TUESDAY, April 5, the day the University Athletic Association of the Philippines (UAAP) opened its doors to a live audience—albeit on a limited scale—I decided to watch the games.
It was a spur of the moment thing. I had no previous plans. But right after late breakfast, I got this awfully tempting FB Messenger text that said, “I have extra tickets for later and Thursday.”
That was enough. I dropped everything, dug up my duds in relevant colors, dusted off my game day sneakers and answered: “OK!”
It was rainy, I had work to do. I didn’t even know how I was going to get to the Mall of Asia Arena, much less make it on time.
But the call of the wild was way too much. Like so many sports fans I had missed watching games right where they happen. It had been two years of caution and civil obedience. Tuesday was like Independence Day.
Even just the thought of a live audience watching the action from the stands and cheering on the teams excited me. The roar of the crowd, the referee’s whistle and the squish-squeak sounds of basketball shoes doing business on the floor played on and on in my head.
This was history unfolding. And although I had earlier been satisfied to just watch from home on the day the gates opened to the public once again, there was this chance to be an active part of that little piece of history.
I grabbed that chance like an eight-year old who’d been given a stub to ride the Space Shuttle at Enchanted Kingdom. I got to MOA Arena somehow, one-upped the rain with a hoodie, and survived traffic along Roxas Boulevard that was undergoing major repairs.
Finally, I was there. My benefactor, Joey Torres, described on Instagram as “Husband/Dad, Ironman Triathlete, Tennis Player, Golfer, Lawyer, Cancer Warrior, Die-Hard UP Alumni” and my former student was waiting at the Coral Gate with the precious tickets.
The reality of the scene tempered my runaway excitement though. Buzzing and swarming with people before the pandemic forced a series of lockdowns, the front gate looked almost empty and lonely this time around. It was to be expected though because the Roxas Boulevard traffic had eaten into the time of the first quarter of play and the “crowd” was already inside.
Just the same, the game venue gave off the vibe of a school building or Makati office on a Sunday. There was little life inside.
Even the lights were turned down low. Most food stands were shuttered closed. Only a few humans walked the corridors and the mall toilets were all yours.
But when we got inside the playing arena, it was a different story. The game was on. Action was fast and somewhat chaotic—typical of collegiate basketball played with heart. The crowd was into the game, shouting, jeering and reacting to calls. As if they had never left
In the absence of pep squads, taped cheers gave team supporters the opportunity to cheer in unison. Isolated shrieks and smart alecky comments still punctuated dead air. There were more empty seats than people in the gallery, actually. But the warmth and the energy were there.
You could see the players of both squads playing with more gusto, a little bit more flourish. A crowd, no matter how small, does magical things for players trying to win games out there on the floor.
At game’s end, the teams get to sing their school songs with pride and commitment just like before. The crowd applauds and show their appreciation as the players and coaching staff leave the floor.
The first day of the return of a live audience to the MOA Arena was celebrated with selfies, group hugs and high-fives after the game. This is what these games are for, anyway. A reunion of old friends, a fun day at the park.
Every game day is a renewal of vows, a declaration of loyalty and pledge of support. Soon, we hope very soon, the playing arena will become a busy, crowded hub pulsing with more happy humans cheering on their teams once more.
Fully Alive. In Season 84.