A Lipa Faith

He looked beaten and tired. What began as a season of hope ended as his beloved Maroons took its eighth beating in 10 games (with two more games left to play) and was eliminated from Final Four contention in Season 69 of the UAAP. With the game less than a minute away from its merciful end, Joe Lipa trudged over to winning Adamson Coach Leo Austria to congratulate him. As he made his way back to the UP side of the court, he had that pained look on his face. He has a three-year plan to bring the title back to Diliman by 2008 but he never envisioned his team being laid so low.

Rewind to December of 1998 when Da Nose was introduced as the Blue Eagles’ new coach during the Grand Alumni Homecoming at the high school covered courts. I felt that it was as if Ateneo had won another championship. Such was my belief (and that of many Ateneans) in the man’s capabilities. Sure he had a very good team that was on the rise (Rico Villanueva, Wesley Gonzales, Ryan Pamintuan, and Rich Alvarez) but Coach was going to elevate the team and lead them out of the doldrums of the 90s. And he led them to three straight Final Four appearances before he fell short of the title in 2001. Today, outside of La Salle and FEU, Ateneo has made the UAAP Final Four every year since.

As a freshman in Ateneo, in 1986, I watched Joe lead his Maroons to their first title in a generation with Benjie Paras, Ronnie Magsanoc, and Eric Altamirano in tow. I also watched his Philips Sardine Makers (behind Jun Reyes and Paras) beat Magnolia (with Dindo Pumaren and Nelson Asaytono) for a PABL title in 1988. Then I saw him follow Ron Jacobs as coach of the national team and later mentor Shell in the PBA.

Wherever he went, his players swore by him (and I’m sure at him as well). Yet there was no denying that he got results. The Blue Eagles’ 3rd UAAP title in 2002 and 18th dating back to their NCAA days was every bit his as was Joel Banal’s.

It wasn’t so much as his success that fascinated me. He was Yogi Berra-like with his malapropisms and witticisms that made his coaching stints every bit as memorable. During one game in that historic 1986 championship run, he called for a high-low play for Paras and Magsanoc that he dubbed as the “Batman and Robin” play. When he was asked by swingman Duane Salvaterra about options should the play go awry, Lipa said without skipping a beat that they could always pass the ball to “Alfred.” The confused UP players wondered who “Alfred” was. Lipa then saw the look on their faces and pointed to “Alfred” or Joey Guanio who would be waiting in the wings on the weak side. The team broke out in laughter. In another timeout this time during a tight and intense Ateneo-UST game, he called for a better effort on the double team on Tigers’ center Alwin Espiritu. He asked who was helping out on defense from the top. Guard Andrew Cruz replied, “Paul (Tanchi) and me.” Lipa said, “Okey, Paul and me, this is what you do.” The team cracked up as coach continued with his instructions. After leaving Ateneo, lo and behold, he became the head of the UAAP’s officiating which is ironic since he’s had one too many tussles with the zebras over the years. Said the ever loquacious coach about the task at hand, “If you can’t beat them, coach them.”

When he went back to UP for his third go-around with his alma mater, I figured that he would turn things around for his squad. While he looks leaner that doesn’t mean he has been no less as fiery and bombastic. His famous “pongalalas” have made their return to the sideline. This season’s results notwithstanding, he has the foundation for a great team with some terrific rookies who should get better with more experience. He has seen what needs to be addressed and will surely make adjustments. That he landed rookies Migs De Asis and Martin Reyes out of De La Salle Zobel is no big surprise; he’s always loved his three-point shooters (Magsanoc, Altamirano, and Guanio with UP and Rainier Sison, Magnum Membrere, and Larry Fonacier with Ateneo, and he’s done wonders for Ren Ren Ritualo over at Fed Ex in the PBA). He’ll eventually land his big fella so they’ll dust off the Batman and Robin play.

His team may be in the cellar, but I don’t imagine they’ll be there for long. If you’re wondering if he’s lost his magic or he’s too old school, let me just say from someone from the other side of Katipunan (from Ateneo) that I’ve heard that said about him once to often to see that he’s always bounced back. His team’s freefall may very well fuel that drive back to the top in the years to come.

All you need is a leap of faith.

Pacman Country

Pacman Country
by rick olivares

Manny Pacquiao owns the Philippines. Okay, he doesn’t but he certainly has the country in the palm of his hand.

If you traverse the length of Epifanio De Los Santos Avenue, Metro Manila’s main thoroughfare, you’d think there’s an election going on. There are no less than six huge billboards of that now famous mustachioed mug eating fried chicken, crooning on a microphone, promoting a famous beer brand, available for downloading on your mobile phone as wallpaper, and being congratulated for dispatching his latest Mexican foil. Outside the sprawling Camp Aguinaldo, the headquarters of the Philippine Army based in Quezon City, the largest city in Metro Manila, there’s a billboard of a Philippine soldier in a snappy salute pose. “Para sa ‘yo ang buhay ko,” (“I will lay down my life for you.”) the slogan reassures of the military’s commitment to the defense of the Filipino and his way of life; a direct lift from Pacquiao’s chart-topping single that was on the airwaves more than the Pussycat Dolls, the current pop sensations of whose beauteous lead singer is of Filipino descent.

