Fathers and Sons

The best gift I ever received was a soccer ball. Soccer was the first sport I actually played and loved so much. That ball was my teddy bear and it was held snug and tight in my arms. I was consumed by the game so much that I was oft reminded not to forget about my grades because they began to strangely resemble footballs.

There was this old sports almanac that I read during days when classes were suspended because of the weather. That well-thumbed book became a bible of sorts as I read and re-read what accounts I could of the New York Yankees which soon became my first favorite professional team. Going down to the Bronx many years later to regularly make a pilgrimage to baseball’s hallowed cathedral was a nice way to complete the circle.

As I grew older, I was amused no end by the howls, cheers, and jeers of a Toyota-Crispa match and a slick playing Golden State Warriors team. Years later, I would fly down to Chicago to watch the Bulls and drive up to the Meadowlands to watch the Nets just to get my hoops junkie fix.

Now grown up, I need no prodding to get into sports. I have lived and breathed it and it’s a part of my everyday life. Having lived in New York, I soaked in the Islanders and the Yankees; the Nets and the Giants. I’ve balled at West 4 and watched the cats rock the rim at Rucker. I’ve learned how to play hockey and have spent a lot of time in the penalty box (for fighting and high-sticking). I’ve paid huge sums of money to watch the visiting Arsenal and Bayern Munich football clubs. I’ve made like Roger Clemens back in the day rubbing the bronze plate of the Babe at Monument Park. I’ve been in that baseball heaven that is Cooperstown and have come full circle with the players whose lives and stats I have learned much from that well-read almanac. I’ve made Modell’s and the NBA Store on Fifth Avenue regular stops on my way home from work.

And most recently, there was this day when I couldn’t sleep a wink. Tip-off was at 12 noon and sure enough I needed the rest. Come game time, I tried to remain impassive and oblivious to the people and excitement of a basketball game. When I saw my son put on his jersey with our name neatly stenciled in the back above #12 (he’s a fan of Larry Fonacier), I was ecstatic. The final stat line was un-Fonacier-like: 0 points, 2 rebounds, 1 steal, and 2 fouls. But I was proud. Never mind that they lost. I was happy for him and his teammates because they took the defeat graciously and in stride. My other son for some reason I cannot fathom would rather mind the net than try score as many goals as his old man did. Yet I’m perfectly content to be there in the bleachers and on the sidelines cheering them on instead of trying to out-coach the coach.

On this Father’s Day, I’d like to say a heartfelt thank you to my Dad for introducing me to sports. For instilling in me the sense of fair play and giving it my all. I don’t have that soccer ball and that almanac I was given all those long years ago. But I have this, my two young sons, Matthew and Anthony, who have brought me full circle to the games I’ve always loved.

Dancing on the Pitch

The atmosphere is supercharged. Fight songs and chants fill the air. A bobbing mass of humanity is ready to explode. And a goal is the match that will light the fire.

In one incandescent moment, the goal and the post-game exultation is what the sport really is about --- a celebration of life. Goals literally and figuratively are hard to come by (with the exception of a few ghastly international matches such as one where Australia lobotomized Samoa by a score of 31-0; an unbelievable score that resembles one of those Super Bowl routs) so when one is able to achieve them then a show and a shout, jump, and maybe a dance step or two are in the offing. But in soccer, those post-goal celebrations can be really wacky, crazy, amusing, not to mention highly creative.

FIFA has cracked down on post-goal celebrations to lessen the unsportsmanlike behavior that oft leads to retaliations and fights.

While we may have seen an end to it, what follows are a few examples of some of the strangest, funniest, insulting, and weirdest post-goal celebrations.

Brandi Chastain, USA (vs. China 1999 Women’s World Cup)
After scoring the tourney-winning goal, Chastain ran across the pitch, removed her jersey to reveal nothing but her sports bra. Somehow, Chastain is more remembered for the strip than her goal.

Paul Gascoigne, England (vs. Scotland Euro ’96 Championship)
After dispatching their ancient rivals with a big-time goal, Gascoigne lay on his back while his teammates grabbed water bottles from the sidelines and poured its contents into his mouth. This was in reference to a pre-tourney incident inside a nightclub where players were photographed while having alcoholic beverages poured down their throats.

