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THERE
are exactly 20 wooden and cement steps that lead up to
the dingy old gym where the National University (NU)
Bulldogs practice in Sampaloc, Manila. Yes, it starts
out as cement, but the higher you go it’s replaced by
wood so old that it should be given a senior citizen’s
card. The gym, well, there aren’t many like it today, as
it was built using those old GI sheets dating back to
the postwar period.
In this
digital and Internet age, when you say war, it’s either
Iraq, Afghanistan, or some hot spot in the flashpoints
that are Africa or in the Middle East. The “war” more
correctly is the big one that ended in 1945. And the gym
built atop the Engineering Laboratory of NU has been
around since Skip Guinto piloted the Bulldogs to its one
and only championship dating back to 1955. Inside the
gym, there is no championship banner hanging in the
rafters to even commemorate that title. There is no Hall
of Fame to celebrate its athletes, so players use your
ordinary variety pentel pen to write their names and
jersey number on the wooden walls and the GI sheets
after having completed their tour of duty with the team.
This is how they’ll be remembered forever.
It’s
easy to fall into the cracks when you’re an NU Bulldog.
Chances are, you weren’t even high on the recruiting
list of other schools. Their players sport names that
you won’t find on the jerseys of the bourgeoisie
schools—Lingao Lingao, Malcontento, Cajayon, Grijaldo
and Tugade. Occasionally, they lose a player to a big
program, like last year’s high-school MVP Jovet Mendoza,
who is now ensconced in La Salle (he was offered a great
package, as they say). They feel bad for a moment, but
only for a moment. While they are used to being the
have-nots, they have not given up hope.
Going to
college or even to NU was their chance to move on up in
this dog-eat-dog world. Former player Froilan Baguion,
one of the four Bulldogs to make it to the pros (the
other three are Chris Bolado, Danny Ildefonso and Lordy
Tugade), is from Navotas, and making it to the
Philippine Basketball Association (PBA) was his chance
to send his siblings to school. At so young an age, he
was already his family’s breadwinner. And now, he’s
trying to hold down a spot with his pro team.
The gym.
It’s not as storied as the old Boston Garden’s parquet
floor, but they do have something in common—there are
dead spots on the court. You dribble the ball and if
you’re not familiar with the court, you’re liable to
drive one way and find that the ball has decided to stop
in its upward-downward motion or go in another
direction. The wooden floor is well-worn with the
thousands of sneakers that have squeaked on it. In some
places, it’s like the sidewalks of the urban city
streets, what with the gum shoe drops and stains of
water, spit, vomit and sweat. The water-stained ceiling,
made up of those GI sheets, leaks when it rains.
Practice
literally slows to a crawl because the floor becomes
slippery, but this isn’t chess, so the players try to
run. How many players have they lost to injury because
they slipped on the wet floor?
On
Friday, after the school held its annual cheer rally to
send off the team on its University Athletic Association
of the Philippines (UAAP) campaign, the players asked
their coaching staff if they could all watch a movie.
They ambushed school official Bobby Paguia, who provided
them with some money. The 16 players and the coaching
staff chipped in a little here and there, and they all
boarded the LRT to Gateway where they watched Will
Smith’s Hancock.
“Bonding
time,” said coach Manny Dandan. Watching movies and
having a Jollibee value meal build character, you know.
They’ve
got an old-school way about things here. Dandan is a
throwback, where he is the team’s coach and trainer. He
has three other assistants, including former player Jeff
Napa, who helped lead the team to its last Final Four
appearance in 2002, yet, sometimes, Dandan helps
officiate the scrimmages. It’s not that he’s a control
freak. They’re not just moneyed as the big college
programs. A school official was distributing sports
socks to the players—only one pair each—and the coaching
staff is not getting any. In fact, they’ve never gotten
anything since.
“It’s
fine,” confirmed the coach. “Sa mga bata muna.”
Tickets,
scarce already because they’re sharing the same play
date as Ateneo and La Salle, are allocated to one per
player, and when you consider that their parents would
like to watch, only one can go. So if the player has a
girlfriend, then she’s got the ticket. And it’s Upper A.
There’s
some hope on the horizon. The SM Group of Companies has
become a partner with the school. There is talk of
building new facilities in the span of nine months (just
as long it takes to build a super mall, I gather), not
just for the school but also for their athletic teams.
Their game jerseys are courtesy of construction man Jose
Aliling. The team was supposed to get an adidas
sponsorship, but since the team’s lone star, Edwin Asoro,
wears Nike, they’ll have to wait till next year before
the players begin wearing the three stripes.
In the
meantime, they’re off to Cash and Carry to buy new shoes
at a 50-percent markdown.
It’s
opening day of Season 71 of the UAAP, and in two hours’
time, the University of the Philippines will put on a
show to officially kick off their centennial anniversary
and the season. The Bulldogs, in the meantime, are
practicing beating the press and moving the ball up
quickly. The team’s veterans—Jonathan Jahnke and Asoro—are
everywhere, whether as part of the offense or defense or
giving the rookies valuable pointers.
Jahnke,
the converted point guard from Olongapo, is a sensitive
and bright lad. He’d love to play in the pro league, but
he’ll weigh his options after graduation this school
year. If he gets to play in the Philippine Basketball
League (PBL), then great. If not, he could either go
back home to ‘Gapo to work on the family business or
follow his girlfriend, who is studying abroad. If he had
his way, he’d rather not go into the family business.
“That’s why I have an education,” he reasoned out in
clear and fluent English. “So I can learn to stand on my
own.”
For now,
Jahnke feels truly relaxed for the first time since he
transferred from San Sebastian Recoletos high school to
NU. The Stags may have a more storied basketball
history, but it was finding the right environment to be
a man. Jahnke knew the school has a good graduation rate
for its players, and he’d get better one-on-one training
from the coaching staff in his growth as a basketball
player.
“Walang
regrets,” he summed up of his time in blue and gold.
For now,
the senior feels that this current team of Bulldogs has
meshed well. Everyone can speak out their thoughts
without any trace of ego between the vets and the
rookies.
Asoro is
one of those players who fell through the cracks
unnoticed by any recruiter. He went to high school in
Fort Bonifacio, and together with former teammate
Jonathan Fernandez, they went to NU. It was the only
school they went to when looking for a college. Asoro’s
coming out of nowhere prompted one legendary coach to
ask Dandan where they found him. The coach chuckled and
let his counterpart stew on that conundrum. Mystery
solved, gentlemen.
Immensely talented, Asoro has become a vital cog with
the PBL’s newest dynasty, Harbour Centre. Having tasted
success elsewhere, he’d love for nothing more than for
his Bulldogs to win and get back to the Final Four of
the UAAP in his final playing year. It eats at him.
The
losing gets to the players. Everyone of them. They don’t
say that tomorrow is another day and it’s just a game.
No. It tears at them. They feel a tad envious of schools
with great programs and practice facilities. An errant
pass in their gym and the ball is headed down the stairs
and onto the street. If you’re not careful with your
movement, you might just run into the wooden walls or
some of those old and broken-down weights that can be
found on the side of the court. Welcome to the school of
hard knocks, son.
Practice
is over. The team huddles before the players go off for
a shower for the opening at the Araneta Coliseum. There
is an air of optimism, but they wonder how long it will
last. A few of them linger around to work on their free
throws and dribbling. “Walang pressure sa amin
this year so maybe we’ll play better,” predicted Jahnke.
He swishes a three-pointer before he packs it in. In a
few months’ time, his name will be scribbled on the
walls of that dingy old gym. |
