Reminiscing (thanks, Bill) Part 1

Reminiscing (thanks, Bill) Part 1

words and pics by me

I am a child of a bygone era. The 1980s. That was when new wave was in full swing and disco was finally dead. When I bought the record The Best of British Punk & New Wave Vol. 1 it was like throwing a brick through the window. I was happy to be out of the Middle of the Road radio crap that perpetuated the airwaves.

That was a time when the country was still under Martial Law and it meant that evening parties had to end early because we’d end up in detention if we broke curfew.

I was just coming out of grade school and I didn’t understand much of what Martial Law meant. All I know is that after a while all those Japanese anime cartoons were gone and I blamed the government for that.

Those were the days when I became a full-fledged sports fan. My teams were winning then – the Ateneo Blue Eagles, New York Islanders, Liverpool FC, the Philadelphia 76ers, and the New York Yankees (even if they lost the 1981 World Series to the Los Angeles Dodgers).

But even then, it seems like I got stuck in the time stream. For years, IBC-13 would endlessly replay that ’81 World Series and it was like a recurring nightmare. I told myself, “Ah, next year they’d win.” The Yankees soon acquired Ken Griffey Sr., Dave Collins, Steve Sax, Rickey Henderson, Steve Howe, and well, they never got anywhere. And that’s despite having Dave Winfield and Donnie Baseball. The Yanks won more games than any other team in the 1980s but never won a World Series. The drought continued until 1996.

Unlucky, on the diamond, I turned into bubble gum card collecting. I bought Fleer baseball cards in Virra Mall hoping to land Donnie, Dave, Graig Nettles, Willie Randolph, Reggie Jackson, Dave Righetti, or even Ron Guidry. Instead, I got Roy Smalley. What dumb bad luck!

Little did I know, the same fate would Liverpool. They won everything in sight until the league was reorganized into the English Premier League and they have since surrendered their supremacy to those guys from Manchester.

The Islanders. I have always loved ice hockey. These were the days before cable television, the internet, and magazine specialty shops. My access to information was through my mom worked for the US Government at that time and the Army-Navy Club in Roxas Boulevard because my uncle was a military man.

What could I do with a small allowance? I saved up to buy vinyl long playing records, Sports Illustrated (at the old Rastro shop in Greenhills), and bubble gum cards.

No one had anything on hockey unless you saw it on the Far East Network and that meant going home to my grandfolks place in Tarlac. My grandfather used to assist the US Army and he had made many friends in Clark Air Base. It was through them that I got issues of Stars and Stripes, Life, Reader’s Digest, and the Fantastic Four (with George Perez doing the art). Along with my folks, it was my grandfather who got me really interested in reading. At that time, I was painting, drawing, and doodling stuff as I went to art school on weekends as well as the summer. My mom painted rather well and me weaned on comic books, I dreamed of a career in Marvel Comics. It wasn’t until high school where for some reason that I cannot recall, I was tasked to write our class plays, contribute to our high school paper, and write songs for our fledging band. I wish I still had that notebook but I’m sure I’d cringe at the way it was written and say, “Can I die now?”

The Islanders were a dynasty in those days. For me, Mike Bossy was Boss. There was Dennis Potvin, Clark Gillies, Butch Goring, Duane Sutter, and Ken Morrow (who was with that Miracle on Ice team that beat the Soviets and won the Olympic hockey gold). My mom couldn’t understand the obsession with ice hockey. Next to Yankee pinstripes, I thought (and I still do) that hockey jerseys are way cool. Somehow, up in the Great White North, there were rumbling sounds of dissent coming from Edmonton. When Wayne Gretzky emerged, I somewhat choked. Oh, boy. Trouble. We held them off to win a fourth straight Stanley Cup but the future had arrived. Can we hold the Oilers off for long?

The Drive for Five I will never forget. With Pat Lafontaine leading the Isles, the streak ended and the Oilers were kings. I cried the day New York’s season ended (May 19, 1984 in Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Finals as Edmonton won the series 4-1 with a 5-2 win). The Isles have not been to the Finals since.

And there’s the matter of the Ateneo Blue Eagles. The first team that I really saw was Chot Reyes’ team. They were small with only one big man. If there was a three-point line then they would have won a few more games. They could shot but they couldn’t rebound. And so my batch entered college. The champion high school team of 1985. Six rookies in that year and we knew it was a matter of time before the Blue Eagles won in the UAAP. We did in 1987 and 88 and I wondered if the party would ever end? What did I know back then? I was young and felt immortal. And maybe stupid. Never mind if during the first soiree I ever attended I gave my number to a girl named Vanessa asking her if she could call me. Imagine my shame when my classmates and my dad teased me that it was the other way around – the boys called the girls. What the hell did I know – I was into sports, bands (we used to practice for our gigs every Wednesday at the old Yamaha Studios in Greenhills and on weekends in Roces Avenue), and comic books.