Nwankwo Kanu, Nigeria (vs. Brazil 1996 Olympics)
After equalizing with Brazil 3-3 with less than 2 minutes left in the match, the Super Eagles went into extra time with renewed vigor and resolve. Kanu who scored the equalizer, blasted in an eighteen-footer to turn back the tourney favorites. Kanu ran off to Nigeria’s side of the pitch like a new-born calf learning how to walk. The rest of the Nigerian team followed suit. To the people watching, they all thought it was some Nigerian tribal dance. But the truth is Kanu felt his legs go rubbery that he had a difficult time walking upright.

Ahn Jung Hwan, South Korea (vs. USA 2002 World Cup)
After drawing with the highly-fancied US eleven with time running down, Hwan ran around mimicking a speed skater – a not so subtle dig at American Olympian Apolo Anton Ohno, who was awarded a gold medal in a skating competition after a Korean skater was disqualified.

Finidi George, Nigeria, (vs. Greece, 1994 World Cup)
After George scored the goal against Greece that sent the Super Eagles to the second round, he got down on all fours and crawled around the penalty box occasionally cocking a leg in the style of a dog marking his territory.

Jurgen Klinsmann, Tottenham Hotspurs
Fans didn’t take to Klinsmann right off the bat as they had long memories of this sleek German tornado crushing England’s hopes on the pitch time and again. After scoring his very first goal – and it was a game-wining one at that – Klinsmann ran around with his arms spread like an eagle’s then flung himself spread-eagled on the ground. That post-game celebration is copied and imitated in every corner of the globe up to this day.

This World Cup is shaping to be one of the most exciting in recent years. We’ve seen the first ever own-goal decide a match’s outcome and tiny Trinidad and Tobago hold the world’s highest scoring offense to a scoreless draw. There are a lot more matches to be played; more awesome goals to be scored that will spawn a thousand highlights to forever be etched in our memories.

And so will the post-goal celebrations that follow.

The Fever Is Upon Us

It’s in the air. You can feel it. And watch it.
The spectacle that is the 2006 FIFA World Cup is on Solar Sports’ sister channel Sports Plus. “Solar is committed to bring the best sporting events in the world to Philippine television,” beamed a proud Peter Chanliong, the cable giant’s aggressive COO. “It’s a first step for us and a step towards helping the sport grow in the country.” Next on the pitch for Solar are the Italian Serie A and the Spanish Primera Liga.

It’s also on people’s lips.
John, an English expatriate, was in an extraordinary cheerful mood, as he got ready for work last Friday. It wasn’t solely because it was the last day of the working week but the World Cup games were a mere seven days away. While getting ready he sang himself a song (to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It”): “If it weren’t for all of us, you’d all be Krauts. If it weren’t for all of us, you’d all be Krauts. If it weren’t for all of us, if it weren’t for all of us, if it weren’t for all of us you’d all be Krauts.” He let out a hearty laugh and added, “Dinna worry, mate. Don read anything innit. Its just football. Thas just football.”

It’s even on the trees and on the light posts.
In the sprawling Ateneo De Manila University campus along Loyola Heights, Q.C., streamers announcing the live showing of the World Cup games at the Blue Eagle Gym adorn almost every tree and light post drowning out the traditional “welcome back” signs at the start of every school year. Ateneo Football Center Director Jong Castañeda felt that showing the games in a large venue using wide screen projectors was a no-brainer. “Football is something best watched with a large group of people,” said the visible excited ex-Blue Booter. “Hindi ba mas exciting yun? In fact, we’re open to all nearby residents and students of UP, PSBA, Miriam and others.”

It’s on the stands.
The June issue of Summit Media’s popular Men’s Health magazine features a 12-page World Cup special that Associate Publisher Alvin Jimenez describes as a “visual treat for the fan.” It’s got Zidane (in his World Cup swan song), Kaka, Messi, and other players touted to make an impact this time around. On weekdays, the metropolis’ new and smartly written broadsheet, Business Mirror, has been ahead of the pack with its comprehensive Road to Germany stories.

