NEWS from the internet: A patron seat for the Ateneo-La Salle UAAP finals game fetched P25,000 from ebay. If I'm not mistaken a Big Dome ticket that close to the action is worth P500 at face value, but its prices get to soar to crazy heights during the games featuring the two rival schools.
I've had a chance to cover a few games pitting the Blue Eagles and the Green Archers in the past – they've only fought for the crown three times since I became a sportswriter, 2003, 2004 and this year. The previous championship duel they had in 1988 I watched as an AB freshman at UST.
But I hardly enjoyed covering it, though. Parking is hell. When you get inside the backgate of the Araneta, there are long queues to the entrance. They check your name from a master list, cross it out, put an access pass around your wrist, and stamp you with it.
There is rowdy crowd even inside the press room, and getting into the press row (the place at ringside supposed to be reserved for us) is impossible because all big-shots, like senators, congressmen, sports officials, from the two schools already occupy it.
Almost always, we cover the game slumped on the floor underneath the goal. Mind you, that is something that could work for our advantage because we could easily slip outside into the working area after the final buzzer before the crowd collapses onto the players heading into the exits.
If you're a new reporter, it would be hard not to get overwhelmed by those ``big event'' matches, especially if you came from the two schools. But since I didn't, I have no problem with it.
Well the reason I thought of it was that while I was discussing the finals (which landed on Inquirer page 1 by sheer magnitude) with Vangie on the way home, she asked if I fancy covering a game that practically everybody is talking about.
So I gave her a piece of my mind regarding my kind of basketball coverage.
Given the choice, I would prefer to cover a lopsided game between the least popular teams in the league. That readily assures peace and quiet. You can park anywhere you want, the ticket ushers you graciously inside, and airconditioning works better.
``You still have to cover the games, right?''
Well, the kind of game I'd love to cover must have double-digit leads that keeps growing. Players are not defending anymore, and it was open-court, fastbreaking game all throughout. There are vast stretches of empty seats; bleachers are no man's land; and both teams have nothing more to lose as they are already closing out a bad season.
``But nobody cares about that kind of game.''
Precisely. But I still have to stay until the final buzzer to make sure no players died during the game.
``Do you still keep scores?''
Of course, I watch the first three quarters on the TV monitor inside the press room to make sure I get the biggest lead, who scored that basket and at what point of the game it was scored. But otherwise, coverage will be a walk in the park. I take my own sweet time to the snack bar and get pizza and coke. Greet people. Surf the internet. Make some calls. Text a friend.
``That must get your adrenalin pumping.''
Then, at the start of the fourth period, I go out to take my place in the deserted press box. All clear and no distraction at all. If the lead keeps getting bigger, the better. That would give me enough time to write my story ahead of time. You don't want endgame dramatics in this kind of coverage.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Things you can do in a mall
THERE are a lot of things you can do nowadays that you simply can't under the same situation some 10 years ago.
One Saturday at the mall, I wrote three news articles for my newspaper; went banking; and had a facial treatment in succession. All of them in the confines of the mall. I walked leisurely in between my tasks, a tall tumbler of fruit juice in hand, in cargo shorts, shirt and slippers.
If it were 1998, I'd still have to get to the office to write my stories. I can do it via fax machine but even that would be difficult because there were few places outside the office which had one.
A few years back I was issued my first laptop computer, which was a groundbreaking event in local journalism as everybody else in the sports beat was just using typrewriters or electronic writers back then.
We used modem and connected through the phone to transmit the stories, but then again when there's no game coverage you have to rely on interviews to gather information. And cellphones didn't really enter the scene until very late into the 1990s.
Banking, inside the mall, at weekend, was unheard of five years ago. But last Saturday, I breezed through it opening a new ATM account.
Then I went for facial treatment.
I took small, unsure steps to the counter. It was my first facial since 1998 when I was preparing for my wedding. I told them I want my pores cleaned and blackheads and whiteheads removed. They recommended deep down facial treatment with chocolate mask.
The attendant assigned to me was business-like and buckled down to work in no time. She washed my face first with cold cream, rinsed with towel paper. Then repeated the process for the second time.
In my periperal vision I saw another guy having a facial treatment himself. I think he was having vanilla or mocha topping.
Then she brushed my face, gently with a small, tingly stick. Applied cold cream then brushed it again, this time with smaller, thinner bristles. Vacuum. Then she did the pricking.
It was as if being stabbed by an oversized needle in the face. Repeatedly. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but she was quick to wipe it away. She may not be good at small talk, but she wasn't about to let anybody see me cry.
One Saturday at the mall, I wrote three news articles for my newspaper; went banking; and had a facial treatment in succession. All of them in the confines of the mall. I walked leisurely in between my tasks, a tall tumbler of fruit juice in hand, in cargo shorts, shirt and slippers.
If it were 1998, I'd still have to get to the office to write my stories. I can do it via fax machine but even that would be difficult because there were few places outside the office which had one.
A few years back I was issued my first laptop computer, which was a groundbreaking event in local journalism as everybody else in the sports beat was just using typrewriters or electronic writers back then.
We used modem and connected through the phone to transmit the stories, but then again when there's no game coverage you have to rely on interviews to gather information. And cellphones didn't really enter the scene until very late into the 1990s.
Banking, inside the mall, at weekend, was unheard of five years ago. But last Saturday, I breezed through it opening a new ATM account.
Then I went for facial treatment.
I took small, unsure steps to the counter. It was my first facial since 1998 when I was preparing for my wedding. I told them I want my pores cleaned and blackheads and whiteheads removed. They recommended deep down facial treatment with chocolate mask.
The attendant assigned to me was business-like and buckled down to work in no time. She washed my face first with cold cream, rinsed with towel paper. Then repeated the process for the second time.
In my periperal vision I saw another guy having a facial treatment himself. I think he was having vanilla or mocha topping.
Then she brushed my face, gently with a small, tingly stick. Applied cold cream then brushed it again, this time with smaller, thinner bristles. Vacuum. Then she did the pricking.
It was as if being stabbed by an oversized needle in the face. Repeatedly. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but she was quick to wipe it away. She may not be good at small talk, but she wasn't about to let anybody see me cry.
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