The treacherous ups and downs of #LabanPilipinas
MANILA, Philippines - The secret to happiness is lowered expectations. This is debatable, of course, but also undeniably true. After all, the basic tenets of Buddhism are basically profound expressions of this depressing truth. To achieve inner peace, one must rid the mind of desire, which is the root of all expectations, all hopes, and all eventual hurts.
What drove me to these thoughts was Gilas Pilipinas and their emotional rollercoaster of a FIBA World Cup run. Coming in to the tournament, the expectations were rather low, the hope laughably modest: be competitive in every game, not allow teams to blow us out, although it would be really cool if we stole one. Their first game was against powerhouse Croatia, a team that was ranked No. 4 in Europe, a team no Pinoy hoops fan seriously and dispassionately thought they could beat. But they were right there, chipping away at the lead, even taking them to overtime. They also could’ve won; no — should’ve won, if not for one heinous flopping technical foul call and one non-call on an apparent shooting foul in the last second. In a parallel universe where the referees were actually competent, the Philippines beat Croatia in a FIBA World Cup game.
The ensuing reaction in social media and in the streets was puzzling. The buzz was all about how Gilas Pilipinas pushed a world-class basketball team to the limit, how we showed we belonged with the big boys, how their performance was classic #PUSO. There was hardly any outrage over the fact that we were blatantly screwed by bad officiating, the type that would start shouting matches if it happened in the PBA and was reminiscent of the highly controversial 2002 NBA Western Conference Championship series between the Lakers and Kings. I waited in vain for some semblance of righteous anger from the Internet, from friends, from fellow hoops fans. We were cheated, but everyone was too high on Pinoy pride to realize it.
Maybe I made the mistake of raising expectations, just because it seemed our national team earned more than just the right to compete, but the right to actually win, too. Maybe it’s the curse of people who are eternally unhappy, particularly Pinoys who can’t get past their indignation over injustices that have otherwise hardened into routine.
Tired of being nobodies
But maybe Pinoys just want to feel something else other than outrage for once. Maybe we’re just tired of being nobodies, tired of the way the world sees us, and more importantly, of the way we see ourselves. To the vast majority of Pinoys who see themselves as victims or losers who never even stood a chance in a life fraught with injustice, maybe seeing our basketball avatars going toe-to-toe with the world’s best offered enough relief, that powerful idea that we belong.
After Gilas Pilipinas lost two more games — including a heartbreakingly close one against Argentina, who won fair and square — the mood changed. We started to feel a creeping sense of disappointment. They’re good enough to have won all those close games, but they just kept falling short.
In the first quarter of Gilas’ do-or-die game against Puerto Rico, in which they led by as much as 11 points, the country experienced a collective amnesia. We were no longer the goofy underdogs that were just happy to be there. We wanted to win. We knew we could win. And that is why, when Puerto Rico finally dashed our hopes of advancing to the next round we originally thought was unreachable, we were so upset. A week ago, we just wanted to be competitive. We had no idea how depressing it would actually be to achieve that goal.
As I write this, Gilas Pilipinas is about to play against Senegal. The result of that game hardly matters to our now contorted set of expectations. At some point this week, we believed we could advance. Once you get your hopes up, there’s no turning back. Would we have been better off just being blown out in every game? Would that have made our disappointment more comical and palatable? Is it wrong to dream? Is it really better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?
Seeking answers, I think about Gabe Norwood dunking over taller, more experienced Argentineans, Jimmy Alapag carrying the team on his tiny shoulders, and Marc Pingris grabbing rebounds minus one good leg and several vertical inches. It feels as if these memories will outlive their disappointment. Hope, even in a country where it is increasingly mocked, can turn you into a winner. It is the only real way to rebel against an uncaring entity; whether a tournament, a government, or the cosmos itself. So, like a tempestuous lover, my answer is yes. A thousand times yes.
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