An old tune

I failed to watch the airing of the Vox Populi program of Councilor Diosdado Mahipus on Sky Cable last week because of a prior commitment but there were friends who told me they saw the interview. To the good councilor, my sincere thanks for the invitation extended to City Sports Development Division.

Bong Go, the Mayor’s executive assistant, was supposed to attend the interview but because of his very hectic sked, he asked me and the office-in-charge Moses Billacura to sit down for the interview.

It was fun doing such interaction. The lawyer-councilor’s program Vox Populi, I must say, has a considerably good following. For the most part, it was fun discussing a topic closest to the hearts of the three panelists that day—Moses and myself with sports promotions mogul Darren Evangelista.

As a sportsman, I have not gone much often lately to interviews like this. I have had in the past been on the panel of several interactions including a commentary before the City Council on the very controversial issue of the need for a sports complex.

As was in the past, most of the issues are just about the same. Sports complex, sports programs under the Duterte administration and even the mothballed Artica Dome.

I guess by now, many questions which used to be unanswered, have been answered now.

Take the case of the issue on sports development where critics of the city government have long harped about having none at all. In fact during an inauguration of a proposed gymnasium project, the issue was even elevated to the point of justifying the project and glorifying its proponents. For whatever it’s worth, it’s still people’s money anyway. Why press the horn?

I have pointed out in the program of Councilor Mahipus the existence of a considerably high number of private gymnasiums and just about every barangay has a covered court. You can build as many as you want. But what purpose are these structures if you do not even have a solid sports program?

Building gymnasiums and covered courts is a money thing as any public infrastructure projects are. Why the hell all of a sudden we repair roads and build a gymnasium towards the next elections? Why not before? Sports programs are different. This is not money thing. This is genuine service. It’s like distributing relief goods. You distribute sports programs to promote health, physical fitness and community peace and cooperation. Throw in the anti-drug campaign too.

My friend Moses also pointed out in the Vox Populi program the existence of an institutionalized comprehensive sports program of the city government encompassing all barangays of this big city. When Mayor Duterte appointed Bong Go to supervise the city’s sports programs, the upturn was phenomenal. It may be as silent as the worker that Bong is, but it is very successful in so many ways and in the areas unheard of in the sports map before.

The sports program of the city is not the elitist model. It is socialist in nature. The people, especially the masses who will not hesitate to play in sandlots and backyard courts, as its driving force. The thing is to get people into sports.

What use does a huge sports facility have if it only caters to those who can afford to pay the rent so they can dribble on wooden parquet floor? We do not exist for the PBA to come. Let Panabo City do that. They need entertainment there. We exist to send players who are products of our program to be in the PBA. That is the real mission.

In my hometown Mati, a House Representative also built a huge gymnasium inside a state-owned campus that is located away from the heart of town. When it was built, the official was at odds with the mayor that is why the decision to build the facility inside the campus was political in nature. The 8,000-seat facility has not been used to the maximum by constituents of the province. Only a very few. Only the students perhaps in few occasions even. If you rent the facility to promote a concert or the PBA perhaps, forget it. The rent will kill you. The rates were pegged by the Board of Trustees of the college most of them reside in Manila and are used to Manila rates.

We are seeing the same model again.

Don’t get too excited.

10 years of Basti's

I found myself in great company Monday with fellow media personalities and bloggers outside the sports beat to celebrate 10 great years of Basti’s Brew—Davao’s favorite coffee shop.

For a coffee lover like me, I wake up each day knowing that a cup of coffee makes the world go round. Needless to say, I am a coffee person with a good percentage of my body fluid contaminated with caffeine.

Do I complain? No. I believe it comes with the territory. I think and write faster with a cup in tow. Be it espresso or cappuccino.

I won’t recommend it for athletes though. Here’s why.

Caffeine is on the International Olympic Committee’s list of prohibited substances. Athletes who test positive for more than 12 micrograms of caffeine per milliliter of urine may be banned from the Olympic Games. This level may be reached after drinking about 5 cups of coffee. Ouch! Any coffee athletics out there?

Better heed this.

