Ateneo-La Salle: dream match, nightmare coverage

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.

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.

Not another cake, please

THE INQUIRER recently came out with great lists of the yummiest cakes – both baked privately and commercially – in and around Metro Manila. The cakes are recommended by the experts in the field and were chosen from countless others.

One thing about cake is that it has a way of putting smile on people's faces. No matter where you stand in the social ladder. Even when slammed on somebody's face, like in the movies, it evokes laughter.

I can't think of anything bad to say about cake. For many, it's a comfort food. Something that makes you feel better when you like crap. It conjures happy times of birthdays and weddings. I haven't seen a cake served in funerals.

Back to the lists, a lot didn't make the cut, but I must say that those which landed in the lists rightfully deserved it.

Why? Because I tasted some of them. Actually, I ate a lot of them. A handful of them ended up in our ref at home. Some came in big styropore boxes with dry ice on them so it won't easily melt. Others in fancy containers that also looked delicious as the cakes in them.

I had them for breakfast. Desserts. And even as midnight snacks. When I go to the ref to get something else, I end up taking piece of it. It has become a way of life for us in the house for quite a time.

Pistachio Sans Rival. Pistachio Symphony. Concorde. Dark Hazelnut Crunch. Claycakes with Chocolate Sauce. Pastillas de Leche Cheesecake. Mango Charlotte. Most of them are layered with ice cream and topped by fresh fruits. But some of them can only be bought through advance orders, and for a hefty price.

But after about 15 to 20 slices, they begin to taste the same. The palate could barely distinguish one from the other, and their details are blurred by creamy sweetness.

When the whole slab of Polly's chocolate cake – undisputed heavyweight champ when it comes to cakes -- found its way to our home, even the girls appeared to have reached their saturation point.

That evening, Maxi excitedly took off the lid of the box, marvelled at the dark brown confection and quickly dug at its soft, moist, decadent side. She took a small piece on her mouth. Turned her back and left it alone.

The neighbors loved it as well.

Peking duck dinner in Beijing

ALL eyes are on Beijing Olympics currently unfolding in the Chinese capital. We have 15 athletes competing, and as of this writing three have already fallen by the wayside and more are expected to follow suit. From where I am sitting, it's the boxer and two taekwondojins who carry real chances at winning.

I had my first overseas assignment there back in 1995, to cover the Beijing Open Chess championships.

My task was primarily to chronicle the campaign of our lone bet there, then international master Nelson Mariano II who was hoping to catch a grandmaster norm. A chess player needs to secure at least three GM norms to become full-pledge grandmaster, and that tournament dangled precious GM norms.

Back then, it was very difficult to obtain Chinese visa, as it was just beginning to open up its market to the world and was still very much a socialist republic.

As it was, when we got to the Chinese soil, airport authorities in Guangzhou held me for more than an hour because they saw discrepancy in my visa. They never talked a single word in English back then so I didn't really understand what it was that was causing the delay.

What I knew back then is that my very first international trip was headed for disaster.

I told Nelson to go ahead and board the flight to Beijing because round one was to begin that same morning. But he chose to stay with me. Fortunately, after some calls were made from the embassy back home, I was allowed to go.

Still shaken, we went straight from the Beijing airport to the tournament venue clutching our luggage. Nelson readily walked toward his waiting opponent, offered a draw, then we both headed to the hotel to rest. Brilliant move.

I understand that a lot has happened between then and now in Beijing. But I remember the city to have wide highways; tall, gray buildings; In restaurants, there wasn't a single pancit canton in the menus.

While Nelson was playing, I would sneak out and check out the city. Back then, the streets were cluttered with people, ground-level trains and cable-operated buses. At the close of office hours everyday, a large portion of the streets would be filled with a sea of bicycle-riding public, some were even in dress and suits.

By mid-tournament, organizers arranged a trip to the Great Wall, whose nearest portion was still about two hours bus-ride from the city. There was a plea market around the area, where you can by silk items, ornaments and other souvenirs. I bought Vange a white night gown piece with a roaring dragon hand-painted on its back.

The Great Wall was true as advertised, stretching as far as the eyes can see. We walked through it along with the throng that came from all over the world. Some portions are wide as the streets below, some are like dark narrow alleys. There were flat stretches and uphill segments, the better for the imperial soldiers to spot creeping invaders back then. Then we repaired to a KFC outlet just near the premises.

After 12 rounds of the Swiss System tourney, Nelson finished fifth and secured a GM norm. We celebrated the feat by having a peking duck dinner.

Songs from Harrison Plaza

IF RIZAL Memorial Sports Complex has been second home for me the past few years, then Harrison Plaza – yes that old, tired-looking, third-class mall – has been my chill-out place of choice for about the same period of time.

And why not, it is decked by SM department store, and has Guess, Levi's outlets, and most importantly a plethora of unabashed vendors of pirated CDs, DVDs and MP3s. No wonder I felt at home in it in no time.

Some weeks ago, I rummaged through one of the stalls and found MP3s containing 100 songs that made the US Billboards for each year from 1970 to 1979 – my favorite era when it comes to music.

1,000 songs all in all, in 10 MP3 CDs. I didn't iTune all of them and just chose songs I liked best and still came up with about 250 of the songs I almost never hear being played nowadays. It was pure bliss. I went home that night with a renewed faith in humanity.

