Another entry under "drunk runtings."
I started playing football when I was nine or ten. Together with some friends, we would stand behind the goal post as ball boys. For every errant ball, we’d get a few dribbles and one lousy kick.
As we grew older, we were no longer ball boys, and got to play on the field. Together with guys five or ten years older. We’d play full eleven a side, or five on five with one keeper. Or if the numbers don’t divide evenly, the keeper gets a friend. A lone defender against the two sides.
During summer, we’d be on the field at 7, return home for lunch, and get back at 1 p.m. I swear, some of my friends’ skin, up to this day, still have to recover from that too much sun.
Saturdays and Sundays were the busiest time. There would be one full game going on, while a few slackers would wait at the side to sub. Rules were simple, no hard fouls. In fact, I don’t remember seeing a single hard foul. There were no fights either.
The only guys who got physical were the guys who were wooing the same girl who happened to be watching. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. There were no vicious tackles, no cheap shots nor elbows that is normal here in Cebu. We had no referees either.
Looking back, it seemed comical. Defender says to striker, “You’re offside” Striker says, while trying to elude defender and looking for a teammate to pass, “You blind?” They would keep on arguing while playing and the unwritten rule was, in close calls, the offense will be called on you only and ONLY if a teammate concedes and not when the other team questions you.
I can’t even begin to describe the rules on calling a penalty.
We played safe by Cebu standards. I mean, who would want to tackle a friend? A neighbor? We just played the game.
Though I think there was this one guy who attracted too much attention both from his and the opposing side. We call him the “alligator man” because, passing for him was an after thought. One frustrated teammate even tripped him and pointed to another guy when he got up.
One game, he left early to join a basketball game, which was just behind the field. Nobody really noticed he left until someone shouted “pasa lagi bay!!!” Believe me, we all stopped playing, looked at the basketball court and one said it for all of us, “o, na-abot napud siya digto?”
During one local basketball league, the PA announcer bellowed after a layup by that guy, “another alligator play by…”
In high school, we played for different teams and clashed regularly. The rivalry was intense, but it was always limited on the field. Off the field, we were not footballers, but just boys.
In one Coke-go-for-goal match, we were the favorites. Our team then, was composed of the very same team who had gone to the national finals and before that, gave Mindanao champion Iligan their first defeat in five years.
The officials were all calling us the first Mindanao team to win it all, as early as the provincial eliminations.
That’s when we lost, a midfielder struck from way deep, while our keeper stumbled on the way back. The opposing team even heckled us at our own court. “National champions! You have to win over us first!”
That day, I learned the meaning of frustration. We just couldn’t score, we had attempts every five minutes, and either it hits the post, goes high or goes straight to the keeper.
I remember it was the last time I prayed, “Just one, Lord, just one, I promise I will be a good boy from now on,”
Still we lost. (I’m still a good boy) The goal scorer was just the next door neighbor of our keeper. Afterwards, our keeper and that darn scorer teamed up in doubles for the provincial meet in tennis and won.
In one district meet, I remember getting hit in my “you know where” by a defender, and was writhing in intense pain. The guilty defender, while the ball was still in play, tried to help me, and his keeper berated him “Pasagdi na bay, nag drama ra na!”
After the ball went out of bounds, that keeper rushed at me and asked, “Ok ra ka bay?” I said, “(expletive deleted) ka bay? Unsang drama, kaw daw maigo sa (bleep) lalim ba?”
After the game, that keeper, who was my backdoor neighbor drove us, and a few teammates home.
The last time I went home was two years ago, our field is still there. The goal post, barely standing, the grass still green. But nobody plays anymore. Kids are busy with cable tv or the internet.
I was two years off a job as a reporter, covering the football beat among others.
Footballers in Cebu are a lucky and spoiled bunch. But sometimes, I think they have the wrong notion of football. Brawling during a game is unheard of in our place.
After that brawl, the veterans said, “that was nothing, back in our days, they’d bring pipes and all,” “That’s no brawl!”
The players in the brawl blamed everyone, from the CFA to faulty officiating and we heard lots of tales from veterans of fights in their past, of fierce rivalry and bad officials.
You want a “haveyougotabetterstory” about rivalries? Heck we once played surrounded by a squad of marines. You want a story on poor officiating? One provincial meet we only had one, ONE match official because he didn’t know he had to have linesmen, much more the offside rule.
Once, I wished, I grew up playing football in Cebu. So I could have as many tournaments and clinics to join.
Now, I no longer wish that. I am glad that I learned football in a sleepy town down south. Where the sport is not about winning but playing, where whenever one goes down, you help him, regardless of who he plays for.
Where after an intense district finals, you go home on the same jeep together, and play another round in your field. Or after your respective teams practice, you play one game together at home.
Or after facing each other in football, you face each other in baseball, play together in tennis, and compete against one another in quiz bowls, or writing contests.
We may never have produced a national team player, nor a national champion. The closest we got, was when we qualified for the national finals.
But we produced the best damn footballers. Footballers who are intense rivals on the field, and off the field, are friends who happen to share the same passion for football.
