BEIJING—The Temple of Heaven is one of this city’s must-visit sites. Located not far from the Forbidden City, it’s a mecca where tourists congregate.
Well, in my case, being the tennis buff that I am, my “Temple of Heaven” was located at another spot last Monday, the Beijing Olympic Green Tennis Center, where my wife Jasmin and I spent 11 ½ hours (from 10 a.m. until 9:30 p.m.) watching nothing but the green-and-blue courts, yellow balls and red-hot tennis stars.
BEIJING (Originally posted on Aug. 10, 2008)—My watch read “1:45” in the morning and we still had not had dinner. But never mind. Because what transpired the six hours prior was an experience that will forever be etched in memory. The 91,000-seater Bird’s Nest—home of the last Friday night’s Opening Ceremony—we were not able to enter but our excursion was no less dramatic…
The journey started at 5 p.m. Near our apartment of stay here, we were fetched by three Filipinos (one who’s worked here for two years; another who’s studying Mandarin; and one more who’s Qatar-based and is here to watch the Games). They’re Arnold, Jun and Roel. We first rode the bus to the subway station, Xizhimen. From there, we purchased subway cards then headed to the bottom of China’s earth to ride what is now considered one of the largest underground movements on this planet: the Beijing subway.
Despite not carrying Opening Ceremony tickets, we attempted to get near—hoping to watch from a jumbo TV screen there and see the fireworks. But as soon as we emerged in the roadway Gulouwai Dajie, policemen whisked everyone away from the tightly-secured cordon nearing the Bird’s Nest. And so, like hundreds of others, we walked. While strolling along their main road, we saw vehicles of dignitaries—including the speeding limousine carrying US President George W. Bush.
My clock read 7 p.m. Oh no! we thought. With barely an hour left, we had no clue where to watch this most historic moment in China. Studying the map, the nearest subway station was miles away. Trudging on, we walked for 20 minutes until finding a couple of vacant taxis that sprinted us to an area where many congregated: Ditan Park.
Yes! By 7:35 p.m.—with daylight still visible here—we made it. Thousands of people crammed the open space inside this vast greenery of a park named the “Temple of the Earth.” Security checks and guards patrolled the public arena. We found our seats (on the cement floor, of course), my wife Jasmin and I settled just 40 feet or so away from one of two massive TV screens.
As the minutes ticked and the seconds neared, our hearts pounded, our minds inflamed by the celebration, our goose-bumps all-standing. Sitting beside Australians and Italians and Greeks and hordes of other nationalities who’ve all converged to sit beside the Chinese, this was a festivity to commemorate.
Did you watch the hour-long show? And the three-hour parade of athletes? What a production! I don’t have much internet access here (other than the few minutes to send this first-hand account) so I haven’t read the reviews but, I’m sure, all critics will conclude that it was one of history’s most spectacular.
I’ll spare you the details (check out YouTube, they’ll post the official video there, I heard) but must say that it was loaded with surprises, acts of thrill, acrobatics, fireworks!!! and, yes, many, many “goose-bumps moments.”
Our RP delegation? Manny Pacquiao? He stood tall while carrying our flag; though I didn’t see GMA, unlike all the other heads of states who were shown.
How about Roger Federer? From where we sat, no louder applause was heard than when his face was shown, carrying the Swiss flag.
Kobe. Rafael Nadal. Dirk Nowitzki. Manu Ginobli. So many superstars, all lined-up one after the other on the world’s grandest arena.
Then, of course, no figure stood taller than the flag-carrier of the host nation: Yao Ming. When the Chinese flag entered the stadium and out emerged this 7-foot-6 behemoth, the thousands who congregated at Ditan Park stood up, clapped, shouted, waved flags. Our Chinese neighbors, as later translated to us, went agog, all screaming, “GO! CHINA!” This was the moment they had waited for—not the past seven years or for the past 21 Augusts—but since history was founded.
Chinese Pride.
Yes. If there’s one meaning that I’ve absorbed here so far, it’s that: the pride of being Chinese. Observing the many faces here, listening to them blabber, rejoicing in their rejoicing—you can feel how proud they are of their nation. President Hu Jintao? Unlike ours whom we clap for meekly when she’s on TV or, worse, when George Bush’s face was shown on the screen last Friday—boos erupted (among the Americans!).
The Chinese president? You’d never hear as loud a rousing reception. He’s a rock superstar here!
For, what a moment in history for this proud China.
Thanks to James Naismith, they’ve invented basketball. They’ve dominated. Since the game was founded in 1891, the letters U-S-A have lorded over the orange-colored ball that’s shot inside the10-foot-tall ring. In all, the Americans have won 12 of the 15 Olympic basketball gold medals. That’s what you call lordship. Superiority. Monopoly.
Remember the Dream Team? Of course! Remember MJ, Magic, Larry and Sir Charles? In that 1992 Olympics, they dribbled over earth like a ball in Barcelona. Same in Atlanta 1996. And, at the 2000 Sydney Games, they won the only color they knew: Gold.
