Views from the bleachers
Earplugs. My son, nephew, and I went looking for earplugs in the mall the other day in preparation for watching the UAAP juniors’ basketball championship game between UST and Ateneo last September 19. Anyone who has gone to these kinds of games knows how deafening it could get inside the arena. The kids are not used to very loud noise and so I thought of getting them some eardrum protection. On second thought, however, I figured that it probably wouldn’t be that bad and told them that we’d just cover our ears if the babble became unbearable. They smiled mischievously and insisted that we still get some earplugs anyway so that they can use them whenever their younger siblings and/or cousins started whining. This just goes to show that noise is sometimes a relative matter. Be that as it may, the decibel level at the Araneta Coliseum that Sunday morning was certainly close to the max. And while I am a die-hard Atenean, I must say that UST has one of the most intoxicating cheers in the UAAP. It was mesmerizing to see a sea of yellow swing and sway in unison as they chanted at the top of their lungs the famous “Go-USTe, Go-USTe, Go-Go-Go-Go, Go-USTe!”
While certainly not as prestigious as the seniors division, I actually like watching the juniors’ games more. Juniors’ games have a purer and more personal feel for me. Compared to high school, the student population at the college level is not just larger, it is also much more of a melting pot. In high school, it’s pretty homogenous. During my time, for example, the vast majority of my high school batch mates came from the same grade school. Varsity basketball player or not, we were therefore all real friends and knew each other by name. This was often true even between the older and younger batches. The high school students on the court and on the stands were people who genuinely grew up together. In contrast, it is not unusual for the students cheering for their college teams to not know their players at all. The seniors’ games are also starting to have too much of a “professional” flavor for my taste. There is just so much “recruiting” going around already and many players reportedly now choose schools depending on who can give the “best offer.”
As exciting as the championship game was, two of the most memorable scenes that I witnessed that day happened after the final buzzer had sounded. The first one was the slumped figure of UST’s star forward as he walked sadly by himself towards the dugout. His teammates were all still quietly standing on the far end of the court watching the Ateneans whoop it up. They were all supposed to stay behind for the awarding ceremonies. But I guess it was too much to bear for the young athlete who must have felt that he had let his teammates down. After he mourned their loss, I hope he realized that he had done really well. It may not lessen his pain, but the knowledge that he left everything he had on the court should be enough. Our youth are increasingly told nowadays that winning is everything. They are coached in a manner so that they develop the so-called killer’s instinct and the attitude of winning at all costs. Otherwise, not only will they lose, they are told that they won’t develop to their full potential. I wish, however, that we can teach our kids more about always doing their absolute best regardless of the situation and outcome. That for me is ultimately the better yardstick.
The second scene that really made an impression on me was that of Ateneo’s fiery coach, Jamike Jarin, walking off the court in the middle of the celebrations with a young grade schooler whom I assumed to be his son. He actually missed the presentation of the championship trophy. I don’t know if it had something to do with rumors of his leaving the team next season. I’d like to think that he left early in order to focus all the praise and attention of the press and fans on his players. After congratulating and exchanging hugs with his players, the Blue Eaglets’ mentor walked stoically to the lockers as he tenderly held the hand of his son who seemed oblivious to the bedlam. The boy sported a shirt that declared “I love Jamike.”
As everything finally quieted down, we made our own beeline for the exit. The game had ended close to one in the afternoon and so I asked the kids what they wanted to eat. They replied that they were not hungry and suggested that we go straight home instead. I emphatically answered that they must be kidding. If both their mothers found out that all I fed them for lunch was popcorn and iced tea, I would never hear the end of it. And that would be an even bigger reason to get earplugs!
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