Championship Blues

Burnin' the sun with just a wave of your hand

The champagne bottles have been popped, the trophy has been raised up high and the cheers are slowly fading. The bonfire has been lit and after a few hours of brightening up the sky, fades into the sunrise. My alma mater is once again on top of the college basketball mountain, yet I am left completely underwhelmed by everything that has happened in the past couple of weeks or so.

I'm thinking this mainly stems from the fact of not being able to witness the actual title-clinching game live. For the past two championships, I've been physically present inside the Araneta Coliseum, exchanging high-fives with everyone and anyone in sight, shouting so hard until my lungs explode, and jumping up and down to our (my friends and I) favorite party music/cheer, "Go Ateneo!" I miss the feeling. Or rather, I missed that feeling. And I seem to regret not being there even more because this time and since a loooong time, the second "back" of the back-to-back titles were at stake.

Number two is the Game 2 beatdown. That was the last live game I watched, and it wasn't a pretty good experience being on the short end of a blowout. I can't even remember the last time my college team was run out of the court like that. To top it all off, I missed the post-game mass at school because my friends wanted to eat first, and I frickin' didn't have a car (which is still being repaired, as I speak). After one game, I suddenly transformed into someone I didn't wanted to become - the "fan" who's just there for the team in times of triumph, but abandons ship when the losing begins. Maybe that's a bit too harsh considering I've always been there before only up until that Game 2. But that's what I honestly felt while I was downing a bowl of rice in that Japanese restaurant we were cooped up in.

Then there was the storm that literally and figuratively threw off everything. I mean, seriously, who can celebrate to the fullest when you see that there are still people who are devastated and continue to suffer? Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming anyone if they want to have a good time. Just saying that at least on my end, I guess when you become one of the victims it's easier to relate about the plight of other people, and it just becomes harder to find reasons to celebrate. Kudos, though, to all the people who helped and continue to help in the relief operations. Those fucking politicians who constantly rob this country can go to hell. Don't you even fucking dare say that your best interests are for the Filipino people.

I put a photo of Jessica Mendoza above because I think she, too, kind of contributed to this iffy feeling I'm having. Nothing of it is her fault, to make that part clear. But why am I including her in this?

A friend and I were talking about it after the bonfire, and we both agreed that she didn't seem right that night. She looked like she was suffering from a bad hangover. After all, she joined the basketball team the night before in what seemed to be an all-night booze-filled championship celebration.

Also, we agreed that she looked a little bit like a slut with her short shorts, while her female counterpart, Lia Cruz, was more conservative, wearing jeans and a jacket. Of course, when we first saw Je our hormones went crazy, and even went to overdrive after they showed a video of her getting doused by water and champagne. That was awesome, I first thought. But then the night wore on, and all I could remember was her saying to one of her male co-hosts, "Tsaka na, pag nakainom na" (Roughly translated: "Later, when I've had enough to drink"), which hinted of another night with the drunken beauty, Jessica Mendoza. I went home with that thought in mind, not knowing if I should be elated about the discovery that she's a bit of a wild child, or depressed because the smokescreens on her goody-too-cute image just disappeared.

Hell, I don't even know this girl, and suddenly why am I so affected? Maybe after two months, the post-break up effects with my ex-girlfriend of more than 2 years haven't quite subsided yet. Or maybe it's the secret romantic freak in me, whose image of the ideal girl kinda shattered into little shards of glass after a night of partying. Reading this little entry makes me feel pathetic all of a sudden.

I was with some friends last night, and one of them, a female, offered me some unsolicited "advice" about post break up syndromes. Her words of wisdom? "Break ups give you some sort of unspoken right (or license) to go out there and act like total shit. Do anything you want. ANYTHING." Maybe one of these days, I'll try that out. Maybe pick up a girl at a bookstore or a concert (definitely not at a bar). Do something that's crazy and yet something that I wanted to do for so long. Or maybe, I'll get in touch with Jessica and tell her what's on my mind, and then ask her if she has daddy issues.

Most likely though, the do-gooder, scared-to-take-risks persona in me will prevail and every idea I just wrote will turn into ashes. Happens all the time. And after everything I wrote just now, I'm convinced about something. Winning won't make the problems go away. Maybe I should tell every sports franchise about that.

To end, here's a song for Je. Because you know, even after everything, I'd still date her in a heartbeat.