I shared table and had a wonderful talk with old hands (we don’t call ourselves veterans) like Boyet Castillo and Roland Jumawan. Jojie Alcantara of course is the chief culprit why we are sipping Davao’s best coffee at that time of the day. Basti’s co-owners Randall Ong and his wife Van were there to oblige to our querries. But Bong Aportadera, the brains behind this one-stop coffee shop-radio station project was out with his busy schedule as the city’s tourism officer.

Basti’s knows their clients best and they are the kind of coffee shop that is created for us, coffee lovers and techie freaks who bring our laptops like it is our life support system. Basti’s was first to offer free wifi for the record. Separate areas for the smokingkind. Local beans. Very homely. Very us. It’s as if you are never a Davawenyo unless your tongue has been washed with Basti’s coffee.

For the record, did you know that both the American Revolution and the infamous French Revolution were born in coffee houses? The American Revolution grew from roots planted by patriots in the Green Dragon (some say it was the Green Lion) Public House in the Lloyd's District of London. The infamous French Revolution happened in 1789 when the Parisians, spurred on by Camille Desmoulins's verbal campaign, took to the streets and two days later the Bastille fell, marking the overthrow of the French Government and changing France fore-ver.

That’s too much to brew in my brain.

For now, I’d savor the sweet aroma of cappuccino Basti’s-style. Throw in my all-time fave carrot cake and I know I’m in heaven.

Postscripts: With us too at Basti's were Bert Tomas and new acquaintance Zhaun, and yes, future acquaintance Ria Jose. Thanks Jojie for the bonus Basti's baseball cap.

Does the PBA own Japeth?

Those who have read Thomas Paine, in his famous pamphlet Common Sense,may have very well known of the simple thumbrule that “a long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom.”

In thinking along that line, I am driven by curiosity to take a deeper look into the curious case of Japeth Aguilar, the PBA’s top draft pick of 2009.

For starters, let me throw this question: “Does the PBA own Japeth? “

The question leads us to think whether or not this is a judicial question.

The PBA Board, chaired by Lito Alvarez who represents Burger King (the team that drafted Japeth), has barred Japeth from playing in the PBA with the Smart Gilas, the country’s national developmental team. That means Japeth’s choice to hone his skills with the national team and playing for the interest of the country instead of the PBA and Burger King has been rendered moot by the PBA Board’s ruling.

The PBA has asserted in several fora that a player like Japeth who has applied for the PBA draft cannot suit up for any other team even outside the PBA. Effectively, the stand of the PBA technically extended that restriction even to the national team under the SBP—the country’s basketball governing body to which the PBA is a party.

At some level, you might think the Aguilar ban was really pursued by Burger King as represented strongly by Alvarez to set a precedent and teach the boy a lesson. The PBA seemed to drive a point: “we own Japeth.” Or we could rephrase it as “we owned him first.”

At this level and argument, you might want to pierce the PBA’s corporate veil and file a legal action against the league and its officials.

In the NBA which the PBA model is closely patterned after, the Sherman Antitrust Act applies to the players and teams. The Antitrust law prohibits restriction of free trade in America—one of the blessings of democracy in that country.

Before we go deeper in the legal aspect, let us first appreciate the NBA model. The NBA is composed of three parties—the league, the teams and the players. The players are represented by a union (which also exists in the PBA) which is the sole bargaining representative of the players with the league and the teams. This is a unique set-up unlike that of the conventional unionism which defines the relationships and institutional mechanisms between labor and management or their representatives under our Labor laws.

The NBA model is that same model the PBA is patterned after although I tried hard to get a copy of the players’ CBA to no avail.

There were interesting cases in the NBA regarding their drafts. Under NBA rules, the draft procedures and contracts are contained in the CBA. This puts the players at an even plane with the league in the negotiating table. In a league like the NBA, the players are always at a disadvantage in bargaining situations with corporate giants. That is why they apply the antitrust law.

In the landmark case of Robertson vs. NBA (556 F 2d 682) which involved the great Oscar Robertson, the players union questioned the legality of the new bargaining agreement and the court ruled that the restrictions on drafts and free agency is violative of the antitrust agreement.