Four weeks ago, when my three-member “JP” family of Jasmin, Jana and myself visited my youngest brother Michael, who’s now studying as a freshman at the La Salle-St. Benilde, we chanced upon entering the largest shopping complex in the country—and, according to Forbes magazine, “the 3rd largest shopping mall in the world.”
Mall of Asia. If you’ve ever been to our capital city and found time to shop, linger around, stroll, munch on Krispy Kreme donuts, watch an IMAX movie or, as we all love to do, “window shop,” chances are you’ve visited SM’s Mall of Asia.
I’ve stepped inside thrice. And, when we discuss the topic that’s dissected on these pages—Sports—I’ve written an article or two about bringing my nine-year-old daughter Jana to do ice-skating. And, just the same in this trip last month, Jana spent three hours gliding on ice, swaying her hips right to left, pushing forward with the ice blades.
We thought that was it. We concluded that MOA (the mall’s shortcut name)—a mall and not a coliseum—offered no other game.
Wrong! Because after we partook of a late dinner and, on the way out to find a taxi, our group of five—Jasmin, Jana, my brother Michael, his girlfriend, June Jumao-as, and myself—found ourselves strolling near the Ice-Skating Rink. Guess what our eyes witnessed?
Hockey. Yes. The sport that’s as foreign to the Philippines as bobsledding is to Ethiopia or marathon-running is to Antarctica.
When SM built the Mall of Asia and it’s ice-skating facility back in May 2006, it did not scrimp on money. Instead of building a tiny facility that can only house ice-skaters, it built an imposing rectangle that’s Olympic-size. Plus, more amenities: A giant electronic screen loomed to show the score; Bose speakers wrapped the rink and echoed disco music; a giant Mt. Everest picture towered to add a perfect cool to the word “cool.”
Who did we see? Americans. Canadians. Caucasians. Out of the 15 players who swung the puck with the stick, I counted five of them. Which is to be expected. Since hockey is a sport famous in winter countries—think of Finland, Russia, Slovakia—then it’s but natural to see plenty of them in RP soil.
We also saw girls. Yes. While we watch the National Hockey League (NHL) on ESPN and see that it’s an all-boys game, at the Mall of Asia, two girls with long, flowing hair mixed with the boys.
The game was six against six. And just like what we see on TV, that Monday at 9 p.m., we saw a reenactment. They wore helmets, shoulder pads, elbow pads, padded shorts, shin pads, gloves. Protection, as we know, is top priority in hockey. With razor-sharp metal blades on the skating shoes and hockey sticks that can kill with a spank on the face—not to mention all the shoving and bumping—hockey is, as we know, not a game as safe as chess or ping-pong.
Sitting at the sidelines watching for 30 minutes, we were treated to The NHL In Manila. One Caucasian wore a red jersey with the flag of Canada. Another glided on ice like a ballerina. Another maneuvered the slippery ice like the Michael Jordan of hockey, Wayne Gretzky.
We saw sprints. One player dashed to the goal. Teammates passed. Opponents intercepted. Two referees blew whistles.
We saw how the goalie is the team’s pivotal player. Like in football, if the goalie thwarts every attempt, the opponent can never win. This applies even more so for hockey where the goal box is narrow and the goalie is fully-padded and looms large.
We saw the significance of height. The taller the player, the faster he can glide, the longer his reach to catch the puck. Like in basketball and swimming, height is might.
What a sight at night!
So, the next time you’re up north and happen to stroll inside MOA, wait until the mall closes at 9 p.m. Then you’ll see winter in Manila.
When Antonio Lopez Aldeguer speaks, you listen. Yesterday morning, exactly 36 hours after his most prized apprentice, AJ “Bazooka” Banal, collapsed in one of Cebu’s monumental upsets, I listened.
When I asked how he felt, ALA didn’t suppress his feelings.
“Very, very low,” he replied.
Understandably so. AJ Banal, only 19, lived half of his life with the Aldeguers. Residing in Brgy. Ermita, he was plucked from the doldrums and hand-picked as The Chosen One. To the ALA clan, he’s “a member of our family.”
How is AJ? I asked. “He’s doing okay,” Mr. Aldeguer said. “He’ll be out of the hospital today. Nothing serious, no injuries.”
What transpired next was an 11-minute phone conversation I had with ALA, whose insights and acumen are unmatched in boxing.
What happened? I queried. “His body collapsed,” ALA said. “He allowed himself to be hit. AJ took a lot of punches to the liver. He received too many body punches.”
Should the referee, I inquired, have stepped in more to stop Concepcion from punching while they were locked together?
“I don’t want to make that as an alibi,” he said. “AJ just got hit and hit in the body. AJ should not have held Concepcion’s arm and allowed him to box him using his other hand.”