In a country that worships its silver screen idols, Manny is the star people from all walks of life pay to watch. This young and skinny kid born to extreme poverty now has the country’s top conglomerates at his beck and call. As of this writing, Manny endorses 10 different products. Industry insiders say that any talk about endorsements begins at a minimum of PhP 10 million pesos or US$200 thousand. San Miguel Corporation, one of Asia’s biggest food and beverage conglomerates reportedly snared Pacquiao for an undisclosed amount of millions (the word is it amounts to PhP 20 million pesos or US$400 thousand -- a whole lot more than was offered the late Fernando Poe, Jr, the King of Philippine Movies). McDonald’s likewise snared the Pacman to another megabucks long-term deal. Said an executive of the fast food giant who refused to be identified, “We choose Manny because he’s an “icon” in the country. He is that Filipino everyman who has defied the odds and won.” In fact, McDonald’s campaign has since come out a winner; sales have jumped up tremendously and have made significant inroads in the shares of industry leader and business rival Jollibee Foods Corporation.

The Philippines’ has always excelled in the international sporting arena. In billiards, perhaps no country has as many successful and popular cue magicians as the Philippines. It has Efren Reyes, Django Bustamante, Amang Parica, and Alex Pagulayan to name but a few. In bowling, it has Paeng Nepomuceno and CJ Suarez. In chess, it has Grandmasters Eugene Torre, Rosendo Balinas, Jr. and the young turk currently making waves, Mark Paragua. In basketball, the Philippines’ most popular sport, the country has embarked on an ambitious campaign to regain lost glory (back when it was a world power from the 1950’s to ‘70’s) with a team powered by Filipinos of mixed nationalities.

As much as basketball is considered as the national pastime, no sport unties the country like boxing. It is the one true sport that literally stops the traffic and leaves its crowded urban jungles a ghost town when one of its boxers has a match. The second Erik Morales-Manny Pacquiao fight dubbed “the Battle II,” was the single biggest moment in the history of Philippine sports. Bigger than all the local basketball rivalries and the Thrilla In Manila back in October of 1975 when Muhammad Ali knocked out Joe Frazier in one of the greatest boxing matches in history. The Battle II broke all local television viewing records with 58.2 rating (that tallied up to 2 million households) for a 77.8 share of the market and a 30.6 rating and 8.4 market share on cable TV. Thirty-two cinemas in malls over the country carried the live feed and played to packed audiences. Business establishments, hotels, bars and restaurants were likewise tuned in to the fight. And when the final bell rang and ringside announcer Michael Buffer announced Pacquiao as the winner, the celebration spilled into the streets in a frenzy unseen before. Hundreds of thousands of people lined the streets for Pacquiao’s victorious homecoming parade. Politicians surrounded him at all times aware of the valuable photo opportunities of standing side-by-side with the People’s Champion. Every form of mass media in the country featured his victory over Morales. Every single morsel of information about Manny whether rumors of an illicit affair, his penchant for karaoke bars, or his reputation as a Mexican Legend Killer (with wins over icons Erik Morales and Marco Antonio Barrera and a superb knockdown of Juan Manuel Marquez that ended in a controversial draw) was news. And the national partying that followed lasted for more than a week.

No Filipino boxer or athlete has bridged international borders the way Pacquiao has (as much as Gabriel “Flash” Elorde was an international champion, he didn’t live in the age of information technology). In fact, if you were to google Pacquiao, you’ll find more than half-a-million entries or results to his name.

Manny Pacquiao is the Philippines’ version Rocky Balboa. Only his is a story more striking and real than anything fictional; a real rags to riches story that has made him the first Filipino to truly be a cross-cultural phenomenon.

The story of this 130-pound man who carries the weight and expectations of 82 million people is best defined in three places: the streets of General Santos City, an overcrowded boat to Manila, and a dingy old gym.

Street Fighter
General Santos City in the southern Philippines has been re-named Manny Pacquiao City. Okay. It hasn’t been re-named and it still is known as General Santos City. Prior to being known around the world as the hometown of Manny Pacquiao, the claim to fame of this beautiful coastal town is being the Tuna Capital of the country and the hometown too of the Bad Boy from Dadiangas – as Gen. Santos was formerly known – Rolando Navarette himself a former world boxing champion.

It was in these city streets where Manny’s firm resolve to rise above his misery took form.

Miserable in fact was an understatement. Manny wasn’t even born yet when the odds were already stacked against him. His mother Dionisia and her two children were left by her first husband for another woman. A few years later, she remarried this time to Rosalio Pacquiao to whom she would have four more children with (of which Manny was the second). They were lucky to eat two meals a day which usually consisted of a native rice meal called “lugaw.” Despite being bright at school there simply wasn’t enough money to see Manny and the rest of the kids to secondary school. Manny almost didn’t march during his graduation from elementary school because they couldn’t afford to buy a graduation uniform. In order to make ends meet, Dionisia and her children had to sell bread, rice cakes, cellophane, peanuts, and doughnuts. Manny, barely into his teens worked too as a waiter to augment their meager earnings.

It was at the age of 13 when Manny discovered boxing. “There wasn’t much to do during our spare time,” recounted Manny. “But the one popular activity in our neighborhood was boxing.” There wasn’t enough money to go around purchasing proper gloves or shoes, so the combatants would wrap towels around their fists and fight barefoot.

“Manny was a natural,” said childhood friend and longtime trainer Buboy Fernandez. “He took to the sport like a duck to water. Even then he had that mean left hand. He would even beat boys who were older than him. I don’t recall him ever losing a fight back then.”

“At first, I wondered why Manny would get up from bed real early,” recounted Dionisia of those early morning jogging sessions. “He became secretive because he knew that I would disapprove.” Dionisia didn’t think her son’s fascination to the sport would amount to anything so she thought that the time was better off spent trying to earn a living.

