Unsung hero

In every battle, in every war, we hail the generals, the leaders, the commanders, those who get the credit. Though there are hundreds of people involved in a live sports broadcast, only a few of us are fortunate to receive public recognition. We, the on-camera personnel: anchormen, analysts, courtside reporters, studio announcers, are the lucky ones. Sports fans ask for photos with us, spectators solicit autographs, the general public greet us when we walk down the street. Our exposure gets us other work, and we can laterally move to print, radio and online work. But there are so many below that shallow surface, underneath the tip of that iceberg, that keep it floating in the right direction. They are the true muscle behind the programs.

I’d like to do something about that.

I first met Marco Franco 30 years ago. As a rising producer and talent at Vintage Enterprises, I had just done four years of field reporting, announcing and producing for ABS-CBN, and had helped start up ABS-CBN Sports before my departure. My college professor and mentor Sev Sarmenta invited me to join that stellar team, and I started doing the halftime show prior to being promoted to executive producer. Marco was a smallish, smiling, soft-spoken production assistant who was always helpful, and always eager to learn. He invariably wore plaid button-down shirts that were always a little loose for him. I was still learning how to lead, and he was always supportive and kept me focused.

What cemented our friendship was an unbelievable supernatural experience. The entire production team was out of town for a Purefoods game, so Marco and I had the run of the place. Before digital editing, everything was linear, tape to tape. It was laborious, and cost a lot of time when you made mistakes. When the sun set on that Saturday, the editing equipment suddenly stopped working. No matter what we tried, it wouldn’t record. At 9 p.m., we called it a night. The next morning, everything was fine, and we continued editing a tribute to Robert Jaworski. At dusk, it happened again. We were dumbfounded. It was only on Monday morning when our chief video editor Ben Gamboa told us that strange things happened at night, like machines incapable of playing tape backwards did so on their own. And apparently, the equipment had not been “introduced” to Marco yet. We never talked about it afterwards. Spooky.

I was a harsh, impatient boss, but Marco and I got along. He flew in under the radar of my temperament. He understood people. He also helped bring in good newcomers to make the team stronger. We were opposite poles. Eventually, I had a falling out with management and left. Marco was the good, loyal soldier. Basketball coaches would have called him their “glue guy,” the one who brought people together.

In 1998, most of the production team was reunited when ABS-CBN Sports launched the Metropolitan Basketball Association. Marco had fallen in love with Annette Urquiola, our production secretary at Vintage, and had started a family. He had the right keel to be a Dad. By this time, he had matured to game producer, and wrote all our game story. For those who are unfamiliar, a game story sets the stage for every match. It provides all the pertinent information, insights, match-ups and storylines we follow. This was where Marco would shine. I sometimes felt like it was Marco talking; he was just using my mouth. I once told him he did a great job of making us all sound smart.

He was extremely intelligent. Very few people could debate with – and befuddle – Butch Maniego. Those long road trips to Pangasinan, Nueva Ecija and Pampanga gave us plenty of idle time. Marco was as deeply passionate about his job as anyone I knew. He broke down games to the point that some of us were jealous. But he shared that with us, and never publicly got credit.

What endeared Marco Franco to a greater number of us was his willingness to train courtside reporters, which is very rarely done in the Philippines. He was the reason I volunteered to sit through auditions and teach broadcast beginners about the nuances of reporting the game. Familiar names in sports and media like Rizza Diaz, Pia Boren, Cassie Umali, Bianca Saldua and others were mentored by Marco Franco. That’s a stat that doesn’t show up in the credits, and he did it for years.  He flourished in many sports, lending the same stability and strength of knowledge.

The two things that made Marco Franco special to us was the equanimity with which he worked, which gave us extra confidence. He had our backs. In this industry, that is a preciously rare thing. If we missed something, he would hand us a note or we’d hear him in our headphones. I only saw him get upset once. He blustered, his face flushed red. Then it was over. Truthfully, it scared me. The good ones are always the most frightening when maddened.

The other thing, the most important thing, was that he cared about us as people, contrary to the utilitarian nature of the business. We had many quiet moments where we shared thoughts and feelings on life, direction. I missed those moments the last few years. Not a few of us wish we had been better friends. A common experience among us, his colleagues now, is a desperate search for photos of him or with him, so we may pay tribute, and finding few or none. That was Marco, the genius behind the scenes.

Marco’s last six years had been painful. He was bound to a wheelchair, unable to work. He needed a new kidney. Inevitably, he weakened, and sadly passed away over the weekend. We commiserate with Annette, Mikah, Miggy and Sky. We share deeply in their loss. But we also assure them – nay, we vow – that we will never forget our Marco Franco.