

One was that the most famous car crash this year didn’t come from some NASCAR or Formula 1 race but from Woods crashing his SUV on a tree.

And two, there is (gulp) truth to advertising. Years ago there was this t-shirt called Le Tigre and it had some cool commercials where girls went after guys wearing Le Tigre shirts to this crazy jingle of "Hold that Tiger. Hold that Tiger."

As a kid, I remember thinking, "That can't be true." When my folks bought me a Le Tigre shirt one day, I told my classmates, let's test if it works. So we went to Maryknoll after class and nothing happened. Maybe I was such a skinny geeky guy that the shirt hung on me like I was a shirt hanger. Maybe I wasn’t mestizo enough like my classmate Jaime Garchitorena. Maybe the clothes do not make the man. So we all had a good laugh about it. No truth in advertising, I declared.

Boy, was I ever wrong. Hold that Tiger Woods, baby! Ten babes and counting. Oh-lala. But Tiger is the man while I -- to paraphrase Steven Seagal in Under Siege -- am just a lowly lowly writer.

Once the laughter died down, like Mark Antony, I come not to bury Woods but to write about him as I struggle to adjust what I feel about him.

Like many people, I followed Woods. Remember that other famous Barkley quote about the world going to hell when the best golfer was black (Woods) while the best rapper was white (Eminem)? If you believe what was previously written about him as the Chosen One to save sports and heal the world because of him being a product of two worlds and was armed with a golf club and a keen intellect, then that notion has been reduced to tatters after he crashed his SUV Many changed their perceptions about him as fast as Accenture took down their ads of Woods.

Instead, now cast from Olympus, he is like Michael Jordan, another universally acknowledged mega-athlete whose Madison Avenue scripted off court image was blown away after startling revelations.

Jordan, like Woods, is a global sports ambassador that few come close to in terms of skill and talent, star power, marketing savvy, and influence. He came at the right time what with the invention of MTV, ESPN, and the explosion of cable television that made him the world’s first global superstar. People mostly looked the other way when writer Sam Smith in his book The Jordan Rules threw the first mud at him. But the mud slipped off the Teflon and Jordan wrote his storybook ending in Utah that is until the late Abe Pollin cut him from the Washington Wizards and reports about his dalliances with other women surfaced. And his acceptance speech at the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame was more than disappointing. It showed someone who close to a decade since he hung up his sneakers is incapable of letting go of the past; maybe not without getting one last word in against his foes real and imagined.

With Jordan and Woods, I feel betrayed in the same manner when Sonny Jaworski gave the slit throat gesture to a fallen Allan Caidic during a particularly heated match between Ginebra San Miguel and San Miguel Beer. C’mon let’s not re-write history okay?

Do mistakes like these, and after all, who doesn’t commit mistakes, cloud my judgment based on one incident?

Not at all. Unless they are repeat offenders or first ones that are of most grievous gravity such as that of former New Jersey Net Jayson Williams or OJ Simpson who beat their murder charges.

As for Jordan and Woods, I remain a fan but a diminished one who prefers to celebrate them merely for their athletic achievements but not anything else. I’ve learned through the years and endless disappointments and shattering revelations to compartmentalize my way of thinking.

And they, like everyone else, have just as much right to a second chance or redemption. Who are we to deny them that? And if they set things right, they’ll be better people for that.

When I was growing up, everyone wanted to be like Mike, shoot like Larry, and pass like Magic. I’d be a liar if I said otherwise but I wasn’t as athletic or gifted as they were so I preferred to play like with my back to the basket like Kevin McHale and shoot jumpers with my arms in full extension like Robert Parish.

As interesting as the superstars are sometimes it’s the other guys, the role players who remain grounded and someone you can really relate to. I enjoyed journeyman basketball player Paul Shirley’s book Can I Keep My Jersey and former Chicago center Bill Wennington’s Tales from the Bulls Hardwood. Maybe it was them keeping it real. And yes, it was also the struggle to survive in the crazy world of pro sports. But there’s something about keeping one’s feet, expectations, or even eyes trained on good old terra firma.

The other month, I met a young kid named Juancho Crisostomo who played a variety of sports but surprisingly, he didn’t watch the supposed sports gods on television. He just played the game and instead looked up to his older brother, sister, and parents.

And the other day, because of a snafu in schedules, I had to pick up my son from school. On the few occasions I fetch him, we leave as soon as I arrive. This time around he had a game to play, I asked him if he wanted to play full field football and his eyes lit up. I called the person I was supposed to meet with to postpone it for another time (it wasn’t that important anyway), bought myself a bottle of water, and thoroughly enjoyed myself for the next 90 minutes. He had three magnificent strikes one of which he converted from a spot kick from outside the box to give his side a 2-nil lead (they won 3-0). I am not sure who was more exhilarated -- my son or I?

Now I am looking forward to help him get better at the sport and make time to watch him as he plays. And we still look to Woods and Jordan and others like them for their superb mechanics and game focus in order to learn.

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The third issue of Rebound magazine (the college basketball magazine I write for) will be out before Christmas and we dubbed it our championship issue. Also my story on Ateneo’s Season 71 triumph titled “The 18^th Banner” is out already as published by Blueblood.