To make it a fair fight (for whom, I still don’t know) they split us up. They were a few All-Stars short (the south team was simultaneously in Mindanao): Mon Fernandez, Hector Calma, Dondon Ampalayo, Tonichi Yturri, Bobby Jose, Nandy Garcia and Mannix Ortega. So I was asked to suit up using Nandy Garcia’s light jersey. We were joined by trainers JP Pacheco and Roy Moralde, who had done a terrific job entertaining the elderly and orphans earlier in the day.
The differently-abled from all over Negros were thrilled to pieces to be on the same floor as their childhood idols. They were even more excited to be given their own SMC All-Star jerseys. A couple of them didn’t even want to soil the jerseys by playing in them, but had on other uniforms to wear. It gave me a different perspective, seeing these ordinary folk wearing names like (Ato) Agustin, (Chito) Loyzaga, and (Elmer) Cabahug on their backs. Like me, they all fantasized about being PBA players. But in their case, the dreams would never come true because of their disabilities. The fact that nature took that away from them stung even me, but they were very cheerful about it.
I was put on the team of Fernandez, Jose, Ortega and Moralde. Calma, Ampalayo, Yturri, Garcia and Pacheco made up the other squad. The player introductions alone drew tons of laughter, as Roy made up all these names for us (how he came up with "White Stallion" for me, I will never figure out).
In the first quarter, we were mixed with the differently-abled. It was a blast to see these fellows scurrying down on the fastbreak on crutches. (And they knew how to fill the lanes, too.) One fellow had no legs at all, yet he was running on his hands to his spot in the corner, from where he hit a basket off the backboard. One other guy on crutches would back out to the three-point line and hit three 3-pointers in a row. (If he had hit one more, I was seriously thinking of signing him up.) Shortly, I was short of breath. They weren’t.
In the second period, our disabled teammates sat down, and we got down to business. Those of us in the light jerseys tried to run, and the best part of it all was catching the ball off a brilliant pass from Mon Fernandez for an easy basket. He still juggled the ball behind his back and drove people crazy. At the other end of the floor, Hec Calma was working on his long-range shooting. We came back from fifteen points down to take a small lead. It was a surreal experience.
Halftime was another party, with the disabled participants taking part in a 2-Ball contest and the "shot and shoot," where they would take a shot of Añejo Rum, spin around and, disoriented, try to hit a free throw for a cash prize. All around, they were getting autographs from their favorite players.
In the third quarter, we let them play on their own, and it was fierce, even if the shooting percentage was a bit paltry. The refs were having a hard time keeping a straight face on as these guys tried to do what their able-bodied counterparts were already having great trouble accomplishing.
The fourth quarter was all busines, with us leading until a couple of turnovers gave the dark team a chance to build a lead with very little time remaining. It was the only game I ever played in where the score didn’t matter. What mattered most were the moments everyone remembered, reliving their greatest PBA moments, albeit in slow motion. And yes, being with their true-to-life idols. That’s something the younger players should take to heart. Gratitude is a great gift, but perhaps more to the one who expresses it than the recipient.
For all these, I’d like to thank project director Eric Altamirano for letting me be an All-Star for a day. Now I know what it really means.