Dare You to Fly
abueno@theguidon.com
It is 4:00 am, two days before the second storm. The Ateneo is empty, or so it seems. In the entrance of the MVP Center for Student Leadership, there are already 70 or so students milling around in what looks like a line. Thirty or so are running along a walkway, eager to be first, but are disappointed when they see the small crowd already waiting since 1:30 am.
Yes—1:30 am. For two tickets to an Ateneo-La Salle men’s basketball game.
We all know about the rivalry of the green and blue. While Ateneo and La Salle games are always heart-pumping and fascinating to watch, however, what takes place before the game is even more interesting. The lines that stretch from MVP, to the Kostka walkway, to EDSA walk, and sometimes up to the Gonzaga exit, are testimonies of how Ateneans can get when it comes to basketball games.
Lines for tickets get wider instead of longer, as observed by one student lining up last September 23. This strange phenomenon is due to students who don’t head for the end of the line upon arrival. They instead chat with random friends who may be situated anywhere near the beginning of the line. A few minutes later, they have magically assumed their place front of you. There goes your effort to wake up early, and your hopes of getting an elusive Upper A ticket.
When the line gets too thick instead of too long, there are those who take liberties to shout “Bawal ang singit (Those cutting in are not allowed)!” for everyone to hear. For those cutting in, that means “get to the end of the line before I start a fight here, you [insert expletive]!”
There’s also a subtle way of cutting in without barging your way into the line physically. This one only requires your name, ID number, and the quick writing hand of a friend. If your friend is clever enough, he or she could somehow insert your name in the list of people who lined up for tickets.
Every person in line also knows what to do when tickets run out, or when the only tickets left are for General Admission. Only in the Ateneo can General Admission tickets go for as high as P500 (original cost: P55). Only here do you see Upper A tickets for P1600 (original cost: P215).
Along the line, you’ll hear snippets of conversations. Will there be a Game 3? Ask that guy over there who is still wearing his pajamas and looks like he went straight from his bed to the line. How do you jump from General Admission to Upper B? Ask the girl and her friends who look like they’re holding a slumber party. What if there aren’t any tickets left? Ask the loud barkada who has been analyzing ticket sales ever since they got in line.
Five hours of lining up (and enduring the complexities that come with it). Days of auctioning (scalping?) a ticket. Days of looking for a cheap ticket. The effort of actually waking up, not for classes, but for tickets. Cutting classes.
Was it worth it?
It is 4:00 pm, the day of the storm. There is a mad rush for seats. For those without seats, the stairs would be just fine—people will be standing up all throughout the heart-stopping game anyway. Every shot by Ateneo is met with a loud rumble of cheers. People wave their hand-made signs for their favorite players. The air is electric, thick with emotion and intensity for the game. For the school.
It is 6:00 pm, the aftermath of the storm. Win or lose, the school hymn plays. Together with the crowd who has endured the lines, who scalped for tickets, and has done everything else imaginable for the game, you stand up, raise your right fist, and follow the words of the hymn.
Along the lines of faithful to you, you forget that this is just a game.
