MANILA, Philippines - No matter how jaded a basketball fan you are, you wouldn’t care for the Xs and Os on the board being clutched by one of the men on the sidelines if the team carried the national colors.
You wouldn’t care for the technical side of the game, the man defense, the half-court offense, the full-court press, the match-up, the quartercourt shooting.
In other words, you wouldn’t go for the stats. You go for the W.
Particularly if the stage is the World Cup. Particularly if the stage is the Asian Games. Particularly if on the other side were “dem, hated Koreans.”
You do not cite statistics, the match-ups, the chemistry of players on and off the court. We presumed all those have been taken care of in the run-up to the game, the tournament.
Now we take care of the passion, the pride, the joy we found as the diminutive Filipinos drive into the heart of their rivals’ defense, flash wondrous touch from atop the key.
The joy we found as we impose our will on the enemy, take away their heart and cauterize them for the world to see.
The joy we found in this game we all love is more than a W, more than a glow of conquest, of feeling superior.
The joy we found in a W though how fleeting was a sense of nationhood, being one with the people, feeling proud of our homeland. Being a Filipino.
The reverse is true with a D. You do not talk of being outplayed, outgunned, outhustled, losing on the stat line.
You struggle with grief with a D. You feel the pain of Manny Pacquiao as he twitched, convulsed, on the canvass from the impact of a Marquez short right.
There’s also the “Ghost of Busan” who has been residing in some recesses in our psyche.
We did exact some revenge in Fiba Asia last year at MOA, but somehow something was amiss. We would rather do it on their turf, chase it right in the heart of their fans.
Saturday night in Incheon we had the chance to exorcise the 2002 Busan ghost. We had the initiative three fourth of the way until we lost in the end, 97-95, as the Koreans poured in the treys and the perimeters led by Moon Tejoong.
For sure the complexion of the showdown would have been different if the 6-foot-10 Marcus Douthit played but he was suspended for alleged lackluster play against the Qataris.
Suspended for a game, in the Asian Games where every game and every W counts, where the format was like a ticking bomb in every contest. Take the W first then deal with the man later.
Deal Chot Reyes did by fielding Douthit against Kazakhstan, expecting the player to play his utmost best not only to beat the Kazakhs but win by 11 or more points.
The Gilas Pilipinas had a great run, indeed, but spent itself and its artillery warding off the surging Koreans.
After the final buzzer, there was that emotional shot of Jimmy Alapag crying on the shoulders of LA Tenorio and Jun Mar Fajardo extending a comforting hand.
There was no better way to feel the D than that gut-wrenching scene. It breaks your heart.