But it was too late. As much as Dionisia tried to dissuade him from becoming a boxer, the young man who had known hardship all his life knew that his best chance out of the mean streets of nowheresville was through boxing.

Like a Moth to a Flame
Manny Pacquiao took one last look at his beloved General Santos City that was quickly disappearing in the horizon then turned the opposite way. His heart and mind were awash in a sea of tortured emotions.

Not too long ago, his mother found out that his father who was working in a farm in another village now had another family. The whole family was devastated; more so with his mother who was now struck twice by a lightning of the unluckiest kind. Now at 16 years old, Manny felt all the more convinced that if he were to get ahead in the world, his fortunes lay in that glittering city of hopes and dreams for millions of Filipinos… Manila.

For many of the 83 million Filipinos, Manila is like New York. It is where dreams are fulfilled and to paraphrase Frank Sinatra, and if you make it there, you can just about go anywhere else in the world. Not only is it the country’s capital but it is also the hub of business and politics, culture and the arts, and athletics and the sciences. The grandeur and allure of Manila ensures a steady pilgrimage of the hopeful and the hopeless from the provinces.

“I told myself that going to Manila was not only going to help further my boxing career,” explained Pacquiao who bristled at the painful memory of those formative years. While talking about past is generally taboo, Pacquiao keeps it close to his heart for it is what fuels his desire to achieve and succeed. “But it was also going to help me cope better with the pain of my parents’ separation.”

The moment he stepped on board that crowded passenger ship as a stowaway with nary a peso in his pockets he knew that there was no going back. Manny knew that it was the only way if he wanted to make good on his dreams.

“The boat was crowded,” remembered Pacquiao. “But you could see in everyone’s faces that the great adventure was about to begin. It was exciting and at the same time… frightening.”

Million Dollar Baby
Freddie Roach’s Wild Card Boxing Club on the 2nd floor of a two-story building in Vine Street at the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard in Los Angeles is just one of Tinseltown’s many attractions. When one of Roach’s fighters is in session, tourists, well-wishers, and media-types pack the small gym that after a while with all the sweating bodies it’s hard to tell the boxer from the visitor. It is here where Pacquiao now trains under the close supervision of Roach, a one-time featherweight boxer himself. Those who know Manny will say that Pacquiao is like a wild stallion that isn’t easily cowed by anyone; he worships Roach for his intelligence and for molding him into a polished and feared fighter.

In stark contrast, the Lainez-Mondejar (L&M) Gym in Sampaloc, Manila is that stereotypical dive of a boxing gym unlike the new jack clubs where the sport has become a means to workout. The dingy gym located in the heart of Manila’s squalor has that rank smell of leather, sweat, piss, and stuffy air to it that it’s hard to believe that it has nurtured some of the best fighters to come out of the country. It is here where Manny Pacquiao took his first steps in his journey to glory. “I want to become a boxer,” he meekly told the man behind the desk. Rod Nazario who was operating that gym then and would later manage Pacquiao thought that the skinny kid with a provincial accent was a joke. “Does your mother know you’re here? Go home,” said Nazario who can only chuckle at his gruff dismissal and chance first encounter with the lad who would one day be the face and future of Philippine boxing. “But who knew what was to come, eh?”

Although he left the gym, Pacquiao was unwavering in his desire to become a boxer. He found a job as a construction worker for Polding Correa who aside from being a building contractor ran his own stable of young and up-and-coming boxers. Just as it was back home in General Santos City, Pacquiao had to hold two jobs with his other income from selling cigarettes in the streets. The big difference this time around was that he knew he was close to fulfilling his dream. He did make it back to L&M Gym where he trained on his way to a sterling amateur record of 60-4.

In January 22, 1995, Manny returned to the south for his first professional fight. He outpointed Edmund Ignacio in a four-round match for his first win. He would string up nine more wins before falling to Rustico Torrecampo in a fight that he came ill-prepared for. The loss was jarring but it served notice that the chips weren’t going to fall for him all the time – he had to work hard for it.

And he did.

The World on a String
Manny Pacquiao has compiled a sterling 42-3-2 record with 33 knockouts on his way to six world titles. He has come back to silence his critics by destroying some plenty tough Mexican boxing legends. While working in New York City, when my Mexican and Puerto Rican neighbors and officemates would find out my ethnicity, the first thing they’d say was “Manny Pacquiao!” accompanied by a thumbs up gesture. His bell-to-bell all-out action style has captivated audiences everywhere. The stale and plodding heavyweight division has given way to the lightweights where the action has been fast and furious. Nowadays, he’s mentioned as one of the best pound-for-pound fighters in the world.

He’s lived months away from home and family in his quest for world titles and redemption. But for all his success and high living, Manny Pacquiao at 27 years of age still remembers his roots.

He still lives in General Santos although not in a ramshackle home. His palatial estate is like a tourist attraction periodically drawing people from all over whether he’s home or not. He has a foundation that sends poor children to school. He’s been a godsend to friends and family with his generosity. During his birthday, he throws a party where practically all the townsfolk show up. Not only are they in for a free treat but they get to be entertained by Pacquiao himself who’ll strap on a guitar and sing or wail away to a karaoke which is something he enjoys tremendously.

