Yes, I was hooked on basketball, and I had a basketball jones...... I started playing in the park in Urdaneta Village when I was eight, and carried on long after college and I was too portly and out of shape to do anything but set shots from the freethrow line and play HORSE. Even as an elementary student, I would watch the varsity basketball games at the high school, and idolize those big guys and their basketball prowess. "Height is might" versus "balya" shiftiness and caginess on the hardcourt, the games were always a lesson from which to learn. In my later years I went to see MBA (Manila Basketball Association) games at the Araneta Colliseum, studying first-hand the basketballer's craft. In my earlier years, after coming home from elementary school at 12:45pm to lunch, siesta, and homework, I would venture out into the blistering hot Manila sun, lovingly caressing my professional-size, rubber-composite (not leather, that was "maraming pera"!), orange basketball. I remember feeling the smooth dimples and sharp black lines as I would try to palm the basketball in my best Freddie Webb dribbling impersonation, quickly learning that the secret of palming the basketball for a pre-pubsescent future basketball legend-in-my-own-mind lay in cupping the basketball closely between the wrist and the second joints of the fingers. It wasn't until highschool I learned about that sticky-spray you could put on your hands that would allow you to easily palm the basketball with just your five fingers - rumored to be banned by our PSSAA (Philippine Secondary School Athletic Association) sports league. And it wasn't until senior year that I could actually palm the ball without any of the aforementioned subterfuge.Many years of diligence and practice under the hot Manila sun, dribbling, passing, shooting, made me learn one thing - diligence and practice don't mean shit to a tree if you just ain't got it. Even if you have a basketball jones. I would practice almost every day, sometimes for just a half-hour if it was too hot, other times for a couple or three hours, when there were lots of people there and we had pick up games. By the time I was twelve I thought I was pretty damn good, so I tried out for the junior high school team, and didn't make it. Next year, I thought to myself, just keep on practicing, there's always next year. But I didn't make the junior high school team when I was thirteen either. With the tenacity of a bulldog, I just kept at it. More diligence, more practice, more hot Manila sun - you get the idea. So when I was fourteen I tried out for the high school basketball team, and came close to making it. I remember the coach calling me and this other kid, Chip Westley, and telling us the final slot on the team was down to the two of us. I was 5'9", and Chip was 6'1", so I figured my odds were slim, but I gave it my all, I tried my best. It all came down to 10 shots from the free-throw line, the coach said whoever makes the most out of 10 shots gets placement on the team. I went first, and sank 7 of 10 shots, even though I was nervous as hell. Then Chip stepped up to the free-throw line; my heart was pounding, and I could hardly breathe as I was so excited my dream was about to come true. Seconds dragged by for an eternity..... then he started shooting. I couldn't believe my eyes, for in quick succession without so much as a by your leave, with steely nerves and brimming with confidence Chip sank one after another, hitting nothing but net, and commanded 9 out of 10 shots. I was a goner, a big lump in my throat, my eyes staring down at the cold, hard, wooden floor as I mumbled congratulations to Chip, thanked the coach for the opportunity to try out for the team, and shuffled off the court in shame. My dream was snatched from me again, as elusive as ever, yet I had gotten closer this time. Undaunted, with the persaverence only seen in dumb oxen and half-wits, I practiced and practiced, scrimaging on intramural teams, playing for hours on the weekends, even watching NBA games on television, trying to learn the ballhanding techniques and successful shooting strategies of Jerry West, Tom Bradley, John Havelchek, Mike Riordon, Earl "the Pearl" Monroe, Julius "Dr. J" Irving, Wilt "the Stilt" Chamberlain, Kareem-Abdul Jabbar, and all the rest of the basketball superstars of that long ago time and faraway place.
In ninth grade, I played left fullback on the varsity soccer team, and dreamed of making it "to the big time", and getting on the varsity basketball team. I had a great time with my soccer team mates, and since I had been playing soccer since second grade with most of them, it was something that I enjoyed and was half-decent at. I loved playing soccer, I enjoyed the game and hanging out with my soccer buddies, but I wanted more..... my basketball jones hit me hard, and I was a driven guy. Some days I would come home from varsity soccer practice, and - you guessed it - venture out into the blistering hot Manila sun at the Urdaneta Village park, still lovingly caressing my professional-size, rubber-composite (not leather, for it was still too "mahal"!!), orange basketball. Yep, I had a basketball jones, and I had it bad. By tenth grade I stood 5'9-1/2" (don't forget the 1/2!), 155 pounds, and I was ready for bear. I wanted to be on the basketball team so bad I could taste it. Alas and alack, my dream thwarted again, I had to content myself with being on the varsity soccer team - but this time, in tenth grade there was a consolation prize for me. I made the varsity volleyball team as well. Hey, I thought to myself, I'm one step closer to my goal. So when I wasn't playing volleyball or soccer, I was still playing basketball - more intramurals teams, pick-up games at the park, scrimmages at school in gym class, recess, or after school. I practiced and practiced and practiced, with a determination only certain people can relate to.