There’s this old championship t-shirt that my cousin once wore. I envied him for it – it read in front: “And Moses led them to the Promised Land.” It showed center Moses Malone holding a tablet and the NBA trophy. On the back, the tablet had the names of the Philadelphia 76ers – Erving, Toney, Cheeks, Jones, Iavaroni, Johnson, McNamara, Richardson etc. I would have killed for a shirt like that. I had my rich classmates come to school wearing Los Angeles Laker jackets and Boston Celtics t-shirts. I came in le Tigre shirts and soon thought that those “Hold that Tiger” TV adverts were so much crap. But the first ever real piece of athletic merch that I got was Chris Mullin’s Golden State Warriors #17 (thanks Melanie Jordin). I followed the 1984 US Olympic Men’s Basketball Team and thought that the St. John’s shooter and NY city kid was a jump shooting god. I slept in that jersey, balled wearing it, and practically wore it ragged. If you know where I can buy a retro Mullin G-State jersey you have to let me know. I’d buy it. I do after all have his St. John’s retro jersey.

Hoops. I was a Philadelphia Phan. My parents rooted for Boston. I rooted for Toyota and later Gilbey’s and Ginebra. My parents rooted for Crispa and Tanduay. I rooted for the Yankees and my parents rooted for the Dodgers. Luckily we all got along in football and college ball – the New York Cosmos and Ateneo.

After school in 1991, my teams all fell out of contention. I watched a few more years. I saw Richie Ticzon miss two free throws against UE that would have seen us have a chance to advance to play La Salle in the Finals. I saw Manchester United hoist that first EPL title. I saw the Chicago Bulls (after Doc’s retirement in 1987 I switched allegiances to Michael Jordan) embark on an incredible dynasty not seen since the days of Bill Russell.

But I disappeared and slaved off in the salt mines that is in the creative department of a couple of ad agencies. That was my life and the only thing that survived from my boyhood hobbies was music. And my savings slowly began to be invested in these new compact discs.

They say the 1990s were the alternative years. Those were my days as a Clubb Dredd habitué. When all of a sudden it was okay to wear your hair long and dress up in clothes that didn’t look like they were washed or pressed. I worked on advertising campaigns for Philippine Airlines, PLDT, Mazda, BMW, and Tanduay among others. At night, I was in Dredd and at times jamming with a band that never went anywhere.

I tried watching the Blue Eagles once in a while (and when I was in the Philippines for that matter). There was Vince Hizon, Dudut Jaworski, and Gabby Cui. But they got blown out and didn’t finish well. So I disappeared again. I didn’t want a reminder of the heartache.

I stayed away from sports because my teams – the Yankees, Blue Eagles, Liverpool, and the Islanders -- were losing. Yes, the Bulls were there and somehow, I still had a foot inside the door. But I followed no one else. Knew nothing else.

It was like I had a cocoon around me. All I had was my work, my CDs, home, and my comic book buddies like Gerry Alanguilan and Francis Magalona to keep me company.

At this time, I was staying in Hong Kong and there was literally nothing to watch on TV. But it did rekindle my love for football. At that time, I thought it was paradise for me because all I had to do was go to Tower Records in Times Square or HMV just outside Ocean Centre for my music fix. But football was on TV. And when I was home, the Yankees were hot again even if Donnie Baseball retired. And the Bulls were back. I’d skip work or come in half day when Chicago was playing. The running joke at work was, “Where’s Rick?” The answer was, “He’s at the United Center.” Later on, I realized that everyone else in the office was riveted to the telly watching MJ, Pip, the Worm, the Pink Panther, and the others win another wave of titles.

An increase in my earnings meant that I could now afford to buy magazines and books and I found myself drawn back to sports. And that later coalesced when I moved to New York. Can you imagine what it was like for me?

I got to watch my Yankees, Islanders, Giants, and Bulls. And I got to watch Liverpool (but not in Anfield to date) as well. I learned what the real meaning of couch potato is. It’s easy. My old Comcast cable had hundreds of channels with about 15 sports channels. Who was getting up? By the time I did, it was late at night. It was a good thing I was working or else I’d have to join the Biggest Loser today. And there was a lot to do and see.

I’d walk down the North Olden Road in the dead of winter to exchange my NY Post coupons for those Yankee medallions (I have a complete set). I’d walk down the road to watch Ewing High football on Friday Nights. I bought the New York Daily News so I’d have those team pictures that came as posters. I’d go to Uniondale to watch the Isles alone because my friends were either Rangers fans or didn’t like hockey. I’d get terrified of falling asleep inside the LIRR. Thank Steve Jobs for the iPod because it kept me awake. I sold programs at the US Tennis Open just so I could get in for free. When I had a little more money, a few friends and me would go to Mexico just to watch luchadore wrestling. It was a great time to be a sports fan and a poor time to be irresponsible and spend needlessly. I justified it as “down time” and “the need to relax.”

I used to put up this “See New York on $20 tour” with a friend. We did it for a few months and stopped when we nearly got caught with the rigged subway cards we used (that saved us all the rides). We had the sports tour (aside from the music and celebrity tour) where we’d visit the old Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center (between West 165 & 168 and Broadway via the A or C or #1 and #9 trains) where the New York Yankees first played baseball, the West Side Tennis Club where the US Open used to be held (E, F, R trains to 71^st and Continental Avenues), and the Jack Kaiser Stadium (F and D trains) where the Brooklyn Cyclones played baseball. The last stop was significant because it was just off the boardwalk in Coney Island where we could leave our customers to wander around. We made a pretty penny for a while.

That sure was fun. Those sure were the days.