His success has single-handedly lifted the state of Philippine boxing to another level as well as the self-esteem of Filipinos all over the world. More and more Philippine fighters are being introduced in the world stage. Tony Aldeguer’s famed ALA Gym in Cebu recently signed a contract with Oscar De La Hoya’s Golden Boy Productions to showcase the talents of fighters like Rey “Boom Boom” Bautista, Z Gorres, and Jimrex Jaca. All have given props to Manny whose mere presence has caused the spotlight to shine their way.

In a recent interview after outpointing another Mexican in Oscar Larios in a fight that surprisingly went the distance, Pacquiao declared his intention to retire in two years’ time. But before any serious talk of post-career plans, he fights one last time this year against Erik Morales this coming November 18 in what is the final chapter of this epic trilogy. After their first encounter, Morales dismissed any talks of a rematch as he claimed that Pacquiao was nowhere near his caliber. But the fight got underway and the great Mexican was knocked out for the first time in his hall-of-fame career. With all the pre-fight trash talk (Pacquiao says he’ll knock Morales into retirement while Morales claims he’ll force feed his erstwhile conqueror a fistful of leather down his throat). This early, the Philippines (as is Mexico) is girding for the mother of all battles.

His family is set for life. If anything, his last two years in boxing are just to cement his place in history of the sport although his last ring exploits could have a huge bearing on that. New athletic sensations with similar rags-to-riches stories are said to be the Manny Pacquiao of their sport. His face has launched dozens of advertising campaigns. At the peak of his career, his life has been adapted into film and his everyday life is tabloid fodder. There’s even talk of him running for the Vice Mayor of Manila (of which he will surely win in this country starved for heroes and star power).
Even when he retires it seems that great adventure he looked forward to in what seems a lifetime ago is just starting.

After all, he’s got the country in the palm of his hand.

The NFL (No Fun League)

Why do you watch the NFL?
Is it because of those spectacular touchdown catches?
Is it because of the fourth quarter drives that result in Hail Mary passes?
Or is it because of those leggy cheerleaders who supercharge you in ways that Gatorade can never dream of?

For me it’s all that and then some.

I live to see those touchdown celebrations. I live to see the spike. The slam dunk over the crossbar. I live to see a shuffle and when players launch themselves into the end zone with their arms stretched getting ready for that Sportscenter highlight. I live to see the Cincinnati Bengals’ wide receiver Chad Johnson entertain fans with his creative celebrations. I loved it when putted the pigskin using the end zone pylon. I laughed out loud when he tried CPR on the ball. Did you see when he handed out a sackfull of autographed balls after a recept? How about proposing to a cheerleader after a great TD catch? Mondo hilarious, effendi!

I’ve seen Ickey Woods shuffle, Terrell Owens pose like Mr. Universe, Steve Smith perform calisthenics, and Joe Horn call his mom on his cellphone in the end zone after a TD! I’ve seen Deion Sanders high-step, Shannon Sharpe salute the crowd, and Robert Brooks jump into the stands in Green Bay. Yes, that Lambeau Leap. Invented by former safety Leroy Butler – yes, a defensive player who was the recipient of a lateral pass off a fumble recovery that lead to a 25-yard TD run -- it has become a tradition since the Packers’ return to respectability in the 90’s.

Sadly, all that might be a thing of the past now.

The No Fun League of Paul Tagliabue has just taken a huge dip in my coolometer. As part of the No Fun League’s new rules for 2006-06, they passed this moronic statute:
“Individual players are prohibited from using foreign objects or the football while celebrating. They are also prohibited from engaging in any celebrations while on the ground. A celebration shall be deemed excessive or prolonged if a player continues to celebrate after a warning from an official.”
In the name of sportsmanship they say. C’mon. That’s like outlawing the dunk in the NBA. Or taking away the post-goal celebrations in football. Nigeria’s Super Eagles have some of the funniest and most creative goal celebrations the world has ever seen.

It’s these acts that add color to the game. It’s a form of expression of joy with some creativity in it. A little display of emotion never hurt. If it’s construed to be in the vein of trash-talking then they best way to prevent Chad Johnson from making the highlight reel of the game is to have those safeties or LBs tackle him.

Get in with the program, you geriatric buffoons. You were young when Elvis shook the foundations of a staid music scene. Moptops and long-hair was how you responded to change.

To the fogies who run the NFL, if you think that the post-game dances slow down the game, then maybe you should cut down on those lengthy commercial breaks. Maybe you should take a look at the officiating – and this despite instant replay – which still sucks. All those false starts and holding calls slow the game to a crawl.

If the opposing team feels slighted that Chad Johnson has put one over them again they should be more upset that someone blew their man-to-man coverage somewheres. Or maybe their quarterback has the mobility of those party-poopers who just passed that rule so getting picked off for a TD return by a defensive player warrants a jig or some nifty routine.

A 15-yard penalty if someone celebrates? Ok. There’s a verbal warning first but nevertheless that sucks. Way too much, amigos!

Personally, I am a Denver Broncos fan but I enjoy watching the Bengals and now the Cowboys (because TO is now there if only to see what he will do when he gets to the end zone). I’d love to see the players get down with it after a score; not just to get up and walk away.

In the pre-season game between the Washington Redskins and the Cincinnati Bengals the other day, as Chad Johnson was being interviewed about what he has in store for fans this coming season, teammate Kelly Washington scored on a 34-yard TD strike from Doug Johnson. Washington did a dance that Johnson described as “sweet.” So when pressed as to how he intends to deal with the ban on TD celebrations, he simply teased. “It’s a soap opera,” said Johnson now sporting a blond mohawk. “So you gotta join us for the whole year to find out.”