My high school junior year arrived, and my basketball jones was raging. I was glued to the TV whenever there was an NBA game, in or out of season (because of course back then there was no such thing as a "live" NBA game broadcasted from the states to Manila). My skin was a leathery olive tone, from too many afternoons at the Urdaneta Village park practicing basketball under the hot Manila sun. There were some Saturday's when we would go to the school and play full-court basketball for four or six hours straight, using the school's official buzzer and scoreboard in the gym. That particular smell of the wooden floor after Mayo had polished and shined it brings back such fond memories, even now..... Pulling out the rafters so we'd have a place to hang our towels and street clothes, and to rest in between 12 minute quarters or breaks between games. Those were the days..... I had a basketball jones, and I had it bad. But like I said before, diligence and practice don't mean shit to a tree if you ain't got it. So my junior year, I tried out and yet again failed to make the varsity basketball team. I was crushed, pretty much about dejected as a man can be without completely losing it. Again I had to content myself with being on the varsity soccer (I was now a starter at the center fullback or "sweeper" position) and varsity volleyball teams, my ever-elusive goal of playing on the varsity basketball team still escaping me. But with a glimmer of determination in my eye, and a gleam of hope in my heart, I forged on, practicing and practicing, never giving up. You see, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I had a basketball jones.....
My senior high school year arrived, and I knew this was my last chance. Well, to make a long story even longer, I finally made it. My ten years of practice finally paid off. At first I just rode the bench, but then Coach Phil Marocco started putting me in the game more and more. Finally I realized I achieved self-actualization on December 27th, 1973 when our varisty basketball team flew to play other Southeast Asian international schools in Hong Kong. Our team wasn't doing too well in the tournament, we lost most of our games, but the coach put me in the final two minutes of the final game and I was as dumbfounded as the next guy when I hit a jump-shot from 25 feet out, achieving official status as "a veteran of international play" as Walter Euyang termed it. We had some pick-up games with some of the local schools like La Salle and Ateneo, where I earned my chops and got street cred as a fledgling varsity basketball player, despite doing stupid things like once getting so confused in the heat of the game I grabbed a rebound and headed in the wrong direction - good thing I missed that undefended layup much to the crowd's howling delight and my teammate's disgust...... But I got better at playing in front of school crowds, saw more action in more games, and Coach Phil Marocco started counting on me more and more. I remember once at a PSSAA tournament at Clark Air Force base, we were getting our asses kicked, and the Wagner referees were favoring the home team, so Coach turned to me and Andy Mesmer and said "You guys are my 'hatchet squad'. Get in there, do the best you can, don't let them push you around - and if you have to rough 'em up on the backboards or on defense I won't hold it against you." That was fun. I almost fouled out, though..... Then I remember the last varsity basketball game of the season. I remember it like it was yesterday, for, you see, I had a basketball jones. We were playing for third place in the tournament, we had been there all weekend, and we were pumped up. In the locker room before the game, as Coach named the starting line-up, I couldn't believe my ears as he decided to start me at right guard. I started in other games before, but none as important as this. This was the last varsity basketball game of my senior year in high school, this was a momentous occasion, and Coach was actually starting little ol' me! I had come a long way from that pudgy 8-year-old sweating under the hot Manila sun, shooting hoops at Urdaneta Village park, and I had achieved my ever-elusive, long-sought-after goal - not only had I made the varsity basketball team, but I got to start in some games and most importantly started in my last game. Nothing could be sweeter.....
The summer after I graduated high school, I spent two weeks at Purdue University at a basketball camp. That was good, I learned a lot and saw the different styles from people all over the states. That fall and next spring at University of Denver I played intramural soccer and basketball, and clung to my memories of playing basketball in Manila. In the decades since Manila and college, my basketball jones is largely in remission but every once in a while it'll flare up. At my second house in Boston I put up a basketball hoop in the driveway, and in my second house in California I even had a 20'x20' concrete slab poured in my large backyard to play basketball with my sons. I sent one son to Golden State Warrior's basketball camp - not once, but twice! And I've been to my fair share of Boston Celtics and Golden State Warrior games, although I've yet to see a Miami Heat game - there's always next year. Because I think its possible that I still just might have a basketball jones......
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