A dear cousin of mine, based in Cagayan de Oro City, texted me recently to inquire if I knew the middle name of a certain player of the Azkals. The question discombobulated me so much that it took me quite awhile to text back and say no.
These may be times of seeming frenzy over the Azkals, but somehow I just cannot seem to bring myself to come aboard. And it is not only because football happens to be just a passing interest to me.
With the exception of ultimate fighting which I find too brutal and savage, and wrestling which I find too contrived, all sports to me are worth at least a passing interest. For example, when it is World Cup time I count myself with the rest of the world, staying awake for the games.
Other than that, I tend to skip through the cable channels that offer almost nothing but the world’s most popular game. But there are other sports that I have developed quite a passion for, regardless of whether I used to engage in them or was merely an avid spectator or follower.
But that is putting the cart before the horse. I will get to that later. My not being such a great fan of football is not the reason why I am not on board the Azkal train. The reason is that I simply am not comfortable with the ride.
I can’t identify myself with the Azkals the way I can identify with, say, Manny Pacquiao, or the Philippine Mount Everest Team, even Lea Salonga for that matter, or any other Filipino who ever wore the national colors on his breast with native Filipino feet soiled by the dirt of home.
Nationalism aside, which is not measured by sporting preferences anyway, the sports that I truly love are basketball, boxing, cycling and track events. I used to play basketball a lot even if I never excelled in it. And as a kid I dabbled in boxing, even owned two pairs of gloves.
I used to pretend I was a boxer, using my father’s polo shirt as a robe and folding over the garter on my shorts to make it look like the wide garters on boxer’s trunks. My passion for boxing was aided in no small measure by the height of boxing popularity in Cebu in the 1960s.
Boxing was frequent at Cebu Coliseum in the 1960s and sometimes Aznar Coliseum. I still remember such names as Francisco Balug, Arthur Fuego, Tony Jumao-as, Jessie Necessario, Carl and Ric Penalosa, Young Terror, Baby Lorona, Ric Magramo and Pedro Adigue, among others.
I saw two of the only three World or Oriental title fights Flash Elorde ever fought at Cebu Coliseum. I saw him beat Indonesian Pontainorasing Isarasak and compatriot Rene Barrientos. The fight against Japanese Teruo Kosaka was so jampacked my father decided not to bring me along.
After-fights ended at rows and rows of original fried chicken along Colon (long before somebody discovered food coloring to make chicken look orange) and with hot bread just out of the oven at Tinong’s or Elite. In Cebu in those times, these were already real treats.
I had a brief fling with softball but gave up the sport after I broke my little finger. Tennis? I never played the game but some of my friends did. And I would spend long hours watching them at the old Mandaue Lawn Tennis Association court near Plaza House.
As to football, the closest I got to a real feel of the game was when, in mischief during grade school at Colegio del Santo Nino, us boys would kick around a volleyball each time it went out of bounds from the volleyball court — to the consternation of the high school girls.
But as I said, it is not because football never took root in me that I never took a particular liking for the Azkals. Football has nothing to do with it. The real reason is I just cannot relate to those who I know to be Filipinos only now.