Basketball rules, even in my kitchen

Basketball. I never liked it. As a child I didn’t comprehend why I had to play it so my playmates would not call me a sissy. I tried to play this game twice as a child growing up in the macho land of the Warays. I don’t remember what happened but it must have been despicable that I stayed away from a basketball court longer than I can remember. I must have pinched or slapped the behinds of my playmates because nobody seemed interested to invite me again to play basketball. In the privacy of my home, I would actually practice how to dribble and shoot the ball but I wasn’t just into it.

My body rhythm was really more for dance and drama and the 100-meter dash. Yes, I ran fast. I ran fast because I was used to being run after by insane dogs in my little street of Campesao where to escape the deadly canine fangs, one had either to run really fast or sit and run until mad dogs would scamper in exasperation. You see, when you sit and pretend to pick up a stone, stray dogs think you are going to attack them.

I did not become a sprinter because I was distracted by my passionate interest in music, dance and the theater. And of course, the church. It was fashionable to be an altar boy during my time. Assisting the cura paroco during Mass brought a distinct pride to my clan – especially Nanay who made me feel being an altar boy was better than being a basketball player.

Back to basketball. Last Friday, I arrived at the house and everyone was glued to the kitchen TV set watching Coke and Talk ‘N Text play the final minutes of their fifth encounter. It must have been gut-wrenching, because Amar (my office messenger and a Coke fan) was throwing dagger looks at Lani (my cook, a Talk ‘N Text diehard). The tension was palpable in my small kitchen. No one was talking. I figured it must have been a close fight. I saw Taulava gracefully weaving through bulky bodies to shoot the ball. The Coliseum was in pandemonium.

And there was Abarrientos who made important shots. How and why, by God’s grace I didn’t know. Pablo, Fran, Hatfield all scrambled for one ball and were making points according to the sportscasters. And I saw Joel Banal curtly instructing players what to do and where to go. They were running to and from one court quarreling (under the rules of basketball of course) over one ball. A foul would be called and free throws would be executed. Deafening incantations enveloped the Coliseum while Lani and Amar still ignored each other. Then there was a tie and a five-minute extension.

Amar reached for a glass of water. Lani ran to the bathroom while I enjoyed my dinner of fried daing (from Samar) and steamed rice. I was also quiet, thinking that the excitement and tension Amar and Lani had was perhaps similar to the epileptic attacks I went through when magnificent Federer fought gigantic Philippoussis in the Wimbledon Finals.

But tennis is different from this rough game of basketball. Tennis is elegant, with members of the Royal family always present in the Wimbledon games. And the outfits, the paraphernalia, the ambiance that makes even the primeval panting of Venus Williams sounds like a Broadway song. But live and let live, I told myself. This is what Maya Angelou means when she talks about diversity and being different from one another yet everyone being equal.

Without realizing it, Amar and Lani were back in their corners of my little kitchen as the five-minute extension game between Coke and Talk ‘N Text began. A few minutes into the game, Coke was ahead by six points.

Amar’s smile was bigger than my kitchen door, his white big teeth preventing his mouth from closing. Lani’s wrinkles reached her ankles in detestation. I could hear shouting on the TV set, sportscasters rambling on scores and how the game was going.

I saw familiar faces on the ringside. After a couple of minutes, Amar jumped like a convicted felon, shouted an unintelligible grumbling that sounded so obnoxious that I almost ate the whole head of my daing. He moved toward Lani with a hundred peso bill on one hand and slapped it on her jubilant face.

Oh well, basketball, after all, is still alive!