Life Sport

Filipinos have a curious relationship with the medal table. We like to see our flag climbing it, preferably past countries with larger populations, bigger budgets, and considerably more athletes. We count golds, compare totals, calculate rankings, and wonder whether we could have done better. A silver medal is celebrated, of course, but not before someone observes that it could have been a gold.

There is a moment when a Filipino athlete stops being a promising competitor and becomes a national event. It usually begins with a victory, especially an unexpected one, and proceeds at a speed that would put the most frenetic fastbreak in basketball to shame.

There is a particular moment in every Filipino basketball game when somebody on the sidelines becomes a coach. It does not matter if the game is in the PBA, UAAP, NBA, or a barangay court with one hoop, a cracked backboard, and a dog wandering underneath it. Somebody always knows what the team should be doing. “Pass!” “Box out!” “Take the shot!” “Why is he still playing?” It is not necessarily criticism. It is participation.

Filipinos have never really needed an invitation to love basketball. Give us a hoop, a ball, and approximately four square meters of concrete and we will figure out the rest. There is no requirement for proper flooring, air-conditioning, seating, parking, or even a complete understanding of the rules. Someone will keep score. Someone will call a phantom foul. Someone will bend the rules to ridiculous proportions in plain sight. So when the National Basketball Association brought basketball to the Philippines once again, nobody complained. After all, Filipinos have been quite willing to make room for basketball for decades. We simply cleared a little more space.