I like what the court said in this case, paraphrasing Leigh Steinberg: “A standard analogy repeated so regularly by lawyers and agents, is a system in which an attorney graduates from law school and is drafted by, and forced to work for a law firm in Biloxi, Mississippi, rather than for a firm in San Francisco for whom the lawyer wants to work.”

In American sports and in the NBA, several cases were decided in favor of a player who suffers “irreparable harm” caused by league rules.

Irreparable harm was the main argument of Spencer Haywood in the Haywood vs. NBA case. Haywood was barred from playing in the NBA for not spending four years of college eligiblity prior to turning professional. The court ruled in favor of Haywood, paving the way for several early entry cases like Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett.

Is there irreparable harm on Japeth’s case? Clearly, if you prevent tha boy from believing he needs to train more and he will get that from the national basketball program not the PBA, it is like taking him away from the playground. Remember, even a child has the right to play. Japeth is still a child whose learning curve has not bent to its peak.

Is there violation of his right to employment which necessarily includes the right to choose an employment?

In Japeth’s case, he chose to play for the country, not a franchise. By analogy, the State is the ultimate franchise. The franchise above all franchise in a civilized world.

The PBA better take a look at Section 8 (a) of the NBA’s CBA, which states that:

(a) The placement of a Rookie on the Armed Services List, or on any of the other lists described in the NBA By-Laws, or on any other list created by the NBA, shall not extend the period of exclusive negotiating rights which a Team has to any Draft Rookie beyond the period specified in this Agreement.

Playing for the national team is analogous to compulsory military service which the State may exercise upon its citizens. The NBA recognizes the same. So should the PBA.

Which leads us back to the essential question. Does the PBA own Japeth?

Pray tell me.

Save the Chickens

When I first posted this three-worded message "SAVE THE CHICKENS", I didn't realize it will raise hell with some people. The three-worded message turned out to be a trinitrotoluene bomb that looks more likely to spark another revolution.

A United States Federal District Court reportedly once tried a case against a fighting cock for accidentally killing another chicken. The poor bird got acquitted though, no thanks to a lawyer who prior to the case did not know anything about the avian species.

The high profile case may be the highest recognition there is, although in some despicable way, of the true worth of chickens. But that's America. The bedrock of democracy.

This gives me the curiosity to think deep into the true worth of the oft-abused creature in the light of chickenity (well, that's I guess the equivalent of humanity).

You move around and you cannot count by your fingers the number of lechon manok (roasted chicken) stalls in the country. Davao to be specific. They come by different stalls and packaging although they will most likely taste just about the same. Not to mention too the stalls and stores selling chicken barbecue. Oh, lest we forget the McDonaldses and the Jollibees.

And yes, let's all shoot it once and for all, just about anything in a chicken's anatomy is sold but the beak, nails and the feathers.

From neck, butt, intestines, liver, heart and feet. Name it, they cook it.

Imagine how many chickens are slaughtered in a day to feed people?

You might accuse me outright of stupidity and hypocrisy, but hell, wait. Can we stop a minute and reflect on the poor life of a chicken?

Smarter than dogs, much much smarter than horses, the chicken is by far the most abused animal on the planet. Raised on cages less than a square foot, they are pumped up with antibiotics in order to survive the moment they are hatched in conditions that would otherwise kill them. Genetically altered so that they grew twice as fast. Sent out to the slaughterhouse after only six weeks of living. They are picked to death in extreme brutality. Sliced in the neck, squeezed out of their blood, some are electrocuted, then bathed in boiling water before their feathers are pulled out one by one.

The brutality does not end there.

It's not good to be a chicken.

What has the chicken done to deserve this? And we even used comic images of a happy chicken to advertise our businesses? Look, we even forced a poor chicken to endorse a shoe brand (adidas) even without a contract. We could have gotten him a better deal with Nike, although that would be moot and academic since nobody would rather eat an Air Chicken.

What have the poor birds done for us to call them foul…errr fowl?