And so will the No Fun League officials led by Paul Tagliabue up in their skyboxes.

The NFL will be shown on Solar Sports this coming September.

All the World Is a Stage: The 2006 FIBA World Basketball Championships

To paraphrase the Bard from Stratford-upon-Avon, “all the world is a stage and we are merely players…”

And so the stage is set for basketball’s biggest event – the FIBA World Basketball Championships in Japan from August 19-September 3, 2006. 24 teams from every continent on the globe will be vying for basketball’s biggest prize. Teams will renew acquaintances or the hardcourt as there will be new rivalries. But perhaps the most perplexing question to this tournament concerns the US Men’s basketball team.

“The days of US dominance in basketball are past,” so declared Argentinean hoops star and San Antonio Spur Manu Ginobili as his Athens Olympic champs prepared for the FIBA World Basketball Champions in Japan slated to start in a week’s time.

It wasn’t too long ago when such a bold statement meant the person had a case of dementia or was in denial such as perhaps like 1992 Angolan Coach Victorino Cunha who said that the Americans played no defense (perhaps he was still in a daze after his team got shellacked 116-48).

Nowadays, you’ll perhaps get a sneer if you suggest that. In the former states that once comprised Yugoslavia, you’ll find arguably the best place for hoops outside continental USA.

The seeds of the evolution of the world game were sown in 1970 in the war room of the Atlanta Hawks. The Hawks were then in the Western Division (as were the Chicago Bulls). Atlanta behind Butch Beard, Walt Bellamy, and Jim Davis finished first in their division but lost the conference finals to the Lakers of Jerry West, Elgin Baylor, and Wilt Chamberlain. Seeking to address their scoring sock as they were rudely swept out of the play-offs by the Lakers, GM Marty Blake drafted the first foreigners ever in the NBA – Italy’s Dino Meneghin and Mexico’s Manuel Raga. Both players never suited up for the Hawks as the team couldn’t pay for the expensive transfer fees required to acquire them (it then cost $35 thousand dollars). It was an intriguing move, but it didn’t register in anyone’s radar screen until Munich.

While the Munich summer games will always be remembered for three things: 1) Nadia Comaneci, 2) the infamy of terrorist activity of Black September which forever changed the games and huge sporting competitions, and 3) the blatant rip-off job done on a US team. If any Russian tells you otherwise then chances are he hasn’t had a drop of vodka yet otherwise his loose tongue will admit to conspiracy theories and that Alexander Belov committed an offensive foul in those fateful final seconds. But the loss and Russia’s subsequent gold medal put things in motion.

Quinn Buckner was in high school when the USSR took that controversial gold medal. He vowed to himself that when he made the Olympic team, he’d take back what was rightfully America’s. And he did just that. In his last year with Indiana University, Buckner led the 32-0 Hoosiers not only to the NCAA title but also to the gold medal (against Canada) in the ’76 Montreal Olympics.

In 1984, Buckner’s IU mentor Robert Montgomery Knight coached arguably the finest amateur basketball team in history to the gold medal game. It wasn’t as sweet as he envisioned since the Russians boycotted the Los Angeles Olympics in return for America sitting out the Moscow Games but a gold medal was still a gold medal. As Michael Jordan and company began to lift Knight for the traditional coach’s victory ride, Knight insisted, “Coach (Hank) Iba first!” Iba was the coach on the star-crossed ’72 team.

The return to glory was short lived for the Russians once more took the gold as US team that was bereft of any zone breaking outside shooting (once Bradley University’s Hersey Hawkins went down with an injury) finished with a bronze. It was an embarrassing finish for the US and with it the call went out for an all-pro team was sounded. Eight months after the Olympic debacle, FIBA voted to allow NBA players a chance to play in the outside their professional league.

It took the Dream Team (which had three players from the ’84 squad in its line-up) to reclaim supremacy and to put those upstart Euros in their place. But that team’s success likewise set the stage for disaster. Following Barcelona, more and more players migrated to America to show that they belonged on basketball’s biggest and grandest stage among these were Croatia’s Toni Kukoc (Chicago Bulls), Drazen Petrovic (Portland Trailblazers), and Dino Radja (Boston Celtics).

It seemed that all it took was to put a USA basketball uniform on NBA players and they’d roll over the opposition. But as it is, exposure and experience playing against and with the best players in the world elevated the game of Europeans and the South Americans. More and more foreigners were making huge strides and an impact in the NBA.

USA Basketball continued to send patch-work squads who didn’t have the time to prepare more so take the opposition seriously. Teams thought that their mere star power and athleticism would be enough to win the day. But against a better prepared rest-of-the-world, it was a recipe for disaster. The came the debacle in Athens and Indianapolis. The cloak of invincibility that the NBA players wore was now stripped clean. Russia since weakened by the break up of the Soviet states wasn’t now their rival. Serbia & Montenegro and Argentina both playing fundamentally sound basketball was whipping the US soundly. And more and more they were remaking NBA rosters and the game itself.

When the 2005-06 season opened, there were 82 international players from 38 countries in an NBA uniform. The rights to another 43 players were likewise held by different teams.

When the 2006 FIBA tournament unfolds this August 19, all eyes will be on the US team. Bannered by its class of 2003 in Lebron James, Carmelo Anthony, and Dwayne Wade, they’re out not only for redemption, but also what US Coach Mike Krzyzewski says would be “changing the way America looks at the basketball.”

