Late afternoon with a sportswriter

Who would have thought, much less imagined, that the Philippines would reclaim Asian Games glory in basketball 61 years after last winning it, the country having ruled the quadrennial event in its first four stagings from the 1951 inaugural, with the big difference Caloy Loyzaga leading those teams. As it turns out, it would take a lifetime to notch the fifth gold, the expression “going through the eye of a needle” for cinco oros an understatement.

Now some basketball aficionados were a bit shocked that it took that long to win back Asiad supremacy for a country where the sport is both national pastime and passion, with a few remembering how Filipinos celebrated in 1973 when Manila hosted the Asian Basketball Confederation (precursor of FIBA Asia held every two years) and the Northern Consolidated powered triumphs in the Jones Cup among others in the mid-80s.

A common member of both 1962 Asiad and 1973 ABC championship winning teams was the center Alberto “Big Boy” Reynoso, in his time a force in the paint and like Loyzaga a Bedan, though in the commercial leagues the Pasig native would carve his own niche with Ysmael Steel Admirals through the mid-60s, thereafter with Meralco Reddy Kilowatts where he teamed up with another rising legend, Robert Jaworski.

Internet searches were rife the day after the historic Gilas feat in Hangzhou for details of the 1962 team that last won it, and apart from Reynoso other names that cropped up were Ed Roque, Alfonso Marquez, Roel Nadurata, Manuel Jocson, Joe Laganson, Engracio Arazas, blurry figures that came to life in the old black and white Magnavox TV in the late 60s MICAA when we first got into the sport, and teams like Crispa, Mariwasa, Yutivo, Yco, Puyat Steel and Meralco battled at the Rizal Coliseum to capture the imagination of a young boy still playing with toy soldiers.

On Saturday afternoons I’d wait by the green gate of the house on Maginhawa Street for the advance copy of the Sunday Times Magazine, in anticipation of the sports feature article with the fledgling byline of Recah Trinidad. A favorite was his piece on Rudolph Kutch as Mr. Basketball 1969, the year the UE and Crispa player outscored Shin Dong-pa in the first half of a losing cause against South Korea in the Bangkok ABC.

On a similarly blurry Saturday afternoon a day after Gilas’ championship run in Hangzhou I saw fit to drop by an old mentor and neighbor in Mandaluyong, the now retired sportswriter Recah still holding fort in riverside Vergara, who had given me a break through a column in Sportsflash magazine in the ‘80s, The Mopman (a title the wife had thought up) later transplanted to BusinessWorld in the ‘90s.

“Pare, we’re champions again,” I said, entering the screen door of the apartment with a musty smell that reminded of childhood visits to the grand folks in Sta Ana, of wooden saints, cabinets and Vicks vaporub.

“I thought for a while there I was watching a replay,” he said of the championship game the night before, and it was only when his son Chino’s voice came on in the podcast did he realize that by God, we really were about to win.

I asked him about the 1962 team, and the name of his late friend and neighbor Narciso Bernardo came up, the sharp shooting fadeaway artist from mid-range and several times Olympian, from Ysmael to Crispa to Mariwasa.

He pointed to a large plastic box in the living room in Vergara, saying such was the size of the container where Ciso used to sell ice-drops before hitting the bigtime, and this was how the player developed power in both legs from which he could take off for a shot either right or left and keep opponent on the back foot.

Then there were the leagues in the inter-color in either Acacia Lane or under the neighborhood acacias or both, where up and coming stars like Danny Florencio and Bernardo would be guest players and the crowd, or at least their roar, could rival that of the old mecca on Vito Cruz. A pity though how Bernardo got excited about newly planted titanium in knees, and suffered an attack while trying it out after a long layoff.

The sportswriter also recalled Nadurata (“si Kuba”), also since departed. There was mention of the Aldanese brothers, regulars during drinking sessions in the nearby vacant lot back in the day, and the thick goat soup that gave drinkers stronger resistance.

“Sinong gumawa?” he asked about who made the difference the night before. I said Brownlee as usual, but Kouame was a pleasant surprise, the former Ateneo stalwart being relied on mainly for defense. And Newsome as point guard was calm and composed. Not to forget Scottie Thompson, the never say die PBA MVP, the young Oftana of Siaton and San Beda, Alas of the basketball playing clan. Abay (Fajardo) again a quiet presence and CJ Perez the Intramuros hoodie.

Not for once did we imagine that 61 years later there would be déjà vu, was that a replay? No it wasn’t.

For now the bare eye won’t touch the 5 Oros white wine we brought him to celebrate the occasion, a kind of symbolism, and the chips will have to be given to the grandkids next door.

Walking out into the early evening of the old neighborhood, people were still going about their business, perhaps preparing for another restful Sunday by the river of dreams, as if nothing changed, or maybe everything already had.