Excuses, you see, ALA despises. Always, he is direct and candid.
Over-trained? Was AJ? “No,” he said. “I’ve been reading a lot of reports saying that. That’s not true. On the matter of conditioning, AJ was better conditioned. Factor one: AJ’s weight was a perfect 115 lbs. The opponent? He had to shed 1 ½ lbs. the day before. The week before the fight, Concepcion also had to reduce weight. Next, jet lag, which Concepcion had to endure. Plus, we were at our place (Cebu) while the opponent had to adjust to the hotel, to the food…”
When I mentioned to ALA that, based on many reports, AJ Banal was superbly trained—and that’s why his looking fatigued starting the 7th round was perplexing—he agreed.
“AJ is actually the perfect athlete to train,” he said. “He is very dedicated and disciplined. He is a good boy. And his attitude is fantastic. His mistake was that he allowed himself to be hit.”
In that 10th round, I next asked Mr. Aldeguer, we all saw that AJ stood up right after the referee’s 10th count. Why didn’t he stand before the final count and, instead, run around to exhaust the remaining 25 seconds?
“We don’t know what’s on his mind,” said ALA. “Yes, he was winning comfortably in points and could have easily won the fight had he stayed on. But we don’t know. Only AJ can answer that. We don’t know what he was thinking at that point.”
As to Rafael Concepcion? Like all of us who witnessed the fight at the jam-packed Cebu Coliseum—and to the tens of thousands more who watched on TV—ALA was all praises for “El Torito.”
“Concepcion wanted it more,” said ALA. “No excuses. We lost the fight because the other guy wanted it more.”
True. In boxing, more than any other sport because it’s one-on-one, that adage is unquestionable: Whoever wants it more wins. And, last Saturday, the Panamanian had more guts, tenacity, spirit.
Asking where he was inside the Cebu Coliseum because I didn’t see him, Aldeguer replied, “You’ll never see me near the ring. I watched fronting the TV because I can analyze the fight better. Also, I don’t want the limelight. I don’t want the TV focus. In my 20 plus years in boxing, I’ve never stood beside the ring. I’ve never gotten up the ring. I want the honor to go to the boxers.”
Finally, I asked, “What, to you, is failure? You’ve witnessed, through the decades, a lot of defeats in boxing. How do you define failure?”
His answer, as expected, was awe-inspiring. An ALA to AJ admonition, he said: “You never reach the top unless you reach the bottom.”
On the morning of April 27, 1521, our first national hero was discovered. Named Lapu-Lapu, together with bare-chested warriors he extinguished the Spanish armada led by the Portuguese, Ferdinand Magellan. Using spears and the Moro weapon kampilan, they butchered and knifed the enemies in the “Battle Of Mactan.”
That was 487 long years ago. Today, Lapu-Lapu’s bravery continues….
Wearing the same brown skin as Lapu-Lapu, Filipinos faced Spaniards. And worse, our countrymen were up against more invaders: the Americans, British, Italians, Germans, Swiss, Koreans, the French—a total of 23 other nations have landed in Cebu to conquer Cebu. This time, the skirmish was named, “Battle at Ayala.”
Last night at 6:30 p.m., I spoke to one man who’s largely responsible for the mega-production that Cebuanos will witness this Saturday: the WBA interim super flyweight championship battle between Panama’s Rafael Concepcion and Cebu’s AJ Banal.
Michael Aldeguer. The president of ALA Gym, I spoke to Michael over the phone last night about this weekend’s fight….
What makes AJ Banal, I asked, special?
“His IQ for the game,” said Michael. “He’s only 19 but, compared to others, he’s advanced. He also has excellent all-around skills. Plus, AJ’s ability to adapt to any style. He can change tactics depending on his opponent’s style.”
Is it true, I next asked, that this early on AJ is being labeled as the “next Pacquiao?”
This is wrong. Dispiriting. Crooked. Unacceptable. It’s a story about Allan Torrevillas, the former Executive Director of the Cebu City Sports Commission (CCSC)….
The International Children’s Games (ICG) is a yearly event that brings together 12- to 15-year-olds for competition. Our very own Cebu City, in 2004 and 2005, sent delegations to Cleveland, Ohio and Coventry, England. This year—in fact, just last week, from July 10 to 15—the ICG welcomed 1,200 athletes representing 40 cities to San Francisco, California.
Carrying the name “Cebu,” five athletes represented our city—a delegation sent by the Greater Cebu Sports Organizing Committee (GCSOC) whose titular head is the well-known and, in sports circles, well-liked Jonathan Guardo.
Now comes the intriguing part… It starts four months ago when I spoke to Allan Torrevillas (the head of the GCSOC delegation) about the composition of the tennis squad. With the Boys Team, only two slots were available and, at that time, two of Cebu’s most celebrated stars—Bernardine “Niño” Siso and Jacob Lagman—were interested in joining the San Francisco ICG.