Whatever the outcome, it’s great for the game that it isn’t so one-sided anymore. The stage is set for a battle royale between 24 countries and some 300+ plus players. Now it’s really what you can call a world championship.

Brian Viloria: the Natural

The kleg lights’ white heat was on and the cameras zoomed towards his cool and unperturbed face. A dozen more digicams of the personal kind were thrust in his way and the muzak droned in the background like a headache that refused to go away. As he made his way onto the floor, the shrieks got louder and the tall lanky man in his way who has been the show for years on end suddenly flashed a toothy grin and said, “Welcome to Eat Bulaga, Champ.”

After defeating Juan Antonio “El Jaguar” Aguirre, WBC Champ Brian Viloria quietly slipped into Manila as part of Solar Sports’ promotions of this highly-touted Fil-Am boxer. As much as Brian loves adobo, Jollibee, and tapsilog, he’s still perceived to be as American as apple pie, the NFL, and Limp Bizkit. Solar COO Peter Chanliong and VP for Sports Marketing Jude Turcuato figured that it would be a good for Brian to do the noon time and talk show circuit and go about town so that Filipinos would see him, recognize him, get to know him, and adopt him as one of their own (and hopefully in the vein of the Pacman). With the popularity of boxing and our new legion of ring gladiators at an all-time high, Brian who is an actual world champion is also at the forefront although left of center from the National Fist out of Gen San who is clearly in the man right now. He recognizes his celebrity but doesn’t revel in it. He’s more at home in front of a Playstation console and listening to music while lying down in bed. But he knows his duties and responsibilities and his heritage. “I am a product of both America and the Philippines,” he says to clarify any attempts to swing his national loyalties. “America raised me and has been good to my family, but my culture, heritage, and roots are from the Philippines.”

While walking around the tiangge capital of Manila (Greenhills), dozens of young students from nearby Xavier and ICA recognized him and greeted him. The people we came across had to do a double take and rub their eyes if it was truly Brian Viloria right in front of them: all 5’4” of him. “Nice going, champ,” said one man in a barong tagalong as he pumped Brian’s powerful fists. Another had her fist autographed and swore she would was her hand for the rest of the day. A motorcycle cop asked if Brian needed police escort (the Hawaiian Punch politely declined).

The Eat Bulaga stint for all its slapstick humor and penchant for fun and games hardly worried Solar’s executives. Brian has always had this ability to quickly adapt to sudden changes; a trait he’s learned in the ring. He joined the regular Bulagaan: sang, danced, clowned about, and handled himself at the mike quite well.

A day later at Mario’s in Timog, members of congress, sports personalities and media folks who were minding their own dinners were surprised to see that the young man tickling the keys was none other than the WBC Light Flyweight Champ himself!

During Pacman’s second go-around with El Terrible, Brian helped provide ringside commentary that was every bit as incisive and revealing showing a young man with many talents outside his chosen profession.

The Northern Michigan University Communications and Film student (he set aside his studies for his pro boxing career) who was the captain of his high school tennis team and who plays 14 different musical instruments would love nothing more than a career behind the cameras once he hangs up his gloves, but for now, he has set his sights on being a great boxer.

At 19-0, Viloria will put his title on the line for the second time this coming Friday (August 11) against Guadalajara-native Omar Nino Romero (23-2-1) who is currently in the midst of a four-win skein. The match will be Viloria’s first as the main event of his career when the Thursday Fight Night at the Orleans Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada gets underway. Should Brian successfully defend his title, he hopes to go up against Mexican icon Jorge Arce in what he describes will be a “mega-fight” (unless Arce moves up a weight class). But what could possibly happen before that is a confrontation with Thai boxer Wandee Singwancha who recently beat our very own Juanito Rubillar in a controversial decision.

But for now, it’s Viloria versus Romero. Brian has shown his devastating power especially in his savage knockouts of Sheldon Wile, Antonio Perez-Ontiveros, Ruben Contreras, and Eric Ortiz. His injured hand has healed. He’s game and excited about hitting the ring something that he took to “like a duck to water” as he described his love for the sweet science.

The kleg lights will burn and the cameras will roll this Friday as they will long after his career in boxing is over (thanks to his many natural and prodigious talents). When Brian Viloria comes home, welcome him back. It’s always nice to be treated to someone of such rare form.

The Viloria-Romero fight will be shown over Solar Sports/RPN9 Friday, August 11, 2006 at 10a.m.

The (dis)parity of pure play

The last time I saw Pido Jarencio in the UAAP was in 1985. He walked towards the Blue Eagles’ bench with a minute left in the game. By then UST was comfortably ahead of Ateneo who just saw their dreams of a Cinderella-like finish go up in smoke (Jarencio torched Ateneo for 30+ points). Ateneo fielded a unit mostly composed of freshmen (the ’85 Junior Champs moved up to the collegiate ranks); though they were tough and competitive, but were still pretty green for Seniors hoops. Jarencio shook the hands of his crestfallen foes and said not to worry for their time would come (and it did for they were back-to-back champs in ’87 & ‘88).

Here he is again, although in a coach’s capacity, leading the rejuvenated Tigers back into contention. And they’re playing his brand of run-and-gun ball. He’s got a young and exciting team that will only get better as they gain more experience.

