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Finding the faith
WELCOME
to the time of drums and yells and cheers and screams,
and of “passions flowing like rivers to the sky.”
Welcome to the University Athletic Association of the
Philippines (UAAP)!
On
Saturday, the premier collegiate league opened amid a
starburst of colors, sounds, pageantry and ceremony. And
exciting games, too.
Misha
Lecaros, a new University of the Philippines (UP)
graduate who has a message to share with other sports
fans, helped me man the UAAP Press Room for the opening
(along with other UP students/alumni), and got a chance
to watch the games, too—in between the chaos. This week,
I’m turning my space over to Misha, who is pouring his
heart out about what he witnessed. It’s an interesting
piece:
FINDING
the Faith, by Misha Lecaros.
I can
still remember when I lost my faith in the UP Fighting
Maroons. It was at Ultra, in 2004 or 2005, and it was
the first time I was seeing them live and in action.
Toti Almeda was still around, and Bruce Quebral had yet
to enter Big Brother’s house. Hopes were high for our
team’s chances of entering the Final Four. However,
their loss to the Green Archers that day effectively
killed whatever hoop dreams had been piled on them,
along with any desire I had to see another game. Simply
put, it was heartbreaking, and from then on, I viewed
them with a love-hate sensibility.
Let me
go on the record as saying I love my school dearly, and
would more than willingly defend its honor, anytime and
anywhere. Other schools had more money, sure, but ours
was the state university, and even if they’d never admit
it in a million years, they knew their place. When it
came to our men’s basketball team, however, the
opportunities for bragging rights were few and far
between. (Don’t even get me started on the statistical
aberrance of Season 70s 0-14 record).
At any
rate, I ended up supporting the Maroons more in theory
than in practice. I would support them, sure, but I just
never expected them to win. I wasn’t even a fair-weather
fan, I was just being honest. At any rate, I figured
that as long as I wasn’t criticizing the Maroons’ record
in front of “outsiders,” I wasn’t doing anything wrong.
That was
my first mistake.
The
second was sharing this point of view with die-hard
Maroon fan Tessa Jazmines.
I didn’t
hear a pin drop when it happened, but I’m pretty sure I
could have heard clouds scraping against each other if I
tried hard enough. In that moment of silence, I realized
that it didn’t matter what I said, or how I tried to
justify it. To Ma’am Jazmines, I, student number
2002-0248, was guilty of the greatest sin of all: I was
a nonbeliever.
To her
credit, she didn’t banish me, but she did tell me that
what I was doing was worse than just outright supporting
another school’s team. Digging myself deeper into the
hole I’d begun, I agreed to disagree.
On
Sunday, July 6, 2008, I was at the Araneta Coliseum,
assisting with public relations. Tension and excitement
were present in equal amounts, for the second game of
the day was to be a matchup between the Blue Eagles and
Green Archers, with Manny Pacquiao and the National
Basketball Association’s Gilbert Arenas scheduled to
make appearances. Before any of that, however, the
Fighting Maroons were set to face the National
University Bulldogs in their first game of the season.
While
waiting for the half-time statistics to deliver to the
press room, I found myself watching the game
in-progress, curious to see how the Maroons would
perform under their new coach, Aboy Castro.
To my
surprise, the Maroons held their own in the opening
moments of the game. They showed a little unevenness,
but for the most part, they were able to keep up with
their opponents. This was a far cry from last season,
where they would lose by averages of double digits. When
the Bulldogs managed to break away and build up a lead
with a series of three-point shots, part of me said that
nothing had really changed; the Maroons were going to
lose.
Despite
this, the other part of me, for reasons I can’t quite
explain, made me do something I hadn’t done in years: I
began to cheer for my team. I wanted them to win, and I
didn’t give a damn who knew it. As the Maroons struck
back, first hesitatingly, and later, confidently, to
reclaim the lead, I was on my feet. Somewhere between
the first and third quarters, I let go of the last
vestiges of cynicism and became a fan.
When all
was said and done, with the Maroons scoring their first
win in nearly two years, it wasn’t hard to see who the
long-time supporters were. The look of pure,
unadulterated joy on their faces said it all. Even the
gathered Archers fans were joining in the cheers and
applause.
At this
point, I felt more than a little guilty. I was happy for
the team, no question, but I felt that I didn’t have any
right to share in their triumph. I’d been a nonbeliever.
These people in the audience had been through thick and
thin with the Maroons, cheering when I was indifferent.
As I ran
to get the game statistics sheet for the media, I
realized that support is nothing without a modicum of
faith. I learned then that it doesn’t matter how many
pep rallies or fundraisers you’ve attended. You can
chant slogans and declare loyalties all you want, but at
the end of the day, if you don’t believe in what you’re
supporting, it only counts for lip service.
The
Maroons didn’t have to be champions, but I had to decide
which side of the fence I was on, win or lose, as
opposed to the noncommittal blaspheming I’d been
committing the past four years.
Let me
go on the record now, as saying, yes, Ma’am Jazmines, I
was wrong.
I found
my faith, and you’ll be happy to know, it’s colored
Maroon. |
