Ball in hand

I held the ball. Seven seconds on the clock. I pounded down the court, every muscle straining, eyes focused on only one thing: The hoop. I could hear the crowd screaming in the background; feel the adrenaline rushing through my system and the sweat pouring down my back. I aimed. I shot. I scored! The buzzer sounded.

I turned around to take my bows – but my teammates were stone-faced, the spectators in a state of shock. I swiveled around to stare at the scoreboard.

Oops. Wrong basket.

It says something for my luck when the only basket I ever managed to sink a ball through was for the opposing team’s. It was my final, practical exam in second year high school. At least I can say I scored the winning point.

I suppose this explains my allergic reaction to athletic events. I’m the girl who took scrabble for college PE class because it was the only one that didn’t require physical coordination. This is also why while the rest of the country shouts itself hoarse over the UAAP games, I sit in my room playing Chinese checkers against myself.

Last Sunday, I passed the TV set on my way to the kitchen. My Dad called out that UP was playing against Adamson University. Tired of beating myself in the eighth checker game in a row, I plopped down on the sofa to watch. It wasn’t long before I got caught up in the heat of the moment. I may be unathletic, but I have a hell of a competitive streak.

You might ask why after three years in UP, I never got into the spirit of the game. After all, you don’t have to be an athlete to watch the Olympics. The same complaint can be made against most of the UP population. After we win our one game of the season, people take it as an indication that our luck is about to run out. We’ve become numb to defeat. As one sportswriter put it: "The UP Maroons have been the league’s favorite whipping boys."

Maybe being up against Archers, Eagles, and Warriors does something to the morale of a team whose members are compelled to call themselves running blobs of color. I think it’s as good an excuse as any – along with the perpetual lack of funding. It’s not so bad though. If you take time to look at the UP seal, it’s not an eagle soaring in the background. It’s a parrot. I shudder at the thought of what would have happened if the boys traipsed out as the Fighting Parrots.

Last Sunday, team name and all, I discovered another reason to be heartily proud of my university.

On August 22, the University of the Philippines won its fourth straight game in a row and made itself a contender for a position in the final four of the UAAP basketball Championships.

I was going to write a play-by-play analysis of the game, but I lacked both the expertise and the facts. It would be presumptuous for someone who spent the entire game shrieking, "Dad! Dad, dad, dad, was that a good foul or a bad foul?" I did wait for the game highlights the next day, but the fully-illustrated, page-long article on the game contained seventeen paragraphs of all-hail-De-La-Salle and two ending paragraphs for oh-look-UP-did-good.

And ladies and gentlemen, for what’s it worth: they did "do good."

Suffice it to say that I was screaming ecstatically by the end of the third quarter. By the time the Maroons beat the Falcons with a score of 66-55, I was ready to fall at the players’ feet. Kudos to Abby Santos, Nestor David, Toti Almeda and everyone else – you’re welcome to copy off my homework anytime. I was already picturing the banner the school would put up along the University Avenue. "Congratulations UP: UAAP champions!" It doesn’t hurt to dream – especially if reality gives it a push.

Any isko worth his salt who saw the game last Sunday probably felt the same surge of school spirit that I did. Our boys did brilliantly, and I wish them the best of luck in the next game. I’ll end this article the way we begin every debate tournament – with a shout and a cheer.

UP – fight!

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