Photo by Mark Jason C. Mariposa
Filipinos live on a basketball island—at an impasse with the realities of modern basketball.
We fancy ourselves a basketball nation, but in all reality, we barely measure a blip on the global stage. According to the Fédération Internationale de Basketball (FIBA) Rankings, we are ranked 53rd in the world, behind the great basketball states of Kuwait and Morocco.
Not that it matters, but we will never top the international merchandise sales charts. We much prefer to make our own jerseys as our own personal tributes.
Smart-Gilas finished third in the recently concluded 33rd William Jones Cup—tying our finishes in the 2005 and 2007 campaigns, so there is no real empirical evidence to back our international basketball resurgence.
But, for one bright weekend in July, in the middle of basketball’s most arid stretch, we showed the world in an organic and genuine manner how much we truly love the game. With the National Basketball Association (NBA) cooped up in labor debates, it wasn’t such a farfetched occurrence.
Featuring a collection of talent unmatched by any other exhibition—save for the NBA All-Star Game—the global media watched our local talent take on, in the words of crowd favorite James Yap, “Not only your idols but our idols too.”
In a building that sold out thousands of basketball games, concerts and fights—including the historic “Thrilla in Manila”—the value of a ticket had never been greater. Just hours after tickets went on sale through official channels, all the lower box and patron tickets retailing for 3,500 and 5,000 pesos respectively were sold out.
Going up against a selection of Philippine Basketball Association (PBA) ballers on Day One and the battle-tested National Team a day after, David Stern’s boys attracted much more than expected.
In true Filipino fashion, the tickets were re-sold at outlandish mark-ups, with patron tickets retailing for 20,000 pesos just hours before tip-off. But, in the eyes of hundreds of paying customers, the palatable selection of NBA talent was well worth the monetary cost.
The featured line-up of NBA players was also a story in itself. After announcing an initial cast consisting of reigning MVP Derrick Rose, Chris Paul, James Harden and Tyreke Evans among others, the online rumor mill churned out more juicy additions. One name, one that topped nearly every Filipino’s wish list, kept creeping up.
Having filled up the same 20,000-seat arena by himself three weeks prior to the Smart All-Star Challenge, NBA superstar Kobe Bryant is incomparably popular in the Philippines. His participation was described by Chot Reyes, head coach of the PBA contingent, as “blockbuster.” The selection committee considered Bryant to be what the event needed in order to elevate it to the next level.
In the eyes of other NBA players, the addition of the “Black Mamba” legitimized the event. Soon, the final additions to the roster included soon-to-be crowd favorite JaVale McGee and two-time reigning scoring champion Kevin Durant.
In nearly direct contrast to the spectacle of Saturday’s festivities against selected PBA players, Sunday’s matinee had a definite competitive edge to it. Make no mistake, no one believed that Toroman’s Smart-Gilas had any real shot at matching up against the NBA five—conveniently dubbed, the Smart All-Stars—but that didn’t stop a few hopeful fans from silently praying for a miracle.
What the game lacked in flash was more than made up for in hardnosed defense and a very international flavor of basketball. While Kobe and Co. had their way in the post, in the open court, from behind the three point line and any way they deemed fit, the edge with which Smart-Gilas approached the game kept them within striking distance.
This poise was most noticeably embodied by the tenacious battle between Bryant and Don-don Hontiveros. The latter looked to have gotten into the Los Angeles Laker’s jersey one time too many but the situation was quickly diffused by laughter seconds later.
At one point in the fourth quarter, Manny Pacquiao, donning a white dress shirt and jeans, made his way to his courtside seat and the response from both the crowd and the players was a reminder that Bryant was, at best, the second most popular man in Araneta Coliseum.
Gilas’ grit was rewarded by a late game push, getting as close as seven points with just under a minute left and the lead, though improbable, seemed to be a tangible and answerable reality. But even as chants of “Defense!” rained from the 20,000 Pinoys in attendance, the National Team came up short of toppling their lauded opponents, falling by nine points to some of the NBA’s finest.
We may be holding on to a dream that will never happen, no matter how much time or money our country may commit, but in all honesty, our devotion to basketball extends beyond tangible results.
The sport we have embraced in every home, barangay and city will always be a part of our national identity—even if it seems unlikely that we will ever make a difference on the global stage. More tangible than anything is the love with which visiting ambassadors of basketball—coaches, officials and players—sense when they visit the Philippines.
For one weekend, we weren’t alone in our islands. We were joined by thousands of basketball-starved fans all over the world—globalization of the sport at its finest.
Many found our brand of basketball too grounded or too playground-esque, but while we may not have impressed the global audience with our style of play, what did impress were the passion, the devotion and the unabashed elation every Filipino fan proudly displayed every minute that the worldwide lens panned across the audience.
While this isn’t news to any Filipino fan, we’ve long known that we have always considered ourselves a basketball nation. It’s refreshing that our love affair with the game of giants isn’t a one-way affair, that despite all extenuating circumstances, the game we have loved for so long showed us, for at least one weekend that, it too, loves us back.