In high school, I used to scrimp on my meager lunch money to have my favorite songs recorded in a blank cassette tape which back then cost a whopping P5 per song.

One day tragedy happened and my precious tape got entangled under our malfunctioning player. I tried to salvage it by removing its crumpled remains. Unwound, then wound again it up again via pencil. But no matter how I painstakingly attempted to restore it, the songs in them never sounded the same.

Well back to the MP3s, it contained hits like Midnight Train to Georgia and Neither One of Us by Gladys Knight and Pips. Midnight Blue by Melissa Manchester. Mister Blue by Michael Franks. Certain Sadness by Astrud Gilberto. Living Together by Fire and Rain. I Don't Want You to Go by Lani Hall. Come in From the Rain and All of My Life by Diana Ross. Our Love is Stronger Far Than We by Esther Satterfield.

The whole stack of CDs also contained lesser hits by famous artists like Never Let Her Go by the Bread. Sometime by The Carpenters. Disney Girls by Captain and Tenille. There are so many of them, that I only recognize when I hear the intro.

I am listening to it even as I write this blog. It is my dayoff. Mavi and Maxi are already at sleep and I am just waiting for Vangie to pull over by the gate any minute.

I will open a can of beer once she arrives.

I'd love to (always) have things my way

WHEN things could get worse, it most probably would. That's Murphy's law. I didn't know Murphy or the anybody who named that theory after him, but in all aspects, I have witnessed that come together many times in my life.

But I have decided not to discuss it now. There are a lot of bad things happening around us these days that I figured blogging about unfortunate moments that happened to me would not help make the world a better place.

Instead, I listed a few, small, everyday things I wished could happen the way I wanted.

1. In the morning when I walk out of the bedroom, I would love to have a hot cup of coffee served right away. Not a moment too soon, not a second too late. I want it on my hand the moment the thought of having coffee cross my mind.

2. When I peek outside the house in the morning, I'd be thrilled to see the car already freshly washed, waxed and tire-blacked. And I prefer that everything used to cleaned it -- rags, foam, bottles of wax and shampoo – are neatly back in place to where they were kept.

3. When I go to the bank or pay our mortgage, I'd be happy to see the cashier or teller with nobody to deal with but me. I'd especially love it if they are already calling me out while I'm still filling out the forms because they wanted to get my transaction done with the soonest time possible.

4. I wish my cellphone and laptop are always charged. I don't want opening my MacBook to see its batteries about to get depleted. That distracts me when I'm writing a story because I never charge it unless it's ready to completely shut down. And most of time, I dies on me in the heat of doing an article.

5. In the badminton court, I wish every shot given me are angled just enough for me to smash it right back. If it's lifted enough to allow me to decide whether I'd flick a cross-court drop shot or hammer a straight-up smash, I'd love it even better.

6. When arriving at the games late because of traffic or other domestic duties, I wish the scoresheets are already there waiting for me. Then the winning coach, or the player who stood out in the game would text me the quotes they wanted me to attribute to them on the newspaper the following day.

7. After work when I'm unwinding with friends, I want beer served in just the right coldness. It should refresh the mouth when taken by the bottle and be felt rushing right down the throat. Icy beer numbs the palate and won't allow you to relish its taste, but it practically spoils it all when it's not chilled enough.

8. When dining out in busy districts like Tomas Morato or Jupiter St., I wish there's always somebody pulling out of the parking slot in front of me just when I was trying to find a place to park.

9. On my rest days when I get to watch television all by myself, I'd love it if I don't have to launch a major search for the remote control, which has the tendency to get lost whenever it's my turn to use it. That completely takes away the fun out of channel surfing.

10. Once a month I wish a handy man would come over and check if there's something around the house that needs fixing. A peeled paint here, a missing cabinet handle there or an appliance that's not working.

If we can get around to avail of small conveniences in our lives, it would be worth the hardships people are facing right now.

Can't take the house out of the man

OFTEN I have dreams happening inside the houses I've lived in while growing up.

It's been 10 years since I left the neighborhood and built a home of my own with my family some 60 kilometers away, but when I dream of something taking place in a house, it's always the houses I've known when I was a kid.

Rarely was my dreams set in our present home in Bulacan. But I reckon our house right now would be the default setting of Mavi and Maxi's dreams even in their adult years.

I came to think about it because a few weeks back I bought something from Mercury Drug in the corner of Luis Shianghio St. and Kamuning Road. It was the exact same spot where my parents used to have a sari-sari store in my pre-teens. In front we sold softdrinks, cigarettes, LPG, candies, and behind it served as our living quarters.

The counter where the pharmacist took my orders used to be the spot where we placed a table so people in the summer can have halo-halo sitting down. Its parking space used to be a small plot where my brother Jonjon burned his eyebrows lighting a mound of gunpowder from the previous night's New Year's Eve celebration.

Just a block away stood an apartment building which served as our first house. Several years back, when I already had a job but was living in another house nearby, the place was converted into a multi-level beer joint. One evening after work I tried to visit the place and have few bottles there.

In short I had that Jack Nicholson moment in About Schmidt where he journeyed back to his old house only to find a tire store built on its place. Dennis Lambert also touched on it in a heartfelt song that began with these lines: ``They're tearing down the streets where I grew up, like pouring brandy in my dixie cup...they're pouring concrete on a part of me, no trials for killing off a memory...''