I am not saying all of them end up dying an unhappy life. The lucky ones—we call them cocks—as lucky as their human counterparts, end up as fighting cocks. They live up to two years and with a record as good as Manny Pacquiao, they get to retire as studs and enjoy a new career as a f_cking cock.

But not every chicken ends up a good cock.

Most end up in the hands of a good cook.

When I was younger and the chickens were not genetically bred, native as we may call them, chickens are a joy to watch. The newly hatched chicks get to spend a family life with mother hen and father rooster. They may eventually find their way to the marketplace or to our cauldron but at the least before they do, they were once happy chickens. That’s the reason why native chickens taste better than their steroidal counterparts.

Today’s chicken no longer enjoys family life. The moment they are hatched, they are worked up like Arnold Schwarzeneggers all through their six-week life span.

I feel for the poor bird. Most especially now that the days are ticking before Christmas. By mid-November, this planet will start incubating millions of eggs in time for Christmas. Isn’t Christmas the time to celebrate birth? Here we are, preparing for the birth of millions of chickens that we will kill, instead of celebrating their birth on the same day the Creator of chickenkind was born.

Let’s make a difference this Christmas. Let the chickens spend the celebration of chickendom—alive.

That mean yellow machine

I do not mean to be killing the party but yesterday’s 115-31 drubbing by Team Pilipinas of a hapless Sri Lanka side should not make us all thrilled.

Was I happy? Yes, I am a Filipino too.

Thrilled? No.

Come on, guys. We all know that Sri Lanka team is not the kind of test that we needed. Any UAAP team will probably beat the Sri Lankans on any given night. Unless they challenge us to play cricket.

But a win is a win is win. I won’t take that away from Coach Yeng and his boys. They may have started jittery, but I’ll take the excuses.

But not tonight against Japan (played late last night at 9 pm). That is the real deal.

If the Philippines will have to serve notice of a chance of making it to the top three, they must (with emphasis) win against Japan. When you test the capability of your team, you must get the desired result right there when the test happens in actual competition.

I saw a tentative, erratic team at the start of the Sri Lanka game and that should not be the case in bigger games like Japan and Korea. We had spurts late in the game and when it turned into a wide open ballgame, we tried to do some fancy stuff.

Off went dunking Japeth Aguilar, Gabe Norwood and Asi Taulava. Fine. That’s for the highlight reels.

What I am worried about is our same old perennial weak spot—perimeter shooting. We went 29 percent beyond the arc, and although we shot over .500, most of those came on fastbreaks and second chance points.

Remember that shooting is the key for us to make it in this stage. Against the Chinese and Middle Eastern giants, our lanes will be clogged and the chance of making our plays inside would be like wrestling against the Undertaker. Top open it up, we got to shoot well from the outside. Tht is sorely missing against Sri Lanka.

Again, I understand, they didn’t need to or they couldn’t try it out. There was no honest defense.

With the bank doors opened defenseless, our boys could have robbed the bank dry, stash all the cash. But they blinked in some ways. Complacent on the other. I think they could have had more figures on that board.

I am looking for the hungry gameface. Menacing, cold assassins. Merciless mercenaries.

Not bungling ballerinas.
Come on, boys. Our nation may be rallied these days by the magic of yellow power. So strong is the mean yellow machine that it could launch another Aquino kin to the presidency in 2010. Maybe not Kris. Pardon the pun please, that would make Boy Abunda the FG as in First Gay and Vicky Belo the Health Secretary.

Maybe Noynoy. We’ll see about that in the coming days.

But for now, in this tournament, our boys just can’t turn yellow. That includes James Yap.

Don’t stop believing

The Philippines embark on another mission today in our quest to regain respect in the sport we are so crazy about, this time in Tianjin, China.

Brandishing our so-called best weapons yet from the pro ranks, we have come full circle in this quest that began in 1990 also in China when we first used professional basketball players to don our national colors. From Beijing to Tianjin, from the Jaworski-led squad to the Yeng Guiao-ocached team.

From second place to what?

That is the question.

Frankly, I am not honestly excited about our chances. But not being excited does not mean a state of hopelessness.