The streets of Manila are where one can hope to find good bargains. The Benedictine Fathers had the good fortune of finding one back in the day when they lured away a skinny kid from National University to matriculate eventually in San Beda. His name? Caloy Loyzaga. NU’s misfortune isn’t exactly the stuff of the Curse of the Bambino since they won the UAAP title in 1955, but since Skip Guinto graduated they’ve for the most part been hopelessly inept (save for a few years when they had Danny Ildefonso and Lordy Tugade and in 2002 when they made the semis). But had they kept Loyzaga, think of all the couldas, wouldas, and mighthaves. Here are the Bulldogs again -- slugging it out in this year of parity in the UAAP Men’s Basketball Tournament. And they’re beating some highly fancied teams at that.The Adamson Falcons know a bit about bad karma. Since they were suspended for Marlou Aquino’s bogus grades, their team has been hexed. The nadir coming with a pair of back-to-back winless seasons (and another bordered on a third). The rudder-less team that counts the sons of many former pro greats in its current line-up has oft been described as undisciplined and selfish. Here they are again with former pro coach Leo Austria at the helm and their game has earned them back a measure of respect.The saying about it being lonely at the top is something the FEU Tamaraws wouldn’t mind right now. Instead they’re at the bottom with everyone avoiding them like they had the plague. After 18 men’s basketball titles (including two in the last three years) – they’re tied with UE for the most number of league crowns. Here they are in unfamiliar territory and flirting with history of the dubious kind – if they don’t watch out, they could be the first defending champs team to miss the Final Four. The Ateneo Blue Eagles as of this writing are on top. They weren’t even considered to be among the top three teams to compete for the championship. The loss of three key players and having a team filled with question marks were enough to relegate them to dark horse status which is fine with them. Less pressure, right?Here they are again pacing the league and despite not having played the perfect game yet.The presence alone of Joe Lipa on UP’s bench is a story unto itself. His name is synonymous with winning. He’s old school smart and his witticisms and barbarisms make for great watering hole stories. He also hopes that lightning will strike twice as it’s the 20th anniversary of Maroon Pride and the 1986 team that is forever etched into school lore.Here they are currently under .500 but you know Da Nose is going to squeeze every ounce of talent out of his wards who are expected to compete for a final four berth.The UE Red Warriors last made it to the finals when they had Bong Ravena and Jolly Escobar. They’ve fielded some pretty terrific teams the past five years but never made it to the championship round. Here they are again a solid favorite to win their 19th title. Yet in their last two outings, they lost one badly and were nearly upset in another. All of a sudden the road to the championship isn’t smooth riding as basketball observers thought it would be.Welcome to Season 69 of the UAAP. Along with the NCAA, they are last bastion of hoops where it’s played purely for the love of the game and school pride. I love it that there are less sponsors whose commercial glut took the fun right out of the game (last I checked, it was hoops I went to watch, not some teeny bopper circus). Studio 23 should jack up its prices to the sponsors who left this year and hope to comeback next year. No DLSU? Sure we miss them but the league existed and thrived and was enjoyable long before they joined. For years the bane of the UAAP was year-in-and-out you could predict with unerring accuracy who would make the semis and win the oversized plaque that passes for a trophy. Now things are topsy turvy, plenty exciting, high-scoring and we’ve been treated this early to upsets and sub-plots galore! (Dis)parity in the league? You gotta love this game.

Round 2

He had that cred coming out of the amateurs: 2 UAAP titles with La Salle, a celebrated National Team stint, and one of the last pure Pinoy players before the 90’s Fil-foreigner explosion to be designated a franchise player.

He won Rookie of the Year with Sta. Lucia and posted great stats. And that’s where it began to go downhill for him. It was said that he only cared for his stats and his money. It was said that for a man of his height and power, he played soft. It didn’t help that when he was eventually traded away from Sta. Lucia, his team finally bagged the elusive crown. It was the same story at Ginebra – they only won after he was traded away to Purefoods (and not after an embarrassing drug suspension that tarnished his rep all the more). No way is a team going to win a title with Jun Limpot in the line-up, many cruelly joked.

Friday night, with the seconds ticking oh-so close to Purefoods’ 7th PBA title, Ryan Gregorio accorded the ultimate respect to the old warhorse by putting him in the game’s last moments. Limpot’s freethrow was the series’ last basket and when the buzzer sounded, as the confetti and balloons fell so did his tears. His teammates even hoisted him for the victory ride before their coach!

He didn’t have that cred coming out of the amateurs. Sure he helped Ateneo to a title in ’02. Sure he played on a title-winning PBL team. But he wasn’t even the main man (it was Rico Villanueva, Rich Alvarez or Jun Simon). After being anointed King Eagle, an unfortunate ACL injury cruelly ended his college playing days. Nowadays it is not uncommon for players to comeback from ACLs. What is uncommon is coming back and playing at a high level. Maybe even better than he was before.

He was drafted #14 and in the second round. That he was drafted at all was a surprise to many who thought he wasn’t good enough or needed more seasoning in the PBL. But he turned into one of Yeng Giao’s prized super-subs. Displaying deadly all-around form and with the poise-f a grizzled vet, Larry Fonacier has helped Red Bull to its 3rd title in the Fiesta Conference and a runner-up finish to Limpot’s Chunkee Giants in the just-concluded All Filipino Cup. With the odds stacked against his team, Fonacier conspired with college teammate Villanueva to send the series to a sixth game with some clutch plays. Something he has done all-year long playing simple, no-nonsense fundamental basketball. For that he was accorded this year’s Rookie of the Year -- the lowest drafted player to turn the trick since Gerry Esplana did it with Presto in 1990.