In fact, it’s fashionable.
Sporting goods stores have reported brisk sales of football jerseys whether they’re authentic or knock-offs or whether they carry club or national colors. A source from a major footwear company likes the outlook for football in this country where the sport is wrongly perceived to be unpopular. “Basketball still enjoys more volume sales but the market hasn’t grown. Parang nag-plateau na,” he noted. “Unlike in football where sales have been consistently aggressive and better year in and out. Of course, this being a World Cup year, sales have been much better. We’ve sold out our stocks up to December yet retailers have been clamoring for much much more.”

It’s everywhere.
Bong Sillona of Solar Sports’ Cable Sales Division has reported that at least 42 major hotels and popular bars and restaurants in the metro area have subscribed to the All-Access Pass for all 64 games of the tourney. “And that doesn’t even include residential pay-per-view numbers,” he underscored.

It’s infected all of us.
“Dude, with the games back in Germany, that means the live games will be shown late at night until the early hours of the day,” lamented on excited fan. “But,” he added with a grin, “that’s exactly why I have been saving up on my vacation and sick leaves.”

Why not? The World Cup fever is upon us.

Bleachers' Brew #3 * (asterisk)

*
by rick olivares

Dear God,

Hi. It’s me, Barry. Barry Bonds. I’ve been shaken and stirred a lot lately. But I’ve kept the faith, Lord!

I know I haven’t been the most warmest of human beings. Is it my fault that I’m the best player of my generation? Now they want to penalize me coz they say that I willingly and knowingly took steroids? I’m innocent until proven guilty. But you know that, Lord God.

I thought it was a Gatorade-like thing they were pumping into me! I swear – oopss. Sorry for swearin’, Lord God almighty!

Spare me the asterisk next to my home run tally. Please. If Bud Selig places one next to my 714-and-counting, then David Stern should place one next to the Houston Rockets’ NBA titles in ’94 & ’95. God you know that if You didn’t send your avenging angel Michael Jordan out to chase curve balls then the Bulls would have won eight straight. And maybe the Russians should have an asterisk next to their 1972 Olympic Gold Medal. The Godless communists won the game after given three tries – three tries – goddamit! – oopss. Sorry. Forgive me Lord, but it’s hard keeping all these pent up emotions inside of me with all the heckling and all. You hear those Philly fans heckle me, Lord God? And they call their city the City of Brotherly Love?

How about Muhammad Ali? We all know he lost to Ken Norton in their third bout. Look here. I’m an Ali fan, and I know he done a lot for the black man. But Norton smoked his ass in that one. And Budini Brown? He knows the truth!

That’s not baseball? Okay Lord. How about Hank Aaron? He way feasted on expansion pitching that year. Yessirree, Lordy. Uh-uh. No way he faced guys like Curt Schilling, Kerry Wood, Randy Johnson, or Greg Maddux. Facing these cats and the heat they bring night after night --- why you could dislocate a shoulder just flailing at their pitches! And the Babe. God bless him. I know I ripped him in the past, but the man practically wrote the gospel of baseball. I ain’t got nuthin’ but respect for the man. But did he ever have to face the colored man? They cheered Mark McGwire, but maybe he was doped up too. Sammy Sosa? Only You would know how many corked bats he used.

I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be rippin’ nobody. Big Mac and Sammy are my homeboys after all. All this pressure of trying to help my Giants win a World Series title – and of course, since I’m hovering about Hank Aaron’s ‘hood, then I might as well go for the record. I’ll be a good boy, Lord.

Just spare me the asterisk.

Love,

Barry

Bleachers' Brew # 2 The Stripe is A Badge of Courage

The Stripe Is A Badge of Courage
by rick olivares

Night after night they’re double-teamed, triple-teamed. Coaches, team managers, even the ballboys get into the act. And wait ‘til you hear some of the wives or girlfriends. Some have caustic tongues like you’d never believe. No such thing as homecourt advantage for them. They run the break furiously galloping down the hardwood yet whether it’s an and-one or a botched lay-up they remain impassive. Impervious to the naked and raw emotions available for all to see.

