What’s up, Bay?

Genaro "Bay" Ledesma was always an enigma to me. In the stormy years of the PBA, during the most turbulent moments in Ginebra San Miguel’s ascendancy, he was a rock, firm and unyielding. His name was synonymous with proper officiating. He never said much off the court, but, in 18 years of officiating, not much could be said against him. His longevity alone is a testament to his judgment and steadfastness.

I had the luck to interview Bay, now tournament director of the Philippine Basketball League, at his simple home in Fairview, where he has lived for 30 years, since it was all just tall crabgrass and empty lots. In government service (GSIS) even when he was an active referee, Ledesma hung up his whistle five years ago, then got the call to supervise the officials of the PBL in 1999. If anyone believes referees get rich by misusing their authority, such is definitely not the case with Bay.

"I used to be a player," the Pototan, Iloilo native recalls, from the early days of Crispa. "When I stopped playing, basketball was in my blood. But I suppose it was just not for me to be a coach or even a trainer."

In the heady days of the PBA, particularly the build-up from the mid-80’s to the early part of the 1990’s, Ledesma was most associated with Ginebra playing coach Robert Jaworski, with whom he supposedly had a running feud.

"They used to say I was Jaworski’s enemy. But we would greet each other off the court. Actually, all the players greet me. It’s nothing personal."

I asked him what joy he derived with one of the most thankless jobs on earth.

"You know, I don’t think there’s any," he laughed out loud. "It seems that whatever you do, nobody’d like the calls you make. And the fans would throw things at us: coins, batteries, all kinds of things. But it was a good job."

Eventually, Ledesma rose to the peak of officiating, and was considered by many to be the steadying hand that help lay the groundwork for the referees to follow.

"It’s just dedication and determination. I really prepared for games. And I studied the situation, especially when the game was on the line. If you don’t love your job, it won’t love you back," he reflects. "It felt good that people knew my name like I was some kind of superstar. But it’s the players that people watch."

I asked him to mention any games or moments he would never forget. Instantly, he tossed out one game: October 10, 1992. Swift vs. Ginebra in Iloilo. But it wasn’t because Tony Harris scored 105 points. There were other reasons.

"From the start, that was a hard game to call," he shakes his head. "In the first quarter alone, we already threw out a few players. So many things happened, and it was an out-of-town game. I don’t think anybody liked any of our calls that day. If I weren’t from Iloilo, they might have lynched me!"

And what of today’s officiating, with bigger players and Filipino-Americans?

"Frankly, it’s much easier to referee today," he claims. "The fans aren’t as involved as they used to be, and there’s no Jaworski to really bring them together.

He quickly adds another observation.

"And they don’t throw things at the referees anymore, not like in our time."