Not footballers, who only want to win and blame anyone else for their loss.
Except themselves.
As we grew older, we were no longer ball boys, and got to play on the field. Together with guys five or ten years older. We’d play full eleven a side, or five on five with one keeper. Or if the numbers don’t divide evenly, the keeper gets a friend. A lone defender against the two sides.
During summer, we’d be on the field at 7, return home for lunch, and get back at 1 p.m. I swear, some of my friends’ skin, up to this day, still have to recover from that too much sun.
Saturdays and Sundays were the busiest time. There would be one full game going on, while a few slackers would wait at the side to sub. Rules were simple, no hard fouls. In fact, I don’t remember seeing a single hard foul. There were no fights either.
The only guys who got physical were the guys who were wooing the same girl who happened to be watching. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. There were no vicious tackles, no cheap shots nor elbows that is normal here in Cebu. We had no referees either.
Looking back, it seemed comical. Defender says to striker, “You’re offside” Striker says, while trying to elude defender and looking for a teammate to pass, “You blind?” They would keep on arguing while playing and the unwritten rule was, in close calls, the offense will be called on you only and ONLY if a teammate concedes and not when the other team questions you.
I can’t even begin to describe the rules on calling a penalty.
We played safe by Cebu standards. I mean, who would want to tackle a friend? A neighbor? We just played the game.
Though I think there was this one guy who attracted too much attention both from his and the opposing side. We call him the “alligator man” because, passing for him was an after thought. One frustrated teammate even tripped him and pointed to another guy when he got up.
One game, he left early to join a basketball game, which was just behind the field. Nobody really noticed he left until someone shouted “pasa lagi bay!!!” Believe me, we all stopped playing, looked at the basketball court and one said it for all of us, “o, na-abot napud siya digto?”
During one local basketball league, the PA announcer bellowed after a layup by that guy, “another alligator play by…”
In high school, we played for different teams and clashed regularly. The rivalry was intense, but it was always limited on the field. Off the field, we were not footballers, but just boys.
In one Coke-go-for-goal match, we were the favorites. Our team then, was composed of the very same team who had gone to the national finals and before that, gave Mindanao champion Iligan their first defeat in five years.
The officials were all calling us the first Mindanao team to win it all, as early as the provincial eliminations.
That’s when we lost, a midfielder struck from way deep, while our keeper stumbled on the way back. The opposing team even heckled us at our own court. “National champions! You have to win over us first!”
That day, I learned the meaning of frustration. We just couldn’t score, we had attempts every five minutes, and either it hits the post, goes high or goes straight to the keeper.
I remember it was the last time I prayed, “Just one, Lord, just one, I promise I will be a good boy from now on,”
Still we lost. (I’m still a good boy) The goal scorer was just the next door neighbor of our keeper. Afterwards, our keeper and that darn scorer teamed up in doubles for the provincial meet in tennis and won.
In one district meet, I remember getting hit in my “you know where” by a defender, and was writhing in intense pain. The guilty defender, while the ball was still in play, tried to help me, and his keeper berated him “Pasagdi na bay, nag drama ra na!”
After the ball went out of bounds, that keeper rushed at me and asked, “Ok ra ka bay?” I said, “(expletive deleted) ka bay? Unsang drama, kaw daw maigo sa (bleep) lalim ba?”
After the game, that keeper, who was my backdoor neighbor drove us, and a few teammates home.
The last time I went home was two years ago, our field is still there. The goal post, barely standing, the grass still green. But nobody plays anymore. Kids are busy with cable tv or the internet.
I was two years off a job as a reporter, covering the football beat among others.
Footballers in Cebu are a lucky and spoiled bunch. But sometimes, I think they have the wrong notion of football. Brawling during a game is unheard of in our place.
After that brawl, the veterans said, “that was nothing, back in our days, they’d bring pipes and all,” “That’s no brawl!”
The players in the brawl blamed everyone, from the CFA to faulty officiating and we heard lots of tales from veterans of fights in their past, of fierce rivalry and bad officials.
You want a “haveyougotabetterstory” about rivalries? Heck we once played surrounded by a squad of marines. You want a story on poor officiating? One provincial meet we only had one, ONE match official because he didn’t know he had to have linesmen, much more the offside rule.
Once, I wished, I grew up playing football in Cebu. So I could have as many tournaments and clinics to join.
Now, I no longer wish that. I am glad that I learned football in a sleepy town down south. Where the sport is not about winning but playing, where whenever one goes down, you help him, regardless of who he plays for.
Where after an intense district finals, you go home on the same jeep together, and play another round in your field. Or after your respective teams practice, you play one game together at home.
Or after facing each other in football, you face each other in baseball, play together in tennis, and compete against one another in quiz bowls, or writing contests.
We may never have produced a national team player, nor a national champion. The closest we got, was when we qualified for the national finals.
But we produced the best damn footballers. Footballers who are intense rivals on the field, and off the field, are friends who happen to share the same passion for football.
Not footballers, who only want to win and blame anyone else for their loss.
Except themselves.
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