On coming and going

There have been a lot of comings and goings in sports in the last few weeks. There is nothing sadder than seeing an athlete’s career come to an abrupt halt simply because of the ravages of injury or the inexorable march of Father Time. Nothing, perhaps, except the sight of an athlete past his prime still vainly hanging on to the glory of seasons gone by. There are many cases of athletes’ careers being decided for them for better or for worse.

I feel great sadness for people like Jack Tanuan, struck down by a kidney ailment at 36, a year younger than me. Jack loomed large on the basketball court. Off it, he was a father figure to many budding players, the team captain of the original Negros Slashers. Under his guidance, his kababayan, John Ferriols blossomed into the MBA’s first MVP. Now Papa Jack is gone.

Michael Jordan had etched his name in sports history as the greatest basketball player of all time, bar none. Then he diluted his legend by coming out of retirement a second time, until a knee injury halted his plans to extend his shadow over basketball further.

Before Jordan, Julius Erving was the most spectacular high flyer of his time. He was so desired by the NBA that he practically forced the absorption of the four remaining ABA teams, and single-handedly sped up the NBA brand of play upon his entry in 1976. After seven years, he was rewarded with an NBA title with the Philadelphia 76ers. But, with the influx of younger, bigger players, the premier small forward was forced to shift to shooting guard, and often reduced to taking outside shots, something he had never really been known for.

Larry Holmes was a bland heavyweight champion and former sparring partner of his more famous contemporaries whose claim to fame was retiring Muhammad Ali back in 1981. Ali, then a robust but slow 40 years of age, was simply outclassed by the younger – albeit less sensational—fighter. Now Holmes is reportedly training to climb back into the ring for a farcical match against the big-bellied four-round clown known as Butterbean.

Luisito Espinosa was a fierce competitor who won the IBF bantamweight title in the 1980s and ruled the WBC featherweight division in the succeeding decade. Top-heavy and hard-hitting, he was predicted to unify the featherweight crown. However, a series of disappointments and an embarrassing loss last year forced him into premature retirement. Now, he wants to come back. Does he still have enough time to work his way back to a world title?

Mon Jose was a champion, part of De La Salle University’s string of championships in the UAAP. Picked 24th overall by Pop Cola in 2001, the part-time model and painter had a shot at making it big in the majors. But, with very few chances to show his stuff in a line-up loaded with talent, he languished on the bench.

"I didn’t expect to not be playing this soon," he admits. "I did hope to try coaching, but not this early. It was something I wanted to do later on, after a few years, perhaps."

After not having his contracts renewed, he tried out with a couple of other teams before being tapped by Purefoods to be an interim assistant coach to Ryan Gregorio. His contract runs the first two conferences only.

"After that, I’ll be unemployed again," he says with a bitter grin.

What makes players hang on to their vanishing skills with such desperation?

First, they seek the thrill of the game. Their bodies look for it, no matter their age. Once a jock, always a jock. If there’s a game, gotta be in it. Gotta make a few runs with the dogs.

Second, extending the reign. Very few athletes really know when to let go. Upon his retirement in 1991, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was asked what he thought of up and coming centers like San Antonio’s David Robinson. His answer: "He’s somebody else’s problem now."

Third, the money. It’s quite embarrassing to be paid less for the same job. But some players have no choice if they don’t make the proper in- vestments and preparations.

Fourth, fear of change. Many, many players have made terrific leaps from playing to coaching or managing teams. Pat Riley and Phil Jackson have been the dominant coaches of their generation, but weren’t exceptionally gifted players. Abe Saperstein was 5-4 on a good day, but his promotion of the Harlem Globetrotters outlived and overshadowed his meager accomplishments as a participant.

God made time not as a measure of how short our enjoyment of life should be, but more like a bookmark to show us where one chapter ends and another begins. We’re not going to live forever, so why do we act like what we do will?

Maybe we should listen and spare ourselves the heartaches.