In Beijing, we had China to worry about. And then there were the Japanese and the Koreans too. But we knew then there was only China that separates us back to the prized respectability in Asia.

Today, there is Iran, Jordan, Lebanon. Teams that used to be so naïve about basketball. In fact, when we faced Kuwait in 1990, the Kuwaiti team couldn’t even buy the right basketball stuff. They ridiculously wore tennis shorts with pockets. Now, even Kuwait can give us a ridiculous scare.

There is also the traditional threats like Japan and Korea—teams who were as mechanical as robots before but as agile and fast as anyone now we are even converted into big fans of their Korea novelas with basketball plots. There is Kazakhstan too.

And yes, lest we forget, there is China.

In 1990, the top team goes to the worlds but we still missed out.

This year, the top three will advance to the worlds, but it looks like we only have a Chinaman’s chance of making it. Imagine the odds.

It will make for a great take off that we will meet Sri Lanka today, and we should be expected to win this one easily even by a margin of 50. That will depend on how merciless we can get even with the lowliest of the competition. Kobe Bryant wore the Black Mamba gameface at the start of the playoffs and you can read from his face that he will not let down his guards even if he is ahead by a hundred points.

We meet Japan tomorrow and that will be the first real test.

Now, are we ready for the opposition in Tianjin? For one, James Yap, our top gunner, is bleeding from the death of her mother-in-law President Cory and should be rusty and sleepless. All the energy probably sapped from the highly emotional loss. Will he be ready for war? Remember that the late President Cory reminded him before her death to honor his commitment to the flag no matter what happens. Will James be ready to fight for the country like her late Mom Cory?

The rest of the team may now have been well rested compared to the tired team we sent to the recent Jones Cup. They may be better and hopefully sharper now. Will they be ready to die for the country too?

Obviously, there are lots of questions. I can only imagine how hard it is to be a part of this team and to be up to the expectations of a country bleeding for redemption in the sport second only to politics in terms of popularity here. As a nation, we also have a duty for this team. It’s like a social contract. They play for the Filipino people, the Filipino people must support them in return.

We cannot choose our team. We cannot choose Kobe and Team USA to fight for us. These are our guys.

We can only give back one thing—our faith.

Don’t stop believing.

Gun-less Shooting

Don’t be fooled. She may be the busiest woman in the city these days but Acting Mayor Sara Duterte has time for sports.

She understands sports, and don’t dare her to engage in sports talk. You might be in for a big surprise.

Last Saturday afternoon, Sara opened the AFP-PNP 24th Kadayawan Invitational Cup basketball tournament in Bankerohan. It was not just her presence that inspired the participants. She pitched well to double the prize and then talked about how poor our National Team fared in the Jones Cup.

There are those who are into sports, for the sake of having a sports program. But the heart isn’t there.

Inday Sara is a different breed. She’s grounded. And you can’t fool her even with your craziest crossover. Not even Bong Go’s sweet-shooting hands.

Rarely will there be a tournament for men in the armed forces and all agencies engaged in security and peace-keeping. In short, all payers in this tournament are legally allowed to carry and fire guns. You have the policemen, SAF, Rangers, Air Force, SWATs and jailguards. All sorts of men in the firing line. It’s all in one league.

Now, when you put all these men together, you can only hope they won’t shoot each other. Rather, they just shoot baskets not bullets.

With a doubled pot, Inday Sara hopes it doesn’t get nasty. “Just play ball,” was her reminder.

Perhaps the only one team you can say is the least ‘dangerous’ is the City Mayor’s Office team. CMO players don’t brandish guns but they have the hottest pistolero this part of the West—Bong Go. He’s the Sheriff. He scores when he wants. Too good to leave open. You got to shackle him with handcuffs or throw a battalion of soldiers to silence him.

As it is though, this is but sports. Fierce it may seem to be competing against each other, the unwritten rule is ceasefire to unnecessary physical contacts. When push comes to shove, the refs are in control. No official of higher rank can influence-peddle the refs. The refs are the Generals.

In case it goes haywire, call Inday Sara.

Don’t be a bad soldier. Just play. This gun-less game’s for you.