They have a game plan. In fact, during half-time they march into the dug-out to review the past 24 minutes. Were they properly spaced on the court -- hard to get in on the action when their trying to weave their way around players a foot or more taller? What were they doing right and wrong? They wipe the sweat off their faces and sip water from plastic cups. Lemon time’s over. When they march back out, it’s to a rain of catcalls and boos.

It’s tough being a PBA referee. You have to be tough. Maybe even a little crazy. Why earn the ire of thousands of screaming partisan fans when you can earn bazillions playing hoops with those selfsame fans screaming your name in delirium instead of derision?

Luisito “Boy” Cruz, the League’s only Class A referee today laughs. “Yung father ko kasi referee rin noon sa mga inter-barangay sa Valenzuela, Bulacan,” he reveals. “Mga uncles ko rin nagre-referee rin noon. Medyo maliit yung sukat natin plus the fact na nakalakihan natin nag-officiate yung father at uncles ko kaya na-engaño ako sa paging referee.”

Luis “Tito” Varela who spent a tour of duty with the famed Crispa Redmanizers is more familiar to today’s hoop fans as a referee and as an official of Caloocan. “Pagkatapos ma-kantyawan ng Toyota fans, lahat ng teams sa PBA, kahit dating teammate nagre-reklamo,” says ex-pro with a hearty laugh. “Parang walang kadala-dala! Pero interesting and kakaiba yung mag-ref.”

Not to mention it being a high-pressure job. League Technical Group Manager Perry Martinez (who played alongside Chot Reyes and Jojo Lastimosa for the Ateneo Blue Eagles in the early 80s) is always on top of every play and training. “Teams spend millions every year to play in this league. The least we can do is call the games in the best manner possible,” stresses the Martinez. “But referees are human too and can make mistakes in spite of all preparations and trainings.”

Boy Cruz recalls one game where a non-call cost one team the game. In the dying seconds of a tough and close match between Sta. Lucia and Shell, the Realtor’s high-flying swingman Kenneth Duremdes went up for a jumpshot only to be met by the Turbochargers’ Tony De La Cruz. De La Cruz’ intention was to block the shot except he hacked Duremdes causing the shot to go awry. No whistle. Game over. Shell escaped through the eye of a needle.

Almost immediately, irate players and team officials swarmed all over Cruz who tried to remain unperturbed but was sweating profusely. “Naka-align ako pero hindi ko nakita yung sitwasyon,” expounded Cruz who winced at the memory. “But alam ko na may foul.” He couldn’t sleep that night. Couldn’t eat. In fact, it took him months to get over the boner. “You just have to let go,” he added.

PBA referees are screened ever so tightly. From educational attainment right down to credit history. Working in conjunction with the National Bureau of Investigation, PBA referee applicants are screened and scrutinized much more tightly than a contestant for American Idol. They aren’t allowed to even have a favorite team. “Para pantay-pantay ang tingin,” illustrates Martinez about objectivity.

“Integrity,” points out Boy Cruz. “Is all you have. Diyan nakasalalay ang buhay at pangalan mo. Kaya yung sinasabi nila na benta yung laro… hindi pwede yun sa amin. Paano na kapag nasira ka? Saan ka pupulutin”

With game days on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays, PBA referees undergo workouts on Tuesdays with lots of film viewing. Every play is dissected: good calls, bad calls, even positioning during the game is important. Thursdays are reserved for further workouts. Saturdays are their days off when there’s no out of town game. Last April 23, Cruz and his wife Raquel celebrated their 23rd wedding anniversary at a PBA game. “Nakasanayan na niya yung basketball,” chuckles Cruz. “Eh, di doon na kami nag-date.”

But officiating has been good for the Cruzes. Through his hard work and dedication, he has managed to put his children through school. He wants and needs nothing outside his family’s simple home comforts. Incredibly, his children have gained instant notoriety because of their dad’s profession. Instead of being asked to join in pick-up games, they’re asked to ref the game!

“Nakakatawa,” beams the leanly-built Cruz. “Most people go to a game to watch their idols or family playing. I go to watch the referees.”

To be a referee in the PBA is tough. You have to be tough. Maybe a little crazy. But sometimes all it takes is to be a chip off the old block.