Two players with divergent roads to the pros. But both seeking redemption. Life’s Round One may knock you around for a loop. Throw you a curve ball when you’re expecting a fastball down the middle. But the point is, you get right back up swinging and plugging away.

Round Two? Ah, you just read two of the best feel good pro basketball stories of the year.

Klinsmann May Have the Last Laugh

One can sense that German Coach Jurgen Klinsmann, who is a man of few words, is itching to say something. Especially after his fellow Germans derisively called him “Klinsi-grinsi” – a term that portrayed him as a clueless blonde German expatriate in sunny La La Land.

“Veni. Vidi. Vici.” Julius Caesar’s terse statement to the Roman senate after defeating King Pharmaces in the Battle of Zela (a place today located in Turkey) comes to mind.

But if victory is won on July 9 – should Germany make it all the way, this son of a Stuttgart baker may very well utter “Ich bin Berliner!” sans the donut jokes.

As the German national team celebrated after defeating Argentina 4-2 in penalty kicks, Franz Beckenbauer, Klinsmann’s coach when their side won the cup in 1990, smiled from the stands. One of his former ward’s strongest critics in the DBF (Deutsche Bund Fusbal their equivalent of our own PFF), Beckenbauer has scored his former striker’s tactics since taking over the national team. Strangely, some of the German great’s attacks (prior to the start of the Cup Finals) was over the change from the traditional and defensive 3-5-2 formation to the more offensive 4-4-2 diamond this team currently employs.

Fortunately, the new attack mode has allowed for more scoring chances and the most goals scored in the tourney thus far making Beckenbauer’s attacks sound like the musings of an older generation that isn’t attuned to the 21st century.“Try not to become a man of success but a man of value,” once said his fellow Württemberg, Stuttgart native and Noel-winning physicist, Albert Einstein. And Klinsmann could very well be quoting him in a Zen-like manner.

The finals have brought out a wave of German nationalism not seen in a long time. The fact that US Football in the wake of its disastrous cup appearance has made overtures about Klinsmann’s availability (he currently resides in California with his American wife Debbie and their two children) means the man is doing something right.The Germans head into their semi-finals match against the Azzuri clear favorites now to win their third World Cup more so now that early favorites Argentina and Brazil are out. Their offense is humming and their formerly derided defense has been rock solid. His timely substitutions such as putting in David Odonkor and selecting Jens Lehmann over former goal-keeping stud Oliver Kahn now look like masterstrokes. With one more win, the Germans will be playing for the title in Berlin. And Jurgen Klinsmann may be just the second player after Beckenbauer to both play and coach in a World Cup title team.

“Ich bin Berliner?”Nein. Klinsmann may just settle for an easy grin.

Images that are Everything

Those early images were of a roughly-hewn diamond. When Andre Agassi broke into professional tennis, he had those rock star locks and a celebrity girlfriend (and later wife) in Brooke Shields. He wore brightly-colored garb and displayed antics reminiscent of Jimbo and Mac Nasty that brought flair to an otherwise staid game.

He was irreverent. He pooh-poohed the All-England club for two years because he refused to conform to the all-white uniforms the tournament requires one to wear. On a powerful US Davis Cup team that had Pete Sampras and Jim Courier, Andre stole a page from team captain John McEnroe as he breathed fire and belched brimstone to rally the US victory against Switzerland.

Andre Agassi was no flash-in-the-pan. By the mid-90s, he had won three of the four Grand Slam events and his storied rivalry with erstwhile teammate Sampras electrified tennis. Yet for all his on-court accomplishments, his off-court goings-on seemed as much to define him. During the 1995 Australian Open, his newly-shaven plate received as much press as his victory over Pistol Pete. The nagging injuries caused tennis observers to write him off and a crumbling marriage that eventually took its toll on this son of a former Iranian Olympian was tabloid fodder.

In 1998, Agassi reinvented himself and rededicated himself to the game. Whipping himself into shape, he made a quantum leap from being ranked #141 in the world to #6 by year’s end. A triumph at Roland Garros the following year shot him into history books as the only male tennis player in history to win in all four Grand Slams and an Olympic Gold medal. Coincidentally, his second wife, Steffi Graf is the only female player in tennis history to have done the same (can’t ask for a more perfect match now, can you?).

The turn-around would become even more remarkable as he would go on to win four more Grand Slam titles and a host of others in the years since that would cement his place as one of tennis’ all-time greats. But during a tepid press conference that preceded this Australian Open, two sentences changes made the setting more significant and set off a wave of nostalgia:

"It's been a long road this year for me, and for a lot of reasons. It's great to be here. This Wimbledon will be my last, and the U.S. Open will be my last tournament."

It was 20 years ago when Andre Kirk Agassian turned pro. He has lasted longer than anyone has expected. His contemporaries have all retired. But by no means is he a pushover for younger foes. He has gamely battled today’s stars and if weren’t for an assortment of ankle and back injuries (aside from age), he probably would have beaten them.

The diamond has now been expertly carved. He is now an elder statesman of the game. His maturity and sincere love for the game are evident for the entire world to see. His induction speech of his wife Steffi at the International Tennis Hall of Fame left nary a dry eye in the house.

Three minutes within Agassi’s stepping off the podium during the Australian Open Press conference, new clay court sensation Rafael Nadal (who has oft been described as a new version of Andre) could only gush about his idol. What your best image of Andre, Rafa?

“A legend.” And that says everything.

(Three rounds into this Wimbledon Championships, Nadal ended Agassi’s run at Wimbledon with a 7-6 (5), 6-2, 6-4 victory)

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.